the night that changes everything

I love Christmas. I love it something fierce. I love the prep-- baking and planning, decorating and wrapping, praying and hoping. I love the time with family and friends. I love that people don't work and they're "present". I love the songs. I LOVE the songs. I love the food. I love the giving. I love the lights. The smells, the smiles, the movies, the shopping. I LOVE CHRISTMAS! (I was even referred to as the "Queen of Christmas". And, I LOVED THAT!)

And each and every year I expect something magical. I hope for the nostalgia to penetrate my heart and for some deeper understanding of all the busyness to grip me. My soul knows that there's SO much, so much to "get" in this celebration. There's so much more than what I say I LOVE. Because, after all, this is the celebration of the night that changes everything. It's GOT TO BE DEEP!

And so, this year, what has struck me, is how Jesus, instead of making a grand entrance in a triumphant way, he came in the MOST humble of ways. Now, living here, I visit some humble homes. Some homes have nothing. Like a nothing that most American's can't imagine. Like-- some mud bricks, some plastic and some dried grass. As I think about it, those would have likely been familiar things in Jesus's entrance. Humble.

Also, the angels spoke to the shepards-- the lowliest of people. In that time, the forgotten- neglected, mistreated. The lonely. Well, in my blessing of an amazing job, I visit some forgotten people. Some "low-li's" in the worlds view. And lonely. I'd say some of the loneliest. So, in this, I feel blessed beyond my wildest dreams. Because, I believe that, the joy that's deepest in my heart is because I get to be with those who Jesus came for. And I get to share the love that I have because of Jesus, with them. And sometimes, it seems, we're the only one who cares about them. Sometimes they don't even know how to value their own life. I get to be Jesus coming to the "lowly". (Wow! If that's not humbling.)

May this not be mistaken, no matter where you are, who you are, what you do-- don't be so sure that you're neighbor isn't thought of by the world as a "lowly", or treated as one in your community. And, loneliness? How well it hides behind "stuff"? Or snuggles it's comfy way into busyness. What about you? Are you lonely?

Last week I got the privileged to give out many gifts, at times I was disappointed for the lack of joy that seemed present. But then, I was reminded-- some just aren't used to receiving anything. Imagine that?! And it was then that I also got to experience the joy that it is so much better to be the bearer of gifts than to receive more stuff. I love when I get to give my love, to give of myself--to be present and give.

And so, can my soul actually "get this"... can my simple mind "get it"?

In that night that changes everything, a baby was given-- in a humble way, announced to the lowliest but given for all. Because, you and I know that our bank account balance, our "status"  and our land of origin has no value in keeping us from experiencing loneliness or from being lowly to the world (because really, we all are). Nothing else matters if we don't "GET" the night that changes everything. So, the rich, the prosperous, the American's, the one with lots of initials behind their name, the subsistence farmer-- we all need this Savior and the free love that came on that night. And, in freely receiving and embracing this humble night we get to give and get so much more.

What an honor to celebrate the night that changes everything. And though there's still much for me to grasp, my soul knows and celebrates that there's GREAT value, worth and much to share in knowing what I do know.

Merry Christmas wherever you may be, whatever you may do and however lonely you may feel, He came for you! The most beautiful story. It is magical. It is wonderful.

Merry Christmas!

the thanks starts here

Over the last few weeks it's been building. The sun has been scorching. We've watched the green that remained, wilt and fall to brittle brown. And, more importantly than my sweat, is seeing, hearing, and watching the people's anxiety level raise as they await the rains. Which, at the end of the day determines if/when they'll have enough food in their bellies again or the opportunity to feed their children.

Last night it happened. We watched the clouds build throughout the day, then we enjoyed the lightening dancing across the sky showing a better display than the finest on 4th of July. And then, then the heavens opened, our windows shook and the tin roof of our "tiny" house screamed! We could no longer hear each other to talk. We were guaranteed no sleep if it kept on in this fashion. The sound of heaven throwing all it's marbles on our house deafened-- Nede in my arms, all of us praying in our hearts.

I felt insecure through this storm. Still not confident of the screws holding on our roof, unsure if water wasn't going to start rushing in. But, soon after, you start to realize-- our house is sound, we know SO MANY whose houses are not. My mind then went to our little one who's not in our arms. I think of all my patients that I care deeply about. Then there's our friends and workers who live in the village in mud burned brick homes. Their roofs may have a bit of black plastic covering them, then, if they're so blessed they may have a bit of dried grass holding that on. That's it. That's all that protects them from the elements-- next to nothing. They are getting wet and I'm sure they wish they were in a home like we're blessed with. I can't help to feel a bit guilty and very concerned.

