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

[Judith Bron]

Thanks, Fred.  I love the song and the Chicken Soup series has to be one of 
the best!  Judith
----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Fred Wurtzel" <f.wurtzel at comcast.net>
To: "'NFBnet Writer's Division Mailing List'" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Thursday, November 20, 2008 11:54 PM
Subject: Re: [stylist] Fw: attachments: Neil Diamond I Am I Said.mp3


> Hi Judith,
>
> I liked the essay from Chicken Soup.  I am a Neil Diamond fan.  I have
> always interpreted this song as a restatement of John Dunn's "you can 
> never
> go home again."  It is also about America's restlessness.  Our separation
> from the extended family, etc.
>
> The Title and refrain make it an optimistic song.  As the essay says, we
> define ourselves and cannot give that definition up to others and keep our
> dignity and self-worth.
>
> Sorry for the running on.  I enjoyed both the song and the essay and feel
> better for reading, listening and responding.  Thank you.
>
> Warm Regards,
>
> Fred
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
> Behalf Of Judith Bron
> Sent: Thursday, November 20, 2008 9:12 AM
> To: Stylist
> Subject: [stylist] Fw: attachments: Neil Diamond I Am I Said.mp3
>
> 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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