3 (More) Things

1.  Good Local Friends - I'm thankful for the women that I've grown to know and love over the past year.  These women are always genuinely glad to see me, and whenever we get together (despite the language barrier), we always have a good time laughing and getting to know each other better.  They are concerned about the happenings of my life, both here and back home, and they are always ready to help when I have a question or problem.  They are some of the warmest people I have ever known.  I've been so busy the past two months that I haven't had a lot of time to just go to their homes and visit, but today and yesterday I spent the afternoon sitting with friends, catching up, and laughing.  Father thank you for bringing these friends into my life.

2.  A Good Read - I just finished reading the book Faithful Women and Their Extraordinary G#d by Noel Piper.  This is the 2nd or 3rd time I've read this book, and each time I've blessed by the stories of these women who gave their lives to the cause of Chr!st.  I highly recommend this book especially if you like reading biographies about godly women from different backgrounds and ministry.  I think I have a copy at George and Rose's house if you want to borrow it.  Father, thank you for these women and their lives of service.  Thank you for using their stories along with your Word to teach me.

3.  MANGOES!!!! - I love mangoes!!  Now is the perfect time to feed my mango addiction as they are all over right now.  My country is the largest producer of mangoes in the world.  They come in all sizes, flavors, and colors.  Some are sweeter than others.  Some are sour and are used in chutneys and pickling.  The sweet kind is my favorite.  The juice and fruit are the perfect answer to the hot summer days when I don't feel like eating anything.  I ate 2 today.  I'm trying to eat as many as possible this season because I know once I return to the States, I'll have to pay a lot to get mangoes, and they won't be near this good.  Father, thank you for mangoes. 

The big yellow ones are my favorite.  The smaller green ones were given to me by a friend who has a tree outside her house.  The best way to eat the small ones is to poke a hole in the end and suck out all the juice first. 

3 Things

I read in a devotional book this week that thanksgiving opens the heart to rich communion with the Father.  It went on to say that as He is the One "from whom all blessings flow, thankfulness is the best way to draw near Him".   Giving thanks with intentionality each day is something I need to be better about doing.  Reading that devotional, HS convicted me that lately I've been more ready to offer words of criticism and complaint.  Being VBS season, I'm reminded of a line from one of my favorite songs.  I don't know the title, but it goes a little something like this - Are you humbly grateful or grumbly hateful?  What's your attitude?  Do you grumble and moan or let it be known you're thankful for all G#d's done for you?   I want my attitude to be one of praise and thanksgiving.  He has blessed me abundantly, and I want to declare His goodness among the nations.  So for the rest of the month I will be sharing with you each day 3 things for which I am thankful.

1.  The Body - Father has used His people this week to be an encouragement to my weary soul.  Thank you Father for making us for relationship.  And thank you to everyone who has sent words of encouragement and support through email and snail mail.  My mailman is in awe of the amount of mail I receive.  Thank you most of all for lifting me up to Dad. 

2.  Electricity - I spend a lot of time complaining about the heat, but this week I got a major wake-up call as we were without electric for a day.  Yes, it is hot, but Father has graciously provided for me a nice home with ceiling fans, two AC units, and electricity with which to power those devices.  Meanwhile millions of others in the state do without.  Instead of focusing on what I don't have, today I choose to focus on the gift of electricity which affords me some relief from the dog days of summer. 

3.  Sleep - Many of you know I haven't been sleeping well the last few months, but in the past week I've noticed some improvements.  And last night I slept a full 8 hours without waking.  Praise Him!

B*nj@m!n's Blog

****Note - I started writing this blog on May 20^th.  It was written in pieces.  It’s gone through several drafts.  It's not perfect.  I'm not perfect.  My thoughts and the way I deal with things aren't perfect.  But... writing this post has helped me to process experiences I've been struggling to deal with for the past month.  As you read, I ask for your grace, patience, and pr@yers.


