Informed Consent

In the reading for my classes, there has been mention of informed consent, in terms of research study’s responsibility for letting participants know what’s up with the study, their part in it, any risks, and what they may expect in terms of an expression of gratitude… cash?  a warm handshake?  a giftcard to the side show freak superstore?

Informed consent.

Life has been calling my name.

Last night, I got in late.  It was a little past ten.

Shut up.

I almost changed my fb status to:

THERE ARE TOO MANY THINGS TO DO.

But I didn’t.

OK, I gotta let you know I just realized, how much flackbook subs in for actually living.  I mean, I knew, but it just took my breath away.  And don’t start with me.  We aren’t adopting.  No one is graduating.  We aren’t moving.  THERE IS NOTHING TO UPDATE IN MY LIFE.  “Washed the car.”

Maggie.

NO. ONE. CARES.

I digress.

I was talking about how I am using informed consent today.

So a gal and I exchanged blog names over a bagel and decaf.

The blog has been calling my name.  I’ve been telling myself I didn’t have time.  I have been telling myself the truth.

Everything has been calling my name.

I am up to my tramp stamp* in stuff to do.

No end in sight.

But this morning, I have looked back at the last year and a half on the blog.

God said, “See.”

I said, “Yes, thank you.”

There is where I track the wound, the treatment and healing, the return to the field of play, and the victory.

He whispered back that he wants to hear it too.

It’s not supposed to go by the wayside for birthdays and Father’s Day and volleyball and driving people to work who refuse to practice driving.  Not even for a clean house.

It’s a gift to me.

He offered it back to me.

The downside, is that I have to make it fit in with all the rest.  Discipline.

Just letting me know what’s involved before I agree to participate.

Informed consent.

The purpose, the risks, the payoff.

Let’s just be honest.

If I move my foot, He always gives more than I can enjoy.

Sort of like the promised land.

A battle to possess.

A taste of milk and honey.

The call to dance to His song in the night.

 

 

 

*I don’t have a tramp stamp.  I think I’m funny.

 

Comments

  1. Don’t get lost in the busy. I have to tell myself that all the time.

  2. You had me at “informed consent”. I make those in my day job! You also made me laugh with your tramp stamp-age. :) And I always appreciate your honesty. I totally think it’s brave to be honest here.

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