Just happy to be nominated

The great thing about being a therapist:

Sometimes, when you are hung-over from a sleepless night, feeling a little vulnerable and guilty that your clients may suffer your inevitable fatigue, they surprise you.  They string words together about their own lives—so rich in insight, wisdom and judgment—you are left wondering how it is that you’re the one getting paid in the transaction.  And surprisingly, you don’t feel tired, even though you are.  Rather, you feel honored that they picked you to be on their team.  And you revel in the reality that you actually get paid to go into the recesses of humanity: excavating messes, aiding in tears, exposing vices, naming weighty patterns, giving new words to tired desires, preying on truth, forgiving the bad, plucking out the good and laughing at what’s funny.

And you have days when, one by one, people enter your office, share [with you] their beautiful and profound “ahha” moments, marvel [with you] in the many paradoxes, and laugh [with you] about their own playing field and the universal playing field (and plight) that connects us all. 

On those particular days you have your own private moments in-between clients or at the end of your work day, when you feel like you could actually burst open with all the gratitude you've gathered in the course of a day.  And you feel thankful for a job, and really a God, that carries you along, even on days that come after sleepless nights.  You feel happy and sleepy and you impulsively want to hug a tree or listen to a praise song or something, even though you're not really the type that's inclined to do either. 

You settle in on a nap.  And a smile. And a sleepy thank you for this day prayer, where your mind wonders around, but knows God is present all the same.