     I want to start by apologizing because there is no way in this post I can explain everything I want.  There are no words that I could put in this small space that would fully communicate what I so desperately want all of you to know and understand – in large part because I don’t understand.  I wish I were a better writer, a more thoughtful person, someone who knows how to convey deeper issues.  But alas, you are stuck with me.  So I will just try my best.
    This post is different.  For the first time, I am going to try and give you a real glimpse into life in this part of the world.  Most of my blog posts have been on the lighter side of things – dogs, driving, and the relentless heat.  All totally true.  Nothing big.  Nothing life changing.  Still there has been a huge response to the blog.  Every week someone tells me or G&R how much they enjoy the blog, and I'm glad people get a kick out of hearing about my life.  But up until this point, the blog has been more for me than anyone else.  I have used the blog as an escape, a means of forgetting about the darkness, dirtiness, and depravity all around me.  I needed something to get my mind off all the real weighty stuff I encounter every day, and as my favorite coping mechanism is humor, I wrote bubblegum pieces about mail and roaches and milking water buffalo.  However, I realize now that by keeping some of my harder experiences to myself, I have sold us all short - you, me, and Father.  You, because if don't know of the harder, harsher realities of what life is like here, then you miss out on knowing how amazing Father has been in the midst.  Also, you are in this battle with me, and it is unfair to not tell you the full strength of the enemy.  Plus I'm not doing myself any favors by just bottling this stuff up and pretending it's not all around me.  It's selfish to not try and talk about these things when I can because the issues of poverty and injustice are too heavy to carry by one's self.  Father has called the entire body of C to be His hands and feet.  Right now part of my job is to see the suffering and hurting and relay the message of what I see so that the whole body can engage in this work.  Finally, I am compelled to tell you about some of what I'll call my "darker experiences" because that is where His light shines the brightest.  By not telling these stories, I'm essentially not telling you about His faithfulness.  When I keep quiet, I am not giving Him all the honor and glory that He is due.  Bear with me now as I try to describe people, places, and experiences knowing that I can never do them justice.
    There's a village here that I've been visiting at least once a week, often times twice a week, for 10 months.  This is a simple place.  The village is made up of about 200 households give or take.  The people work hard.  They are historically a nomadic people group but now only maybe 50% of the people still migrate in the summer with their water buffaloes.  The water buffaloes represent their main source of income as they sell its milk in surrounding areas.   When I first started going to the village, I mostly just took blood pressures and asked if anyone was sick and tried to see if I could help.  Then last summer F started to break my heart for the women of this village.  It all started when on one of my weekly visits to the village, I met this young woman (I'll call her S) who was pregnant with her first child.  Now my labor and delivery experience is rather thin, but I also knew that however little I knew and had to offer, it was still better than nothing.  So I started taking her history and doing an assessment.  I won't bore you with all the details, but based on the assessment, I advised her to go to a local free government hospital when the baby was born instead of delivering in the home which is the practice in the village.  Just a week later when she went into labor, in another crazy turn of events, I found myself by her side at the hospital, the setting and conditions of which are almost indescribable.  I spent the next 5 hours going between the laboring woman, the doctors, and the family, doing my best to help S and keep her family informed of how she was progressing as they were not allowed to come into the labor area.
    I don't want to be overly dramatic or anything, but I think those 5 hours spent helping S and her family at the hospital changed my life.  It was those 5 hours and the days afterward that really got me thinking about what it must be like for women living in this village, and even more specifically what it is like for mothers.  Take S for example.  She had been to the doctor only once her entire pregnancy not because she didn't care but because going to the doctor takes effort, time, and money.  Plus women here are never taught the importance of prenatal care.  It doesn't mean she is careless or doesn't want to do everything she can to have a healthy baby.  I mean on the word of a complete stranger who could barely speak her language, she went to the hospital to give birth instead of laboring at home.  That right there is evidence of how much she wanted to do right by her child.  She was scared that day in the hospital.  She didn't know what was happening.  None of the doctors stopped to explain anything to her.   And it's not because the doctors are horrible people.  They are simply overworked and underequipped. 
