His fingernails appeared ravaged, bitten down to the quick, like he'd seen a decade of panic. I stood at the counter while the man pecked on his keyboard, typing up the service bill for my car. I was only about a foot from those terrible-looking nails, and there was part of me that wanted to reach out and grasp his hand and ask him what was so bad in his life. "What happened, sir?"  Yet we don't do those kinds of things. Maybe we should. And, I'm ashamed to admit, my compassion for him began to evaporate when he tried to sell me services my car did not need. Maybe therein contains the anxiety. All that hard sell. He was a nice man. Why should he have to do that for his job? Couldn't he just be real and say, "I think an oil change is all you need." And so it goes...life churning and moving, with all its dailiness and ever-changing cultural fears that surface for everyone.

My boss sat in our weekly meeting and looked around the table--the nurse practitioners, the counselors, the peer support specialists, the social workers. "You guys look tapped out.  Let's end the meeting. Go do some self-care." Surely we'd all had a rough week at the clinic, more and more patients homeless, overdosing, almost dying. Helping people reduce harm and getting support had taken its toll, like the man and his chewed-up nails. We were weary, like a spigot with a scant stream, the water supply almost dry.

The week had seen my spirit tattered, not only with work, but also with the knowledge of the Corona Virus and the stock market crash. All my husband's family lives in northern Italy. I'm on the cusp of retirement. Would his family be safe? Would all my savings vaporize right before my eyes? 

I hadn't worked out in a week. I had to get outside. Had to breathe. Had to heed my manager's admonition to get some self-care. 

At sunrise, I headed for the tidal creek, hoping to see the marsh birds. When I arrived, the sun shone orange and bright-tempered, the creek at lowtide. I stood on the shore and peered through a curtain of Spanish Moss hanging from the ancient oak. No birds in sight. But then, as if they sensed my need to see them, the birds began to arrive. The egrets and ibis and ducks congregated on the exposed land, long beaks spearing fish, white feathers catching the sunlight. Seagulls called and screeched, but not unpleasantly. I loved to hear their cries, see them soar in the pink-tinged sky. The blue heron bowed its curved neck to drink. Did the marsh birds know? Did they realize they were my mentors? These resilient and persistent creatures were not worried. Not fretting. Not overcome with panic. I would stay awhile longer. Learn from them.

Look at all the birds--do you think they worry about their existence? They don't plant or reap or store up food, yet your Heavenly Father provides them each with food. Aren't you much more valuable to your Father than they? So, which one of you by worrying could add anything to your life?~Matthew 6: 26-27 (From The Passion Translation)