Find me here.

http://pinsandshores.blogspot.com/

We talked about Ananias and just how hard that must have been. To hear the voice of God, to say “Here I am” and to be called into something absolutely ridiculous and dangerous. How deep must have been his intimacy with Jesus to trust him so much that in spite of the appearance of the situation?– of a crazy zealot set out to kill you, and that you are called to pray for healing and love on him. Talk about loving your enemies. I think the other thing is how humble his heart must have been. For me, if I was him, i’d think “you want to use THIS guy as your instrument? what about me, am i not faithful and loving, why this murderous man?” Thankfully i am not Ananias.. eek.  But no, he simply obeys out of love for Jesus and not only that, is instrumental in discipling, vying for him. Could you imagine the looks and gasps when he walks into church with the guy who is supposed to be arresting and killing them?  And i am not making light of what happened today when i say that, it would be like someone at Discovery Channel bringing James Lee tomorrow to the office party– people would be angry, upset at both James and the person who brought him. How dare they bring the person who was trying to kill them into their space? But Ananias put himself on the line when he brought Paul. Now that is true brotherhood, standing on nothing except the grace of Jesus.

In the body, Paul was matured, refined. Paul was a great man, but he still had to make the choice to pursue truth, and put aside the past, no matter how passionately he had held onto it just hours before. How hard would it be to denouce everything you thought you believed in front of everyone you once regarded as family? There must have been a window where he thought “can i really do this?” I think it is here where Ananias and the body was able to encourage him, support him, and teach him all the more of how real Jesus is. It certainly is a challenge to us and me– do i pursue new believers with this much intention, especially in the early stages of conversion? The church is integral to maturing and nurturing that personal encounter that people have when they first see God.

In Ephesians 1, Paul is praying blessings and thanks for the church of Ephesus, how they love, how they pursue God. And he reminds them of the power and promise, given to them as a church.

For this reason, because I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints, I do not cease to give thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers, that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, according to the working of his great might that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come. And he put all things under his feet and gave him as head over all things to the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all.

(Ephesians 1:15-23 ESV)

I love that.  So often i think about God’s promise to me, my walk, my maturity, the power given to me. Which isn’t bad a bad thing, but the text and letters of Paul are written to chuches, not specific people. We are meant to claim this promise as a body, we are to build one another up, we are to be the fullness of Him. I think its a charge to us. To pursue together and live out together, the power of every spirtual blessing, not just individually. So with that, how do we measure up to Paul’s pride for the Church of Ephesus? Would Paul also say that he does not cease to give thanks for us? Sofia brought up that awesome point and its a great way to measure where we are.

Honestly, i dont’ know. I think there are certain areas of our body do well in, other areas we do not. Personally, i’d like to see us get a bit uncomfortable. To be involved in each others lives, to call eachother and not be surprised, to get the full story (no matter how ugly the details are) and the updates on the situations of our lives, to rejoice and weep together. I think we need to get personal, but to do that takes time. Its is a personal challenge for me, and i hope God would create a deeper sense of urgency in this matter– to devote and invest in the Body and not just hope the “leaders” will do it all for me.

Yet because of the mess of my schedule, on the bright side, i have been able to listen to lots of sermons on my commute. I’m a huge Matt Chandler fan and dug into the archived stuff (http://fm.thevillagechurch.net/sermons) and started the Ecclesiastes series. I chose these series because  lately, the theme of vanity of vanities has been resonating in my soul (if you couldn’t tell from some of my older short stories haha).

To sum up, Solomon states that everything under the sun is meaningless. Partying, extravagance two things he had much more than we can ever imagine ended up becoming predictable, unsatisfying, and in the end meaningless. So he moves on to building, building his home, creating forrests, gardens, using his hands, and in the end this too is meaningless. All of it will crumble and fade with time. All things will be passed onwards and nothing will remain. Enjoying his wealth, sex with this 700 wives, being educated, all things he not only did, but did in a way so much bigger than we can imagine was all meaningless. Why? because we die. Even if i had it all, i will die and have no control over it after that. But even in life, it is still meaningless because if i should have all the things this world can offer me, then in that completion of materials there is despair. There is no more purpose if all things are now mine. We are minutes, seconds, closer to death. We are not guaranteed 80 years of life with a warm bed and family around use as we close our eyes for the last time in peaceful slumber.