Eventually, it did let up. We did get sleep and we praised the Lord for the nourishment to the earth but we waited to hear how all our friends held up.

The next morning our workers arrived. I greeted "the boys" (two brothers that work regularly for us doing agriculture, cutting the grass, helping wherever they can). I asked with concern how their night was, how their houses held up?  And, almost before I could finish I was interrupted by one of them saying, "We were worried about Nede having to climb into her loft bed with all that noisy rain" (only a couple feet from the ceiling).

There is great magnitude in this dialogue.

Do you get that? Do you realize that this young man, in his mud house, was laying there on his grass mat with his wife and children thinking about Nede who was safe with us, in our well constructed home. He was concerned for her comfort being near the roaring tin ceiling. (Which by the way, she wasn't in. We let her fall asleep on a lower bed.)

And that, dear friends, that is where my gratitude starts this Thanksgiving. For the people I know and work with, the place I am blessed to call home, and with the people God has given me to be my family because of his GREAT love for me. I am grateful beyond words.

My heart sings thanksgivings.

Tribute: a princess on His throne

Sometimes I'm long overdue on my Tributes. Mainly because I can't find my words. And then sometimes I realized that the words will never come because the injustices are so vast that there just won't be words. Ever.

Ever.

Dear One, what a privileged it was to know you. Being able to love you made me feel close to God. We don't know how you got sick, why you got sick or why it took so long to try to get you help. We were saddened that the help you received was too late. The loss of your life hurt us something deep. We know it was no mistake that we got to know you for a few weeks. We know that when we loved you we were expressing a fraction of the love that our Father has for you. We trust that being able to share Jesus with you was just the first step into your healing and your entrance into eternal greatness.

We're sorry, we know you didn't ask for the life you received. You deserved so much more. Now, we pray you are a Princess sitting on the throne with your Father!

We loved you Dear One and we thank you for letting us love you and for the privileged it was to see my team love you well!

loving life

Sometimes life doesn't turn out how you expect it to, sometimes it's so much better!!
Happy Birthday to this life changer! We are beyond blessed with how she's changed our lives-- and many others!

 (We're not sure which one of these little butterflies had the most fun?)

(Or was it mom preparing the party?)

We love our life!

Destruction of a woman's soul

A new heaviness has leeched itself on my back recently. One that I've known about here from the beginning, but lately I'm wearing the weight of it. Purely out of empathy. "It's what they do here" we say, but as I stare into the eyes of women I'm getting to know, I feel for them. My heart breaks and I imagine.

This is the destruction of a woman's soul.

Polygamy.

Imagine being a young woman born into extreme poverty, maybe you lose a parent or two, death and disease is all around you. All you do is work to have food in your tummy, to make a few cents and then, willing or not, you might be married off. Could be young-- 12 or 13 years young, as soon as you "become a woman". And then, to make it worse, maybe you're not the 1st wife of the man chosen for you. Maybe he's a few years older than you, maybe the gap's 25 years! Maybe you're the first wife but when you don't fall pregnant quick enough, he takes another to speed things along. Could be he takes yet another. And then to pour salt in your wound, you're forced to work along side these very women you share a man with. The one who's meant to be yours. If there's love there or not, I wouldn't even know. It's definitely not written on their faces, not the woman's.

No one would pinpoint it. No one  identifies it. But I think I know-- that emptiness, that pain that bleeds from their pours, is a direct result of the

destruction of a woman's soul.

My heart weeps. The Lord's hurts more. "It's what they do here."

I don't care. It's not okay and who is helping the woman whose soul has been destroyed because no one comes home and says, "Hi Love, how was your day?"  Who knows what it's like to be held by their soulmate? the one who teaches that you're cherished, beyond any other.

My only hope....may they find Jesus and learn the love that they well deserve.

They may never be loved as they ought to be on earth but oh, how I pray, one day they know what love is.

I don't accept "It's what they do here."

Your soul was meant for so much more dear, Precious Ones, I'm sorry.

her soul is well

We have a patient on our program that has a mass on her face-- one that's deforming her face, forcing her left eye further and further from it's intended position.

Last week we arrived earlier than normal to our usual meeting point. I was afraid we'd miss our chance to see her this week. We asked the neighbors how she's doing. Their response was, "Worse. She's getting worse. The mass is growing and her eye is worse. It's not good."