    That day my friend S gave birth to a healthy baby boy, and my relationship with S and her family was sealed.    They gave me the honor of naming the baby.   The family also gave him a name that he would go by, but I was honored that they would ask me to also give him a name.  I named the boy B*nj@m!n.  I had the opportunity to tell them this was a name from the Book, and I told them all about B*nj@m!n's brother J#s*ph and how G#d was always with him.  Over the next several months, my relationship with this family deepened, and my visits at their home soon became the highlight of my weeks.  At the same time Father was leading me to the paths of other pregnant women in the village and giving me a vision for a maternal wellness program.  I started tracking the women's weights, BPs, blood sugars, due dates, vaccinations and encouraged them to see a doctor in town.  I talked with them about their diets and their delivery plans. Where were they planning to deliver?  Who would come to help?   On a couple of occasions, I was able to assist laboring in different capacities, always being careful not to present myself as something I wasn't.  And Father blessed.  The babies were born healthy, despite the odds.  And my relationships in the village continued to grow stronger. 
    Then on one visit I noticed that one of the newborn girls was looking sick.  Now this is not completely abnormal.  A large percentage of the babies here are low birth weight, not unexpected given the lack of prenatal care, and so the babies tend to look frail.  But I had seen this particular baby every week for almost 2 months after her birth, so I knew this was not her normal appearance.  I questioned the mother and an aunt to try and determine the baby's general condition, and offering some recommendations and teaching, I made a mental note to follow up next time.  On the next visit her condition was unchanged, and I continued to urge the family to take the baby to a doctor in town.  When I visited next, I was pleased to see that the family had taken the baby to the doctor, but I was shocked to see how much weaker the baby girl had become in just a few short days.  I remember spending a large portion of that visit just holding the little girl, whispering sweet words to her.  It was if I somehow knew she would not live much longer, and yet somehow when I showed up at the house the next week, I was still surprised to hear the baby had died.   Different cultures handle grief in different ways.  In the culture of this particular people group no one is to cry or to show emotion in front of those to whom the death is most personal, in this case the mother.  So there I am sitting in this village hut trying my hardest not to cry. 
     About a month and a half later, I went to visit a woman whose due date was nearing.  As I approach the home, she comes out to greet me, and I can tell she is no longer pregnant so naturally I presume she has delivered and everything is fine.  Because in my world, in my experience, that is what happens, but that is not the reality these women live in.  I ask her about the baby, and after several language false starts, I realize this woman suffered her fourth stillbirth.  She tells me what happened, and I can think of nothing to say.  All I can think is, what can I say to her?  Then I pray for her, but even that seems hard.
     At this point, I started to get overwhelmed.  I was still visiting the village every week and meeting with the young mothers, but instead of looking forward to the visits, I began to approach them with a sense of fear and apprehension.  What I used to love about those visits, never knowing what was going to happen, was now what I dreaded.  What if I show up at a home and a woman is in labor or some baby is sick?  These were the thoughts and feelings that haunted me after I prayed with that woman in her home.  And I remember thinking, I don't know what I'm going to do if I show up at this village one more time and some baby has died.  Needless to say, I was in a fragile place. 
     This was my state of my mind as I came to visit my friend R one day in May.  She is one of my true friends in this village.  I can say this even though we spend over half of every visit trying to figure out what the other is saying so you know this is one of those true connections that happen in life.  At the time, R was 8 months pregnant with her second child, and she looked absolutely radiant.   I sit down with R and start to ask her how she is feeling, and then she tells me B*nj@m!n died.  Apparently B had been sick for the last 2 weeks, and even though his family had taken him to the hospital, no one could figure out how to help him.  I hadn't even known he was sick because as previously mentioned these people are nomadic, and his family had moved for the summer.  This death was the hardest of all, probably because it was the most unexpected even for the people of the village.  B was almost 10 months old.  He always looked strong and healthy.  His family always listened to my health teaching and seemed to want to do whatever they could to improve their quality of life.  R informed me that S had been crying for days, and this is when I too started to cry.  I only cried a little right then because R was shaming me to stop.  But in the days and weeks to come, I would cry about this again and again.  I cried thinking about S and her mother and how much they loved that boy.  I cried thinking about how strong and healthy B had looked the last time I saw him.  I cried thinking about R and her impending delivery, and I wondered if she was scared for her new baby. 