Honestly, we are more liekly to die in a cold hospital, where no one knows your name, that all traces of your individual identity are stripped as you wear a uniform gown, socks, and lie in starch white bed. The only thing that verifies you as a person who exists is a wrist band with a barcode. Not only that, but there are many middle aged, young people in our hospital who suddenly die, who suddenly have stage 4 cancer, who suddenly develop an allergic anaphylaxis and die.

I know the churchy answer to all of this is to love jesus, which i have no intention of contending over- but how do i reconcile that my heart over the last year has been in despair? What is the point of all of this? was the honest question in my heart. If most of us live and die running in and out of metros, cars, cubicles, and houses, if each day resembles the next, what is the point of waking up to live a faded shadow of that which had already passed and already mediocre in every way? These thoughts led me to ecclesiastes.

In going through the series, M. Chandler says something like (pardon the paraphrase) as we begin to see the meaningless of everything under the sun, we develop a sixth sense: faith. Faith to see beyond the sun. This really struck a good chord in me. To see the vanity of life on earth is to be homesick for his kingdom, is to be looking toward what is beyond what this earth can give. Instead of feeling sad and lost for thinking this way, i can start seeingthe beauty of such morbid thoughts and felt hopeful for what is to come. That out of despair for the lostness of everything, there is a hope and dare i say, joy, for the full restoration of meaning in life.

So with that, my prayer and ambition is to pursue a greater faith. Pursue God to find meaning in an otherwise meaningless life.  A.W. Tozer quotes Richard Rolle, who puts the process of this pursuit like this–

” whenever the heart begins to burn with a desire for God, she is made able to receive the uncreated light and inspired and fulfilled by the gifts of the Holy Ghost, she tastes the joys of heaven. She transcends all visible things and is raised to the sweetness of eternal life. . . Herin truly is perfect love; when all intent of the mind, all the secret working of the heart, is lifted up into the love of God.”

This is what i long for.

To sum up:

Hobbies and Goals– Gobbies that are adverbs

-Guitar playing
-Knitting
-Painting
-Cooking
-Sewing
-Gardening

I had a long reasoning for each, but in a nutshell– i used to think all the domestic chores were meant to trap and suffocate a woman into a quiet life at home. But now i see- these abilities liberate the woman to actually be free. No seamstress, restaurant, or store controls her environment, but rather the woman herself. Likewise– i dont’ want to be so trapped into eating and buying things because i have no other choice, but i want to eat and buy things with full confidence that i truly can’t do it better. I want to be more self sufficient, self sustaining in my home life. sigh. I also wrote a list of things id like to eventually blog about, but that too is long– and i guess if i’m going to blog about it, it will show up later.

GAH! oh well, i guessi need some short blogs anyways.

Not really sure even what to write about– i guess just the status on everything. Work is difficult. I feel exhausted at the end of each shift, get home with 15 minutes to shower and sleep so i can wake up at 5 am. Long commutes really suck. But free rent does not suck, so i shouldn’t keep complaining. I like the people on my unit, the manager, and all the interpersonal things are good– which is rare and a blessing. But i think the pace is so quick, i feel like i’m not even using my brain. Mostly i’m just completing tasks. I never get to really talk to my patients, think about what the overarching goal is, what their plan is, where they will be going, the needs they still have after the stay at the hospital. I guess that may come with time when my time management skills are better. Until then, i feel crazy at work.  sigh.

When it comes to updates, i don’t need subtle change of topics.

With that– I started going to a chiropractor. I have been having low back pain and headaches for quite some time, and have difficulty standing or walking for long periods of time. I went for a free consultation and my xrays showed some weird results. I started treatment with high hopes, and am still a bit on the fence– but will definitely update about the progress. The cracking does feel really good and i do find myself being able to stand for longer periods of time. Since it is the begining its hard to say if that is all mental or progress. More on that later.

I think part of the difficulty in maintaining this blog is the name. Eric and I chose it out together, and i think sometimes i psych myself out of writing blogs. I fear i am not living up to the name– like if i want to be cynical it prevents me from writing it out for fear that it appears so hypocritical. Its a good thing though– i can be really cynical and pessimistic given the e-freedom to do so. However, it has made writing consistently hard– which shows the sin in my heart– but we are always a work in progress so– i’m glad you are bearing with me (especially if you are reading this, and not just skimming ).

