Freedom and Closure

I wrote the following bit and never posted it, so here you go:

The morning ride to work is one of my favorite parts of the day. We pick up a few coworkers on the way to the hospital, so we take a circuitous route that goes from the main, paved road to dirt roads and huts. The multiple schools in the area all have different uniforms, so you see hundreds of kids with different colors, running and jumping and playing on their way to school. The best outfit is worn by two little boys who I see nearly every morning: they look to be 5 years old and stand hand in hand on the side of the road, waiting. They wear a little white cap, a purple plaid button-down, a purple vest, and purple shorts. We pass one red dirt field surrounded by huts that has crisscrossing paths with dozens of children streaming through from all directions. It’s a beautiful sight. All the children carry little jugs with water… but many times I see them crouching by a ditch, filling them up with that water. Many of them carry little straw brooms because they sweep the school grounds. They walk with their school books on their head, good practice for when they have to carry huge sacks of grain or whatnot. Sometimes we pass a row of people outside their huts brushing their teeth. I’m so proud of them.

My last day at the hospital, the staff asked me to speak in chapel. I shared what I had been learning from Romans 8 and the glorious freedom we have as the children of God. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=romans+8&version=NIV

We’re free from condemnation, shame, sin, and death. Since we are adopted as God’s children, we’re free from fear and free from the world’s hold on us.

We’re free from focusing on our struggles because our present sufferings aren’t worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us.

We’re free from the fear of failure, because if God is for us, who can be against us?

We’re free from the fear of trouble, or hardship, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword, because none of these things can separate us from the love of Christ.

We’re free from the fear of death, and free from the fear of life.

We’re free from the fear of present circumstances or future circumstances.

We’re free from the fear of anything else in all of creation, because nothing can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

We’re free to love as Christ loves.

We don’t have to live under the power of shame, sin, or fear, because we have the glorious freedom of being the children of God and the ultimate freedom of knowing Christ as Savior and knowing that nothing can ever separate us from Him.

 

I had good closure with the staff at the hospital and the people I had met in the city, able to say proper goodbyes. These 8 weeks were a wonderful break from the busyness of life at home. I didn’t get to see an elephant, but I saw zebras and monkeys and way more lizards, snakes, frogs, and bugs than I wanted to. Guess I’ll just have to have another Africa trip to see an elephant. Y’all can come. God had many things for me to learn during this time and it put many things into perspective. Many of the lessons seem cliché, but become very real when you experience them instead of just reading about them:

-Witchcraft is real and there is great deal of darkness in Africa. I know we’ve all heard it, but it’s very true that God’s light contrasts so sharply with the darkness. It’s very obvious to see someone who has the love of Christ here, as opposed to at home where someone may love God or may just be a nice person. Praying to God instead of paying a local healer to perform rituals such as burning or tying charms is quite noticeable.

-Learn how to pick up frogs and kill snakes. You may not always have someone else around. Do it. It’s perfectly acceptable to scream while doing so.

-Westerners value life, whereas Africans may lose 4 out of 8 children and are somewhat more nonchalant about death. Don’t stop valuing life.

-Even though our life expectancies may be longer, I’m not sure that we enjoy life as much. Sit down, drink a cup of tea, and enjoy your family and friends.

-Depend on God, not only for physical needs, but for emotional needs. I’ve found I can’t just manufacture peace and joy when I’m frustrated and dealing with others’ deep needs and suffering. It has to come from a true dependence on God.

-Be grateful, always be grateful. Especially for clean water and electricity.

-Jesus is everything. Put everything in your life in perspective with that truth.

 

I am so grateful for all of your support and prayers and encouragement. I’m glad you were able to share my experiences with me through this blog and hope to be able to see many of you in person soon! I would love to take my own advice and slow down and share coffee with you.  Please contact me using any of our marvelous modern technology and let me hear about your life and any prayer requests.

Love you wonderful people!

“Nothing can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Romans 8:39

 

Europe

I am part of the way back across the world, visiting my dearest sister and her family for a bit before returning to the states. I think possibly one of the most depressing experiences is seeing a new flight posted directly to your destination, but you just look down at the tickets in your hand for 3 more connecting flights, 2 layovers, and 22 more hours. I just thought of the hundreds and hundreds of dollars more it would be and how many less naps I could take, and carried on bravely. At the first airport I confused the security people because all of my liquids in my carryon were in a Ziploc bag. They ran it through twice and asked if they could look in my bag because all the liquids were in one area and it was strange. They looked in my bag, but ignored my 1 liter Nalgene full of water. My last experience in that town is 7 little boys running after me as I was walking across to board the plane, yelling “White person! Hey! You’re a white person! White person, white person!” The next airport, I was still a rarity… but finally by the third airport I was no longer the only pasty ghost, although I was still getting sideways looks as I exited the plane. The fourth airport was so wonderfully full of Europeans and I blended in. Blending in is my favorite. As some of you may be aware, Europe is significantly colder than Africa. As the plane finished taxiing, everyone started pulling parkas from the overhead bins and suiting up. I had a whole row to myself that flight, and I am having difficulty even finding the words to describe the emotional high I experienced, just know that I was blissfully happy. I had slept the whole way, so I was a bit drowsy as I exited the aircraft, but the frigid air rapidly reversed that. One more short hop and I was finally with my loving sister, brother-in-law, and the adorable nephew. I’m so happy here, I spent my early teenage years here and feel quite comfortable here.

