I was in my twenties when I worked at a nursing home that changed my life. I was an angry young woman still bemoaning my parents’ divorce and all my childhood disappointments. Determined to never let anyone hurt me again and to become my own woman, I had moved eight hours from home to a little town called Charleston Arkansas with a friend. I had always been told I’d break my nose to spite my face. I had in my mind that I would be independent. I didn’t need anyone.
My boss was an unusually small and older lady. Her scrub pants were sharply creased and her nursing shoes blinding white. Her gold supervisor nametag against her smooth white jacket was straight and smudge free, green letters bearing her name so boldly no one could doubt her position: Sharon Fargo, Supervisor. She was always kind, but firm with her words. I wanted to be like her, but I would have never let her know that. We were at two opposing ends of life’s long fence, me just starting out, her closer to the end.
To say that I was not easily corrected would be an understatement. I didn’t like to be questioned about anything or challenged on any decision. I was a my-way kind of girl. But I was in her world when I stepped onto her floor and hit the clock and I secretly despised her authority. The good thing about that was that it made me do an excellent job. I took great care with my patients but under her watchful eye, I made sure to go the extra mile, sharpening the bed folds when I made them, and cleaning out drawers and closets as I went. I was fast too. I worked hard and was proud of the work I did. But even my best days were shadowed by human error and no matter how insignificant the error may have been, she was always right on my heels to catch it.
And I always had an answer for her.
One day, I was in a room with a patient when she stuck her head in the door to ask me a question about the patient’s room I had been in just prior. I don’t remember the specifics, but I do remember that it was trivial. I responded as usual, with edgy defense. Instead of closing the door and moving on as usual, she came on inside and gently shut the door behind her.
“Can I ask you a question,” she said.
I carried on with my work and said, “sure”.
“Stop and look at me please.”
I finished the task at hand while she patiently waited. Finally, I stopped and looked at her.
“What are you so angry about?”
I didn’t know what to say, and don’t remember what came out of my mouth, although I’m sure something did. But the conversation that followed humbled me and changed the direction of my life.
At the end of my shift, I left home asking myself the same question. “What am I so angry about?”
The next day, I went to the library to the self-help section. I found book after book about resentment. I stayed in the library for hours, devouring the words that were shining much needed light into my dark space. Near closing, I chose a few and went home.
I was barely twenty then. I am 45 now. Great teachers have walked me through some of the hardest places in my life. Charles Stanley was the first to tenderize my heart toward Christ. A four-foot-tall deep voiced Baptist preacher later led me on to Him. Adriene Rogers led me deeper. Billy Graham brought me to my knees in prayer. Joyce Meyer taught me. Beth Moore cradled me. Priscilla Shirer pushed me higher. Jerry Jenkins schooled my writing. Kay Arthur taught me to war in the Spirit. Bill W. taught me sobriety. Paula Dean taught me to cook. The Bible – book of all books – teaches me the unfathomable mysteries of Christ, freedom, and the abundant life.
Every book, every teacher, every recorded lesson or sermon, challenged me outside my comfort zone. I grew to tolerate people and went on to love them as I learned to build relationships with real people. I learned the importance of community and began to comprehend how God’s intended design for humans was to live interdependently upon one another. I learned I needed forgiveness and learned to forgive those who had harmed me as a young girl. I learned mercy and grace because I needed it more than anyone I knew.
My entire walk with Jesus and the abundance of joy I have belong to God and one tiny woman who dared to challenge me on one front. To both, I am forever grateful.
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