Spiritually– i have been in a funk. There is no question in that. There have been dark dark moments, desperation and confusion. And to be frank, i am grateful. In this time, i have been pushed to correction, repentance, and re-teaching of the gospel. I have been reminded that it is perfectly normal to be in that place, and there is no shame. I have also learned what the keys are to remaining in christ during these painful times: reminders of what the gospel story is, lovers of christ to love on me, and spending time discussing the things of god with others. Isolation makes these times feel so much dryer, so much lonelier. It makes it all feel so slow and hopeless. But talking about God, spending time with people who love Christ, draws me near to Christ, even if i feel physically unable to do it myself in prayer. God has been correcting me on a lot of things, a lot of misconceptions i have had. Being corrected and admitting you are wrong is hard, and so this has been a hard time. Thank goodness we have a loving, patient, faithful God. He didn’t get restless and weary when i still didn’t get it. He didn’t get frustrated and angry– but gently he remained. Gently, but firmly he spoke truth into my life. Tenderly he exposed my sin, my pride, my idolatry, yet he remained. I kept looking for an emotional response to demonstrate that he was with me– but what i see now is that he is so much bigger and deeper than tears or goosebumps. He is the alpha and the omega, the creator and perfector of all things. If i don’t feel him, does that mean he doen’st exist? If i’m not crying or get goosebumps, does that mean he is not with me?

I am still learning and being reminded, that God is not temporal and fickle– but permanent and faithful. He is who He is,  bigger than even my emotions can imagine. and in the end, my purpose is to bring Him GLORY.

So with that– i have a hard time bringing that in practically. How can God’s glory be evident in my day to day life? Is it enough for me to just say “God bless you” to a patient? Though against hospital regulations, should i try to bear witness to the gospel to my patients? At times i feel overwhelmed by the need for leaders and love in church, and yet it is so hard for me to reach out because i myself feel dry. Not really sure what the solution is.. hmm.

Final thought for the day. I was sort of apprehensive about how i would regard this past summer retreat. Would i secretly want things to go wrong so i could be proud of my past retreat organization? Would i secretly want people to beg for me back? Sadly, i did think some of those things and i did have to repent of that.Doing big projects for church is a good thing, but it cannot define me or my place. Not doing the retreats does not mean i am irrelevant and forgotten. And i am glad that my worth and value to the body is not limited by retreats, more than that– i am glad (honestly) that this retreat came and went well with none of my input.

It was a lesson that all the things we do in this life will keep going on when we are gone. If i should die tomorrow– they will hire someone else to replace me. They will find someone else to serve where I am at. All my duties and responsibilities will somehow be taken care of. And if my worth or value should be placed in any of those things of which i am easily replaceable, than my worth is very little.  This is a question i will always have to check myself on. I am performance oriented and tend to place my worth in my accomplishments, my efficiency– so I need to be checked and reminded that all of my value is that i am an eternal child of God. THat all of my accomplishments and righteous acts are filthy rags, and it is by deep mercy and grace that i can know and commune with the Holy and Living God.

hm. this was a messy post, but i’m a bit rusty so it will have to do.

–

100 days.

I hate the smell of smoke. Cigarette smoke that is. Its fumes are noxious, vengeful and nauseating. When I smell it, I think of a hangover from some forgettable New Year’s of my youth, and I picture a toilet—cold, white and comforting.

Yet, it is time for my cigarette.

Before you stomp off, enraged at my seeming hypocrisy, know that my addiction is a carefully calculated expiration date. You see, I despise life. I despise breath, air, water, the key elements to survival. I despise the consumerism of our society, the meaningless from which we wander through and through, clutching onto small pillars of self worth until they are nothing but deteriorated faces of who we wish we were, like a washed up actress clinging onto some obscure award won in the heyday of her youth.

But unlike the greats, I am too much of a coward to die. A bullet is too easy, too artless, too meaningless. To die in war is even more meaningless. To die by the hands of earth, wind, water or fire, all too scary for me. So, all I have left are my poised and beautiful cylinders of death. A constant stream of minusing minutes, 11 to be precise. And so it goes—with no desire to live or to die violently, I passively accept mortality under the nauseating stream of smoke asphyxiating my lung cells.

As I mentioned, my hopes for death is carefully constructed. If each cigarette will deduct 11 minutes of my life, and I inhale about 1 pack and 16 cigarettes per day,  with a reluctant estimate of, at the very least, 20 more years of life, than that should eliminate approximately 100 days of my sorry, sad existence.