Of course, this made me want to see her all the more. My thoughts were that maybe she's now having systemic problems and she's not able to make it up the hill to see us. Next week we'll have to trek down the valley to find her at home, were my thoughts.

As we were leaving someone came running to stop us. Wait! Our patient had arrived. She came scurrying over to us. She apologized to us for being late. She was busy preparing a gift for us. She gave us a bag of, still warm, maize (corn on cob) she had boiled for us. She emptied a bag of sugar cane before us and gave us a whole bucket of flour which she had ground herself.

We thanked her endlessly then asked how she was, with the mass noticeable different from the week prior, she joyfully responded, "I'm doing great. I'm getting so much better!"

Oh, bless her! Her friends see it, her neighbors are talking about it, we see it. The mass is growing rapidly. She's not getting better. And, I can't BELIEVE that doesn't hurt. It must.

But you see, there's just one thing that keeps her positive, one thing that is a blessing she doesn't have.

A mirror.

She hasn't seen that her face is becoming more dis-formed every week. She's not watching it grow. She's not looking in her crooked eye and hoping for a visual change.

It's an example of when I think her lack, is really, her blessing.

When I have a pimple, in my vanity, I'm in pain and constantly worried about my appearance-- what other's might think. Over a pimple! (And sometimes it HURTS!)

It makes me wonder, makes me think how much added pain, suffering and distraction our culture has by the simplicity of a mirror. How much does that shiny glass change my self-image? How does that affect how I feel? What changes about me-- mentally, physically, emotionally, accepting myself spiritually? All because of looking myself in the eye. Regularly.

I wonder. I wonder what would be different, for me to not have a mirror?

I wonder what would be different for our patient TO have one.

Her smile is still beautiful. She came bearing gifts for us. Yes, her SOUL is WELL. Praise the Lord no one is telling her differently. Her quality of life is perfect-- without a mirror.

The Lord bless her and keep her this way for as longs as we can, is my prayer.

Swedish Fish and hard lessons

When the Swedish Fish are gone, I begin to panic, slightly. You see, there are few things that we bring from the US that I save for a bad day (or week). I had one bag of Swedish Fish from April. In July, Chad asked how long I was going to keep them. My response, "There's probably a worse day coming, I'm keeping them for that."

Well, my friends, they were opened recently. And polished off very soon after. There were some bad days. Not bad like "poor me, get me on the next plane out". Just hard situations, hard stories that hadn't been personal until recently. Difficult things that you think, "wow, what people go through!"

Now, as I reflect on the last few weeks, with the bitterness of brokenness still fresh on my tongue, I'm grateful for having to be forced to slow down. Maybe being in bed with malaria was a sweet thing? I was made to stop, remember the beauty, I was refreshed by the Word, and reminded that in our weakness then He is strong (2 Corinthians 12:9).

Even more, I was grateful for the hard of life here. Because, in America, I rarely was brought to this point-- to where I am forced to say, "Oh Lord, help! In and of me, I can do nothing right now. I need you Lord." When 911 is a call away, the clinic is there to properly diagnose, every baby is, or can be, delivered in the hospital, etc, etc, you just don't find yourself in the position often of saying "Oh, Lord, I need you". It's because of this I'm grateful.

Oh, LORD, I need you... has been a common cry these days. And in that, He's there. He helps. He whispers, "All will be well again. Come my daughter, stand, we'll walk together and my mercies are new every morning."

He promises..."weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning." Psalm 30:5

And it does. And sometimes, it's a blessing to weep. And to know that, in and of myself, I'm nothing and I know it. And it's okay because He is and that's a beautiful thing to really learn and grow through. 

And, it's also nice to eat Swedish Fish while learning these lessons. :)

Tribute: grace- a young girl of courage

A Tribute to an eleven year old girl should never have to be written. It's with a grieving heart I write:

The face that belongs to these innocent hands would break you-- leave you wondering if there is any good in the world. It's the question we'll all ask God when we have the opportunity...why did she suffer and die so young?

At first I was pleased that she was our first patient who came home with medications that started to resemble comfort medications. But then later, when symptom built upon symptom, she wasn't able to swallow what she had and we had nothing else to offer. It's at this place, my dear friends, where you're brought back to dust and remember where you've come from. You HAVE to depend on God, if we didn't cling to words like, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. " 2 Corinthians 12:9, we wouldn't last.

 Grace. Grace got us, the family and this dear little girl into Glory.

