[stylist] Fw: attachments: Neil Diamond I Am I Said.mp3

[Judith Bron]

I think you will enjoy this "Chicken Soup for the Soul" column.  The song by 
Neil Diamond could be called a downer, but if you look at it as a positive 
you realize that what he is warning against is allowing yourself to be a has 
been.  Give a listen, Judith
----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Nancy J. Lynn" <freespirit.stl at gmail.com>
To: <Undisclosed-Recipient:;>
Sent: Thursday, November 20, 2008 2:18 AM
Subject: attachments: Neil Diamond I Am I Said.mp3


>I found this little story in yesterday's Chicken Soup for the Soul column,
> so I'm sending it along with this song. Enjoy both.
> I Am I Said
> The young physical-therapy aide at the rehabilitation center chattered
> endlessly while we prepared for my session. I’m embarrassed to admit I was
> too caught up in my troubles to listen to her. As I watched the other
> patients struggling with their crutches and wheelchairs, my spirit was
> overcome by a sense of loss.
>
> So much had changed. Only weeks had passed since bone cancer stole my left
> leg.
>
>
> Recently healed from surgery, I could barely sit in a chair for an hour at 
> a
> time. Now I faced the difficult task of learning to walk with a prosthetic
> limb, a process complicated by an old back injury. The slightest activity
> sent scalding “phantom” pain into my nonexistent foot. As if that weren’t
> enough, chemotherapy had robbed me of my hair and my strength. A wide 
> range
> of emotions drained my remaining energy: fear, anger and grief, topped off
> by a huge dollop of self-pity. Worst, though, I was unable to care for my
> father who had Alzheimer’s disease. I had no choice but to place him in a
> nursing facility and leave with a load of guilt.
>
> When faced with overwhelming problems, we often escape by focusing on 
> minor
> ones.
>
> People are funny in that way. In this instance, I fretted over the loss of
> my nursing career and the income it provided. Thankfully, my husband 
> handled
> the finances. Every time the huge bills arrived, we thanked God that our
> insurance was adequate. Nevertheless, I missed the rapport with my 
> patients
> and my colleagues. I’d always enjoyed the teaching aspect of nursing and
> loved seeing the glow of relief when a patient was able to understand his 
> or
> her illness. It was such fun when the couples in my childbirth classes
> proudly showed me their new babies, gushing, “Shirley, it happened just 
> like
> you said it would.”
>
> How I longed to believe I would someday return to nursing. The yearning 
> left
> me feeling ashamed of my selfishness.
>
> I argued, first with myself, then with God. There were so many reasons for
> gratitude.
>
> Countless people had prayed for me. I was still alive, still a child of 
> God,
> a wife, a mother and a grandmother. I tried to keep a sense of perspective
> by telling myself that nursing was only a career; it wasn’t my identity.
> “But, Lord, you led me into nursing and gave me a love for it. It’s my
> calling, and I feel the loss deeply. Why have you taken it from me?”
>
> I paid scant attention to the aide’s words as I watched an elderly stroke
> victim attempting to operate a can opener. Nearby, a middle-aged man
> recovering from knee surgery drooped in despair. Across the room, a 
> handsome
> airline pilot practiced walking again, following a severe spinal-cord
> injury. His cheerfulness puzzled me. I wondered what determined a patient’s
> response to loss. What spurred some on when others were easily defeated? 
> Was
> it merely an inborn character trait, like a strong personality or a
> deep-seated tenacity? Was it faith? Whatever it was, I wanted it myself.
>
> I’d like to think I fashioned a prayer that touched God’s heart. But in
> truth, I muddled through a jumble of emotions and came up with nothing but 
> a
> scrambled plea that meant, “Lord, I need help.” I expected no reply.
>
> The aide, still valiantly trying to cheer me up, said, “I understand you
> used to be a nurse.”
>
> A fresh load of anger welled up inside my chest. Used to be? I felt like
> asking her what she thought I was now. Before my mind could form a 
> sarcastic
> response, words came from my mouth. “Yes, I am a nurse.” Somehow I felt
> different, stronger, but I wasn’t sure why.
>
> Later, still feeling insulted, I mentally conducted a one-sided quarrel 
> with
> the aide who had reminded me of who I “used to be.” Wait a minute. I’m
> everything I’ve ever been. I have one less leg, but I still have my brain
> and my heart. I’m not a has-been! God doesn’t have any has-beens.
>
> I carried that thought in my head until the day a familiar scripture came 
> to
> mind. I located it in my Bible concordance, then turned to Acts 17:28 and
> read aloud. “In him we live, and move, and have our being.” Three words
> stood out from the rest: “live,” “move” and “have.” It didn’t say that we
> had our being; we have it. My life isn’t in past tense. I still am. I am!
>
> No sudden or dramatic change occurred, but gradually that passage 
> influenced
> my attitude. It fanned a tiny ember of faith that lay buried under my
> negative emotions. Over a period of months, that faith grew to the flame 
> it
> had once been. I gained strength, and with it a sense of my own potential.
>
> A year and a half after my surgery, I returned to the hospital where I had
> worked for eighteen years. Physically unable to resume my previous role, I
> became the manager of the hospital’s new home-health agency. Though I 
> could
> work at my own pace, I found that making home visits was painful and
> difficult. In our rural area, many homes have no sidewalks or handrails at
> the steep doorsteps. Carrying a heavy bag while walking with a prosthetic
> leg was not easy, even with a cane. Once inside, I struggled to keep my
> balance as I bent over low beds to perform sterile procedures. And I loved
> it.
>
> Though nothing lessened the joy of being a nurse again, I often doubted
> whether I could continue this work while we waited for the census to grow
> enough to hire more staff. But the growth was rapid and steady. Soon I 
> hired
> other nurses to visit the patients while I managed the office. Once again, 
> I
> was teaching patients, this time by phone. Friendships developed between 
> us,
> though many of us never met in person. The nurses, aides and therapists
> formed a great team, and when I retired, the agency was thriving.
>
> At my retirement party, a doctor and colleague of many years announced, “I’m
> astonished at Shirley’s accomplishment in this community.” I’m sure he
> knows, as I do, that God had a hand in making the agency the blessing it 
> is
> to this day. Isn’t it strange how God uses the things we focus on, rightly
> or wrongly, to get our attention? In my case, he used my anger and my love
> of nursing to draw me closer to him. Now, when I hear Neil Diamond sing 
> that
> song titled, “I Am… I Said,” I smile inside. It was God who brought me 
> from
> “I Was,” to “I Am.” Who but he could know the value of one little word?
> 

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