Perhaps some envision me as a prime candidate for Zoloft or other means of life-coping therapies. But fear not, I am content, now that I am dead, 100 days earlier than expected.

–

These are the verbalized, written memories of a life un-lived. The lost minutes of a man who died 100 days too early.

–

I am awake. My watch alerts me that it is time for my morning cigarette(s). The self-timer on my Mr. Coffee machine dutifully initiates the preparation of my morning coffee(s). War and Sudoku puzzles, pieces of the paper which greet me each morning, alongside my coffee (s) and cigarette(s).

¨´I am capable, I am young, I have potential.¨¨ I manage to say this aloud today without scoffing, jeering, or sucking my teeth in disgust of this bizarre ritualistic mantra. After sighing my usual sigh, I move on to my immaculate closet. One filled with tailored suits from varying designers, alphabetized and ordered by color (shades of gray and black require differentiation, appreciation even) of said designers. I feel less unimportant in a suit.

Today is Monday, I shall wear my Monday suit, with my Monday tie—a Michael Kors piece, one I primarily bought because it would fit well with my other M pieces for the M day, that is Monday.

My office is minimalistic, symmetric. I spend approximately a quarter of the eight hours smoking in the back alley, another playing computer solitaire, another eating lunch, and another doing work. I had three conversations suspiciously reminiscent of ones i´ve had just one hour prior.

¨Hi B. How was your weekend?¨

¨Fine, how was yours S.?¨

¨Did the same ole, same ole. Golf with my buds, had a few drinks, and went back to the wife for some dinner. Did the same on Sunday.¨

¨Hi B. How was your weekend?¨

¨Fine, how was yours P.?¨

Öh, you know, the same thing. Golfed 18 holes, had a beer or two, and went home, hung out with the wife and kids.¨

My mouth seems to move, and yet the sounds that come out cannot be willed into different words. Strange. While I said ¨fine¨to both S. and P., what I really wanted to say was ¨Same ole, same ole, tried to pick up a girl, got drunk alone, and fantasized about killing myself.¨ Of course, I said none of these things (which were in fact true), I wouldn´t want them to reveal shared desires, and then be bonded. The sheer thought of that makes me lose all desire to kill myself—because then I would surely not be unique or special and have to compete in extravagance or thoughtfulness of our deaths.

The most exciting part of my day commences—the time period between 4:58 and 5:00 pm. The collective anticipation of herded, cubicled, bored, generation x-ers seems to cumulate and for the brief 2 minutes, coagulate into almost-hope. And then it passes and we are out the door, on our blackberries into the world which escapes us.

Four gin and tonics, 3 beers, and 2 failed pick ups later, I am at home once again. Falling asleep in my chair (after properly hanging up my suit and tie),  to the sounds of Sport Center.

–

I am awake. I have my cigarette(s) and coffee (s). It is sunny and forecasted to remain so today. It is Tuesday and so I must wear my Tuesday suit with my Tuesday tie, both designed by Tommy Hilfiger (it was a bit of a challenge to find other T designers, leaving me to have a similar but lighter suit to wear on Thursday).

In my cubicle, I realize I hate fashion. I hate that some fat man or skeleton of a woman in Milan are making arbitrary decisions and fooling our society at large to consume and purchase whatever they have decided to be ïn¨. It annoys me when people claim some unique sense of style, when truly, over 100 million other people have bought the same things, wear them in the same way, and often will also, too loudly express, even brag about their superiority of putting cloth over their naked bodies. They judge others for wearing things that are last season, when the fat heads and thin bodies in Milan are judging the rest of us for wearing what they had said 3 months prior should be in vogue. Our whole sense of outward expressed self, is nothing but the old, watered down versions of what someone else viewed as chic or new. We are the recycled ideas of the true visionaries, we are the consumers of mirages in the form of the silk, wool, and linen. We are mediocre and lame, crippled by credit cards into cookie cutter paper doll fashion.

Alas, I, by no means am above this. The only way I can in someway feel shape or form of self via fashion is by my organization. M is for Michael Kors, Marc Jacobs, so on; T is for Tommy Hilfiger, so on an so fourth. Of course, if it is cloudy I will wear a wild card, consisting either of Armani, Burberry, Calvin Klein, any other designer that does not fit in with the days of the week. Another loose sigh escapes me, and concludes this thought. My watch tells me its time for my 8^th cigarette break.