      But then R said to me what people in the village always say when bad things happen.  She said it was G#d's choice.  She said it was the will of G#d.   This is the same thing the mother of that newborn girl said to me when her daughter died.  The woman who had 4 stillbirths said this to me when she told me what happened to her baby.  And now here was R again telling me that it was G#d's choice for that beautiful boy to die, and all I wanted to do was scream.  Here's the thing.  I totally 100% believe in the perfect sovereignty of G#D.  That is the bedrock of my faith.  And His Word teaches that in everything He does, He is good and perfect and right and kind.  But for some reason that day I couldn't listen to R say that it was G#d's choice that B die.  It's taken me over a month to try and process through why it upset me so much that those women said that about those babies, but I think I've managed to put my finger on the issue.  As a C, when I say something is Father's will, I can say it with complete confidence and with hope, a certainty in the one in whom I believe.  When these women say something like babies dying is G#d's will, they say it without any hope.  They say it with a shoulder shrug and with a look that says nothing can be done.  Then they say "what can I do?".   They ask this question rhetorically.  They don't expect an answer.  Over time in this village a fatalistic attitude has emerged, the idea that they are powerless to change the events and circumstances of their lives.   People here had to develop this hardness to survive.  I think what upset me so much about all those women telling me it was G#d's will for those babies to die was not that I didn't believe that He is sovereign over all events, but that I know that is not really what they are saying.  What they are saying is - babies die here and that's just the way it is.  There's no point getting upset about it because there's nothing that can be done.
     But why?  Why do babies die in that village?  Are those babies less precious to the Father than babies born in the hospitals back at home?  (I know babies die in the States, but not like this they don't.)  Why do babies die at all? Or get sick?  Why are some babies born in the most gut-wrenching poverty while others are born in clean hospitals surrounded by every advantage of wealth and modern medicine?  It's easy when I ask these questions to become cynical, judgmental, and jaded.  It's easy to forget the real enemy in this battle.  Let's be clear.  Father did not design the world this way.  Death, poverty, babies dying, these were never a part of His perfect will and design.  It's our sin and disobedience that brought those evil things into the world.  It's important for me to remind myself that when I'm tempted to become angry.  It's okay to hate the poverty and injustice.  I think we're supposed to.  But it's important to remember why they exist (sin and disobedience) so I don't sin by directing my anger in the wrong place.
     So how does one end a post like this?  I really have no idea.  It's not like I have it all figured out yet.  But let me just tell you some of the things I'm learning.  Father has been gently reminding me that I need to view all of these events from an eternal perspective and not an earthly perspective.  From an earthly view, the fight against poverty and injustice seems hopeless.   But the truth is that He cares about the poor, the sick, and the needy, and it is sinful arrogance to think that He has forgotten or overlooked the suffering in this world and that He needs me to remind Him.  He hates it, even more than me.    And when I go to this village, I carry the message of hope – the Good News - with me.  I must be faithful to live it and share it.   From an earthly perspective, when a mother with a 2 year old and a 6 month old who is now pregnant again asks me if I can help her get rid of the pregnancy, I am tempted to agree with her that her life would be easier if she wasn’t pregnant.  Please believe that I value the sanctity of life, and I would never help any woman end that life.  But I also see how hard her life is and how she struggles to care for family so I don't judge her when she asks.  I pr@y for her, but I don’t condemn her.  Father turns me to the eternal perspective.  He knit this life together in the womb, and He knows every one of its days.  And He delights in the details of those days.  He's been teaching me about His mercy.  One night I was crying out to Him to have mercy on the people in this village and to save one, just one, and so softly I felt HS tell me that taking those babies home to be in His presence was mercy.  
     Mostly He's been showing me just how big He is and how small I am.  His word says He is shrouded in mystery and that I can't begin to understand the depth of who He is, His character.  His ways and thoughts are so much higher than mine.  But I feel like in my time here, He has been totally blowing my mind and exploding my idea of who He is.  It's like He's saying - 'No Anna.  You can't understand all that I am, my ways.  I am too big.  Too great.  Too wise.  And it is for your good that I don't reveal all my ways to you.  But here, I'm going to pull back the curtain, just a little bit and help you to understand just a little bit more.'  That's what I feel like is happening now.  I'm getting to see just a little bit more of His ways and His character, and it is overwhelming.  I don't understand it.  I haven't reconciled all of this in my mind.  But I also know that He is big enough to handle all of my doubts, fears, trepidations, misgivings, ignorance, and misunderstanding.  There is grace for what I can't understand.  He is big enough.  