The joy that she brought to us was, in my weakness, not having anything to offer of myself, I asked her, "What can I do for you? What do you need?" She had me figured out with her response. She, with her eyes closed in distress said, "I want leggings, a pair of shorts and a pair for shoes! Please bring them tomorrow." Ha! She got me, not the response we were expecting!

Of course we brought her requests, the least we could do for this little girl who would never walk again, or have the strength to try any of her new things on. I don't have a big miracle to share but there was much grace that accompanied this story. What a privileged it was to empower and encourage the family to keep caring well for her at home. What a privileged it was to watch the family resist the cultural temptation to bring their beloved to the witch doctor (which surely would have meant increased suffering). When neighbors and "friends" told them they were bad parents for not doing more for their daughter, we were there to tell them they were doing EVERYTHING a loving parent would do. They, in the end, honored their daughter's wish of staying home and being were she could be most comfortable.

This little one had courage. More than I could ever muster.  We will not forget her because of it. There was much honor and love in her life and death.

And grace.

Tribute: You were valued

This is one of the harder "Tributes" I've sat to write. Not because of your life or death but how those around you treated you in the process. For that I'm sorry...

It was a honor to know you--
Much seemed held in secret.
Really, we were called too late.
We all had hope,
Especially when your brother decided to help.
You started taking treatment, and you too found hope again.
But, the progress wasn't fast enough, you got discouraged.
I don't know all that happened--
what was and wasn't spoken.
But our hearts broke when we saw your decline.
We hope you knew we cared.
We were there and we lifted you in prayer.
Over and over, we held you up with our prayers.
We're sorry we didn't get to know you when you were vibrant and well.
And, I'm sorry for the pain that was and seemed to bind, until your death.
It was no mistake that we were called to you,
We pray you knew, through our love, that you did matter,
You're life had value.
I'm sorry the pain and brokenness in your family was so great that it was hard for them to care.
They need the Healer too,
He's the only one that could take the pain away.
Our heart's cry is that you found Him, in time.
We're glad we got to laugh with you.
What an honor it was to care.
And we did.
You were valued.
You were.

Tribute: Bless his soul

I'm sure I'd be embarrassed if I looked back at old blog posts, from when I was green to Africa 9 years ago! Because, unfortunately, too many of us coming here thinking we're going to teach people from the wealth of knowledge that we possess. I think the longer I'm here, the more I realize how much I have to learn from the people I came to serve. This family taught me this most of all...

It's easy to scrutinize families and traditions of other cultures because perhaps they haven't had the opportunity to learn the Word like we've heard since we were wee. But this one, it gripped me beyond the scrutiny.

I'm not sure when they married or the complete history, but what we did learn from this patient was that he was married, and perhaps life got tough so he went looking for a better way. This landed him in Zimbabwe and eventually with another wife. Then life threw a twist again, he got sick-- started with dementia like symptoms, his wife in Zimbabwe was fed up and sent him back to his homeland. He found his way back to his first wife in Mozambique. I don't know if she welcomed him back like the Prodigal, or how that went for her, but by the time we met them...

she was caring for an advanced dementia patient beautifully! This isn't a diagnosis/situation we've seen a lot of. It was classic of the patients I once cared for in dementia units in the US. The thing that blessed my heart the most was how this woman cared for him. He was ALWAYS clean. Usually he was wearing his t-shirt that had 3 cartoon toads on it. They were wearing funny clothes, one with boxers on his head. The caption of the Tee said, "Toad-ally Wasted"! I laughed every time, they didn't know what the shirt said.

Upon admission to the program, as per usual, he received our "comfort care pack" including a Storyteller with Bible stories and songs. Unfortunately, a few weeks later in his curious way, he had pried it apart and it was no longer working. I took it from them to see if Chad could repair it. It was beyond repair. And, I feared giving him another one because I figured he'd just destroy it again. But, he NEVER forgot that I was the one that took his broken one away. From that day on he called me a THIEF!  Until...until it was the day that what his restless soul need was the Word. Of course, we gave him a new Storyteller. And, as I've shared before, the evidence spoke for itself. He was restless, in obvious pain, thrashing to the point that I wished we had morphine more than ever. We gave what we could and the minute he heard my girls singing on the Storyteller he calmed, he held the device to his heart and we left him in peace. I trust the Holy Spirit did the rest. A few days later we heard that he had died. His dear wife wept in our arms when we visited her. She had done everything and more that a loving wife of any culture would do. Indeed it was beautiful.

I now hope he now knows what his t-shirt said. I hope he laughs. We will always remember. Bless his soul.