A new success. I have reached a new high score in Solitaire. My aim, which was achieved, was to get through all the cards until they are lined up from King to Ace, without one card submitted into the cavernous, tempting place holders, all in less than a minute. Was this mythological, ambitious goal attainable? Today, at 4:42 pm, it was done.

After a cool lean back in my chair, I relished in my victory with an air of confidence that was momentarily clouding and spilling over my cubicle into my neighbors´ spaces. It almost made them pop in and ask… but the best part of the day was to begin. And so what was an almost explanation of my longed for victory, was instead the communcal silence, the almost-hope high of our days.

2 bottles of wine, 1 beer later, I am asleep on the posh rug of my apartment.

–

I am awake.

Etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc

–

97 days sporadically peppered into the lapse of time to which I lived, of useless existence later, I died.

My inward parts are in turmoil and never still; days of affliction come to meet me. I go about darkened, but not by the sun; I stand up in the assembly and cry for help. I am a brother of jackals, and a companion of ostriches. My skin turns black and falls from me, and my bones burn with heat. My lyre is turned to mourning, and my pipe to the voice of those who weep. Job 30:27-31

Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God. Psalm 42:!1

And he said to them “You are those who justify yourselves before men, but God knows your hearts. For what is exalted among men is an abomination in the sight of God. Luke 16:15

And he said to his disciples “Temptations to sin are sure to come, but woe to the one through whom they come…. Pay attention to yourselves! If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents forgive him. Luke 17:1,3

So you also, when you have done all that you were commanded, say, “We are unworthy servants, we have only done what was our duty. Luke 17:10

Self will and prayer are both ways of getting things done. At the center of self will is me, carving a world in my image, but at the center of prayer is God, carving me in his Son’s image. .. When Sue shifts from self-will to a prayer fellowship it feels scary, as if she is jumping over air. In fact, she is leaving the unstable foundation of her own self-will and entering the stability of God. Paul Miller, A Praying Life.

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from your presence and take not your Holy Spirit from me. restore unto me the joy of your salvation, and uphold me with a willing spirit. Psalm 52:10-12

If I speak in tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, i am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers and understand the mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have faith, so as to remove mountains but have not love, i am nothing. If i give away all i have and if i deliver my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. I Corinthians 13:1-13

For godly grief produces a repentence that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death. II Corinthians 7:10

We see the world as monolithic, frozen. To ask God for change confronts us with our doubt about whether prayer makes any difference. Is change even possible? Doesn’t God control everything? If so, what’s the point? Because it is uncomfortable to feel our unbelief, to come face-to-face with our cynicism, we dull our souls with the narcotic of activity. Paul Miller, A Praying life.

Whom have I in heaven but You? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. Psalm 73: 25-26

Apart from me you can do nothing. John 15:5

The Lord is my shepherd, i shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. he restores my soul, He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Even though i walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for you are with me; Your rod and your staff they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies, you anoint my head with oil; my up overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and i shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Psalm 23

As the deer pants for flowing streams so pants my soul for you O God. Psalm 42:1

Come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, and i will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden light. Matthew 11:28-30

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary afflictions is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison. II Corinthians 4:16-17

Sovereign– you will be sovereign, even when my circumstances don’t change. lord I don’t deserve your tendercations, when my unbelief has kept me from your truth. I want my life to be a sweet devotion to you. Candis Kim- You are still Holy

I have decided, i have resolved, to wait upon you Lord. Surely as the sun will rise, you’ll come to us, certain as the dawn appears. You’ll come. Let your glory fall as you respond to us. Hillsong- You’ll come

For you did not receive the Spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry ‘Abba, Father!’ Romans 8:15

He is jealous for me, loves like a hurricane, I am a tree. Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy. When all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory, and i realize just how beautiful You are, and how great your affections are for me. And oh, how He loves us so. David Crowder Band- How He Loves

I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt. Open your mouth wide, and i will fill it. Psalm81:10

You come like you promised you would. I want to surrender for good, I know that i need you. And i don’t want to keep living life alone. So take my heart, and make it new, make it true, and make it like you. Take my hands, I lift them high, they’re yours not mine to do– do what you will. Desperation Band- Ready Now

In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith– more precious than gold that perishes though it its tested b fire– may be found to result in the praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. I Peter 1:6-7

I am coming back, because you are coming after me. And I surrender now. Desperation Band- Hidden Track

I am restored, I am redeemed, by your spirit I am free. I will fall at your feet, and I will worship you here. Hillsong- This is our God.