Oh, how great are God's riches and wisdom and knowledge!

How impossible it is for us to understand His decisions and His ways!

For who can know the Lord's thoughts?

Who knows enough to give him advice?

And who has given him so much

that he needs to give it back?

For everything comes from Him and
 exists by His power and
 is intended for His glory.

All glory to Him forever! Amen.

Happy International Nurses Day!!!

According to Wikipedia, Nurses Week is celebrated around the world each year in early May to celebrate the contributions nurses make to society.  May 12 was chosen as International Nurses Day because it is also the birthday of the founder of modern nursing, Florence Nightingale.  In years past I celebrated Nurses Week in the hospital, and all I got to show for it was a new pen and maybe a specially catered dinner.  But this year I'm stoked to be celebrating International Nurses Day INTERNATIONALLY!  Today, on this our international day of jubilee, be sure to make extra special fanfare and hoopla for all the nurses in your life.

Check her out!  She is the reason I joined this proud profession.  If it was in my power, I would change International Nurses Day to her birthday because she is the best nurse I know.  I only hope that one day I am 1/300th the nurse.  Consider this me making fanfare and hoopla for my favorite nurse, my mother.

Milkshakes Are Back... HELP!

What is the perfect summertime treat?  That's right kids, ice cream.  And not just any form of ice cream, but here in our house D and I like to make milkshakes.  So with the surge of hot weather, I have been indulging in some of these special treats.  This week I had a mint Oreo milkshake and a strawberry milkshake which was especially delicious, not quite Braum's quality but still yummy.  The strawberry milkshake made me think of Jorge as I feel like he almost always orders strawberry.  Anyway, right about now you might be confused about the title of this particular post.  Why did A write that she needs help?  It might seem like the return of the milkshake is nothing but good news, but it does pose one small problem, or maybe should I say a big problem.  Last summer, my first in the city, I ate all the milkshakes my heart desired, and then I watched my face swell up like I had been stung by a horde of bees.  Herein lies the problem with eating all the milkshakes.  As I've mentioned before, it is hard, for a variety of reasons such as time, heat and culture, for me to get the exercise that I need.  I have a great walking partner and a nice park to walk in, but I'm afraid the heat will soon push us out.  So here is where you come in to play.  (Disclaimer: In the past, I really have tried not to use my blog as a forum for getting things from you my faithful readers but desperate times call for desperate measures.)  For those of you with old workout DVDs gathering dust on the shelf, please feel free to send them my way.    I'll take anything.  Richard Simmons.  Billy Blanks.  Jane Fonda.  Chuck Norris.  (Do you sense my desperation?)  Seriously though.  8 Minute Abs.  Pilates.  Or PeeWates as my niece likes to call it.  Elle McPherson's My Personal Best (who remembers that?)  I already own 30 Day Shred and Ripped in 30, but I'll take basically anything else.  Or instead of sending me your old DVDs, you could spend your time trying to develop a noncaloric milkshake that doesn't taste like nast.  Your call.  Both worthy endeavors.

Old Friends

I had to leave the country recently so I got the chance to meet up with some old friends.  I had the best time catching up.  I only stayed in their country for less than 24 hours, but we packed as much fun into the time as possible.  The culture of the region where they live is a little more relaxed than where I live so I took full advantage by painting my nails, wearing Western clothes, exercising in the great outdoors, letting my hair cascade down around my shoulders, and by eating a lot of really great food.  So I guess in reality the culture there is actually a LOT more relaxed than my city.  (Surprisingly, of all the stuff I just listed the thing I missed the most was being able to go for a jog.  You might have guessed that I missed a certain meat product the most, but after a year of doing nothing but excercise videos, it was nice to hit the streets with my iPod and running shoes.  I am able to walk in a local park in my city, but I don't get quite the same high as I do from taking a run.)  We also went to a local garden and took in the beauty.  It was nice to just sit in a peaceful environment and catch up on each other's lives.  It had been over a year since I had seen these girls, and I thoroughly enjoyed my time with these dear friends.  Father really used them to minister to my spirit at a time when my heart was discouraged.  Thank you Father for making us for community.    

Happy May Day

This blog post is in honor of Sister.  She has picked up on the recent trend of me writing more at the end of the month when I feel the pressure of getting 4 posts in for the month so I've decided to surprise her and write one for May Day.  Since I can't leave a basket at her door, I'll leave this post for her instead.  We'll see how many days it is before she actually discovers the post.  The weather here has been unseasonably nice for this time of year.  This time last year was already seriously uncomfortable.  This April was nice and breezy with plenty of showers to keep the hot hot heat at bay.  Apparently it's unusual for it to rain so much in April.  I've been taking advantage of the cooler than expected weather by taking plenty of walks in a nearby park and by sitting on my roof in the evenings.  (We all know that when I say cool I don't mean like 70s or even 80s right?  I just mean that it's not 110 yet.)  It's unclear if an unseasonably cool April also means a cooler May, June, July, August, September, and October, but we'll see.  I hope so.  Father, thank you for the nice weather.  Thank you for refreshing my soul with the breeze.  Thank you that you are in control of all things - even the weather.