I feel as if I have sort of been giving the web-world a biased view of my experience here. The last entry was a sort of need-based verbal explosion of what happened, mainly for personal therapeutic reasons (it helped). I am thankful for the many friends who keep me in their prayers and responded promptly with words of encouragement. I don’t know what I would do without you.

We went to a wonderful indian restaurant friday night, again, another therapeutic tool for myself and the others and my first massage which was 10 dollars for an hour at a country club (really cheap). The massage was.. mm i don’t know if was as relaxing as it was kind of ticklish and awkward, but maybe that was just me.

Though we are only here for about 5 more weeks, church is something all three of us want to experience. I’ve emailed a YWAM base and another church whose american ministry eric and i are familiar with, but haven’t heard back yet. Both are at least 1-2 hours away. To my surprise,  my faculty member attends church and had a few suggestions. Today is a no go, mainly because we all haven’t done much research and its been a bit hectic. I think we may watch a video podcast of a sermon.

Anyways, back to what I was saying– that in spite of a bad friday, the experience here has been positive. Ugandans at large are warm, smiley, kind people. They say hello to each other on the street, in a non-come on way. The food has no preservatives, so to our surprise, much of what we purchased and what we expected to eat over the next few weeks, we have to eat right away. 6 avocados (large ones) need to be eaten asap, eek. People have been very receptive to teaching us  and that has been good.

Something interesting is that the UAE (the site I was to originally go to) would have had me placed in the PICU (pediatric intensive care unit). In deciding and applying for this experience, I thought that if I go to Uganda and do Labor and Delivery (L&D) than, I should do that as a career. If i go to UAE, i should pursue PICU. But as i work in L&D, its not that I don’t like it, i do– its just that i find myself really enjoying the baby care, interacting with the kids here– and i start to wonder if perhaps PICU is a better spot for me.

For a few reasons. PICU would have more real babies, since once you leave the hospital with your newborn, if they should come back they would be admitted in the PICU, not the NICU (neonatal ICU). Additionally, having more technical skills would be a good thing, and I really do enjoy working with families and doing family teaching (large components of pediatric work). I applied for a PICU job before I left, have yet to hear back– so we shall see. As i continue to pray and weigh out what would be best (and if I even get a job haha), who knows. God is funny in that way. I came here relatively sure this meant i should work in L&D, and really maybe he brought me here to show me PICU is actually a better fit. haha So please pray for a job for me, if you can.

Another nice thing about having a lot of down time this weekend was that I could really catch up on bible reading, reflection, and me-time. I must say, that having an iPod touch here is maybe the best thing ever. I can text to the US for free, I can read ESV for free and without internet (since it can be a bit shotty), i can formulate workouts, check my email and BOA balance– its one of the best luxuries i have for sure. The other is my nice sneakers (thanks angie!). Walking on a rocky path would not be fun in my other worn out, old shoes.

not really sure what the whole point of this entry is, but i guess that is a part of the package when all you have been doing for the last 30 hours is sleeping and thinking

A cord prolapse, which can occur after the water breaks– where the gush brings the cord out too, potentially squishing oxygen supply to the baby off. A full term woman, ready to give birth arrives, and upon discovery of the cord prolapse and subsequent delivery, the baby arrives blue, limp, and lifeless. A nursing student comes to weigh the baby where its floppy body sort of lays for a moment and she wraps it up, covers it face, and places in the dirty utility room. She states that the baby got tired of breathing. with more probing she revealed the cord prolapse. I cannot understand what it must have been like for this woman. She arrives, ready. Heartbeat is heard upon arrival, all is as it should be. Baby clothes are ready, names ready. And after all of the labor, all is left is a memory of what could have been. I believe she was alone.

Another woman arrived, quietly and alone, speaking very little english. A belgium med student and i were getting more comfortable doing vaginal exams, fetoscope heart checks, and fundal height checks (all done on admission to hear baby’s heart, know gestational age, and cervical dilation). The med student states she hears the heart rate, but i note her fingers tapping the rhythm of the rate, and it seemed very slow. Normally a fetal heart rate is 120-160 beats per minute. I checked her and felt mom’s pulse, and so what we we were listening to was mom’s heart. I am still a total noob at listening on these things, and so i figured i had done it wrong. She looked not quite full term, but again i wasn’t sure if that was just my own interpretation, especially since women give birth here and they are very very thin. You can basically see the baby move when she lies down and you can see when her bladder is full.  During this time, i am gushing over her, ” congratulations! do you have names? is your baby a boy or a girl.. ” etc. and she didn’t really understand what i was saying, which sometimes happens.

The charge nurse came over, spoke to her in ugandan, and explained that she was in fact a bit preterm, 34-36 weeks and was referred to our ward because the fetal heart could not be found. Essentially, to confirm fetal demise. I look at the woman, she has tears in her eyes, and i remember that when i asked if she had names for the baby, she stated “i had names.” When the charge nurse confirmed there was no heart rate and that the pelvic inlet was too small to deliver vaginally, she was told she would have to be transferred to the high risk ward, to get a c-section. She was alone as well. I told her i was sorry for her loss. I felt.. i dont know, terrible. terrible for gushing over what was already a difficult loss. I felt terrible for watching her wait for hours to be transferred, watching other babies, other women deliver, hearing the labor pangs of others–all the while knowing, that would not be her. She said she had neighbors who would be with her once she got to the other unit. Tears were in her eyes throughout the day, but she never sobbed or wept. I cannot imagine losing your first, this way. I wish there was a way to let others know, enhance sensitivity, validate this loss as grief-worthy mourning. Sure, US has its issues in L&D, but perinatal loss is one area i do think US has it right. I know that my thoughts will always, periodically gravitate toward what happened, and what i could have done to be more sensitive, kind, compassionate to her.

Our last lady came in quite progressed in her labor, 8-9 cm, almost ready to push. She had one child who was already 10 years old. She was distraught, crying, very afraid of being transferred to get a c-section. We tried to calm her, and one of us stayed with her. Somehow i got a reputation for doing baby care, so 3 babies needed bulb suctioning (maybe because no one else wants to do it), weighing, and basic assessments (that aren’t recorded, just done for my sake and so that if something is wrong i can report it). During this time, she asked the other nursing student to name her baby, to which the student of course says “you should name your baby something you find beautiful” and something nice like that. She had no interest to name the baby, because she revealed that this pregnancy was a result of rape. She is a christian and could not get it aborted– but what is she to do with a 10 year old and a newborn– she said it would be “starting all over”. She did not tell any other health providers, and during her contractions and pain– it was unclear as to whether or not she was sort of reliving the experience. She would mumble things, say she was so confused, but when i asked her about what she had just said after the contraction was over, she would deny it or look at me like i was crazy. It was a sad moment. We didn’t get to see if she delivered or not, but there was real fear, fear of this child, fear of what happened, fear of what could happen.

This all seems so surreal, so fake. I wish it were. I wish i didn’t see these things. It seems difficult to hold on to the fact that God is sovereign and good, that His will is better than what we can imagine. I knew this would come up, and I knew this would be something that would be confronted directly. It is and will be a work in progress, a struggle, but i know i must cling to what i know, which is that God is good. God is sovereign and His will is better.

When we arrived it was late in the evening, the air smelled like soil, incense and exhaust. Everything was dark. The sky was clear enough to see stars and clusters that looked like a milk spot. We were a bit delayed because my bag and another girl’s bag got lost, so we were filing the paperwork to get it back.

The house we are staying is very very nice. I have my own room for now, we decided to switch off each week, but it is really nice to sort of sit in silence and have everything that is yours sort of lie about. Food is cheap, but not really that tasty, because the Ugandans really like things bland. So for beans, rice, and chicken, its about 2 dollars. Ugandans are very quiet. They speak softly and use non-verbal communication a lot, like an eyebrow raise is a hello, or yes, or thank you kind of thing. Also, they are friendly and warm, always wanting to help and smiley. They will often cram into vans for even short drives, because walking is seen as a low-status kind of thing, like not enough money for a drive. So not many people walk except kids and the poor.

We started work at the low-risk labor and delivery and its only been a few days, but its been quite a struggle. The first day, no one really seemed to know what to do with us. We arrived saturday evening, and worked monday morning. So all of us were also jetlagged, tired, and disoriented, or at least i was. We came with our little supplies, bottled water, and hand sanitizer. Sometimes i feel like we look pretty ridiculous to them, but it is what it is. The culture of healthcare is so different here. People do not expect to be treated nicely or even treated today. Given any sense of kindness, they seem to be in utmost gratitude, as if something amazing was done, after just holding their hand. Also, women bring all of the supplies the nurses use. Its really quite remarkable that 40 week pregnant women come carrying a large basin, filled with necessary supplies such as sterile gloves, a large roll of cotton, a plastic sheet for them to lie on, baby blankets, jik- a bleach solution, and razors. The nurses, who all deliver babies, use the basin as a sort of trash can, the sterile gloves for vaginal exams, the cotton for soaking up fluids, etc., bleach for the unit to disinfect the beds and tools, and razors for cutting the cord, episiotomies , or other needs. Supplies are limited, but i have to say that the nurses really do a good job of doing what they can. Instruments are cleaned quickly and they make sure we are always wearing gloves. Infection parameters are maintained and supported by staff, but as they say “this is africa,” we do what we can do. Even still it is hard to take in. When resuscitating an infant, the unit ran out of oxygen and basically couldn’t really do much for the baby. it eventually got transferred to another unit who could help it.

The crazy part about birth here is the sheer sight of it. Women are on these old, ratty beds, naked, totally exposed– toward the window for the light since electricity is shotty, where many passerbyers walk on, unfazed by what they may see. Women who are 1-3 cm dilated wait in a room together, walk around, and once they are in active labor (4-7cm) will go to the said labor beds.  i’ve seen most come out relatively quickly when its time to push. I have been there 3 days and have seen about 8 births. The placentas are thrown in a large trashcan all together in a separate room. I don’t normally get grossed out by things like that, but seeing them all stacked together, oozing on top of each other made me a bit queasy.

It was a slow day, but we got to tour to the high risk ward, where many women await c-sections or highly supervised vaginal deliveries. The tour of this ward was really overwhelming for me. Women everywhere. The waiting area was filled. Women were in the hallways on mats, reaching out to us and saying “help me” while crying. I felt really.. i don’t know. Everything smelled like urine, blood, and vomit and Ob/GYNs were doing constant c-sections. Seeing this at first was just seeing it like you see a movie. When i came home and processed it,  i really felt exhausted and sad. I questioned myself and my being here. It is difficult to really gauge how much help any of us can do for this big of a problem. We can try to provide loving care, and make a difference one patient at a time, sure. but in the end.. people are still going to have 6.7 children, and still line up in the hall, and still have lots of maternal and fetal deaths.

It was chaos, and i had to go back to day to transfer a patient, and the second expereince was just as bad. the ambulance ride was basically just a ride to the hospital, no siren. And we had to wait for the ambulance to be full, with other patients before leaving. My full term, fully dilated patient had to take her stuff in the van and sit herself down. I helped her, but i mean the expectation was that she would do it herself. The driver took us to the high risk ward, where he stopped to chat with a friend, which is where i sort of drew the line. Aren’t ambulances supposed to be emergencies? I can understand the other things, due to low resources, but come on. eek.

There are a lot of mzungus (aka white people, which i am considered one too), who are studying abroad as we are. We met med students from belgium, iowa, nursing students from canada– its quite interesting. Other non-governmental organizational (NGO) people from the states are here too. We met a few, who basically were lost, rich people who wanted to help people, help themselves, and sort of stall before facing real life, or at least that is the impression i got, maybe i’m being judgmental.

One of the harder things though is getting used to the walk. Its about 3 miles to the hospital, so 6 miles each day, on a rocky path. I don’t think i’m terribly out of shape, but my feet get achy from all the rocks, and then we have to stand all day, and walk back. I guess i’ll get used to it.

Hopefully we can go on a safari for easter weekend, but that is in the works.

I miss being home though. I was sure i wouldn’t get so homesick, but i must admit i am. I miss coming home and hanging out with yesel, watching bones. I miss eric for sure, and i really miss just the safety and comfort of knowing he is 15 minutes away. I miss being home and picking in the fridge at what is mine, and talking to my mom over coffee sunday mornings. It hasn’t been a week yet, but i feel it already.

I know most of this is just adjusting and having the fact that i am in uganda sink in. But i know this is an experience God has opened the door for, and I am hoping to see him through this.

Pray for strength, for wisdom in how to really be proactive and yet culturally sensitive, for appreciation for what is here, and for good health. Will write soon.