We drove back from the airport… I’m glad I have this week of being a passenger on the right side of the road before I have to drive back in the States. Because I definitely startled a few times cause I thought we were driving on the wrong side and were about to die. Weird contrast to go from red dirt roads, palm trees, people in bright African prints, to green fields, windmills, canals, and people in black winter coats. I love both.

We went to the grocery store earlier. The meat is all clean and cut up and in packages, not covered in flies or reeking. I tried to restrain myself and not get too much, but it’s hard when you’re surrounded by delicious nostalgic foods from your past. And cheese. It was so exciting because I remembered the language… do you know how amazing it is to understand everything being said around you instead of only every 15^th word?

The contrasts between Africa and Europe are so very striking. I love them both, I do.

Colorful, hot, loud, dusty, crowded market vs. tiled, organized, cool, clean grocery store.

Red clay huts with naked kids playing in the dirt vs. cobblestone streets with rows of beautiful old, skinny houses.

Scorching sun vs. cold rain and gray skies.

Large compound and big house vs. 3^rd story 1 bedroom apartment.

Unclean water and power outages vs. tap water I can brush my teeth with (!!!) and reliable internet.

When I arrive back in the States, it will be my 3^rd culture in 2 months. Please be aware my head will be all kinds of messed up and I will be overwhelmed and that I will need extra grace.

I have a few half-written posts I’m trying to finish up and get posted, so everything will be a disjointed, but I wanted to let you know where I was in my journey.

Flip flops and pictures

We went to go kick around a soccer ball/football at a pitch near us. Took about 3 minutes for kids to start showing up. Took another 2 minutes of asking them to come play to get some teams together. Took another 30 seconds to tell them we’re really bad at this game. Took another 30 seconds for them to prove us completely accurate in that statement. School kids in flip flops or bare feet were sprinting all around, just taking the ball from us… hilarious and humbling. When they started sprinting, flip flops would go flying... then they would realize how far behind we were and stop and fix their shoes. One of the teenagers spoke English and helped us out, but it’s a good thing sports don’t really require much discussion, because we were far too out of breath to speak. When we stopped a little before dark, all the kids looked at us like we were crazy for being tired. They were probably good to go for another 3 hours.

Here are some pictures because I love you. Take your time enjoying them because the power went out 3 times while I was trying to upload them. It also took twice as long to bake a mango pineapple crisp tonight because we had to switch ovens 3 times. One oven blew the power out to one house, the second one was electric and cut off when the power went out, and we finally got it baked in a gas oven in the third house in the dark. Neighbors are good things to have.

 

We hiked up to the top of the point out on the lake and climbed some rocks and we could see all around and it was glorious. God's creation is beautiful.

I Run From Clowns

Of the things in life that make me uncomfortable, the one thing I did not expect to encounter in Africa was a clown. There is a volunteer group in town from somewhere in Europe that goes to hospitals and does clown things. They have long white lab coats, red noses, crazy hair, and other various creepy things. I can’t give you a good description because the two times they have come to the hospital I have suddenly had an urgent task elsewhere and have disappeared. Some of the children scream. I don’t know if its because they’re having an appropriate reaction to clowns, or because the clowns are white. Sometimes small children are completely terrified of white people and scream and scream while their parents laugh. It's sad.  

The buses that drive all over town that are completely packed are all decorated with various sayings and pictures. Bob Marley is represented on several. There is one that has Apple logos all over it and “Instagram!” on the back. One had Chris Brown and Rihanna gracing the rear windows. Jason Aldean, Eminem, Obama, Mother Mary… a great variety.

We went on a home visit out in the village with the people who deliver water filters. It was so much fun, I like sitting and being with people in their yard. Goats, children, straw mats, clay hut. The kid who had been sick with a GI disease that was the reason for the water filter delivery was doing much better. It was fantastic, he was chubby and smiling. The kid’s older brother was sitting inside their hut, meticulously covering his school notebook with a sheet of dirty newspaper. I have never seen a child fold such precise corners. His dad told him to come see the white people. He stood up and walked out and had the worst bowlegs I have ever seen. They had never gotten it corrected. He was 10. What do you say to a family that asks you to fix that? How do you explain Rickets and growth plates and insanely extensive surgeries?

This has been a good experience, I have learned a lot. However, I am now attempting to make my way back and have some tickets bought. Remember the plane that broke down while we were trying to get the PA students here? Well that airline is still not flying and that was the one my ticket was on. The other airline flies once a week, thankfully on the same day my original ticket was for. The price is now more than doubled. The agenda for tomorrow includes going to the two ticket offices and asking nicely for a refund and for a cheap ticket. Friday is the day for beggars anyways, so I might do a little of that as well.

 

Friday

God is good! I got a full refund on the one ticket and the new ticket for only a little more expensive than is normal. The Swahili speaker who was with me played bad cop. I didn’t play good cop so much as just stood there and smiled and was thankful. Also, the one office had air conditioning, so waiting was just fine with me.

We ultrasounded a lady today... “Congratulations, you have twins!” She sighed. We asked why. It was her second set of twins, which is actually common here. There was a lady at clinic the other day who had 11 kids, including 3 sets of twins. Think about what your life would be like with 3 sets of twins and 5 other children.

A gentleman came in yesterday with a bunch of fluid in the sac around his heart. We used the ultrasound and very, very carefully jabbed an 18g needle down in that and pulled out 300mls of bloody fluid. The fluid was pulled out in 10 ml increments, because that was the biggest syringe we had, and squirted into a rinsed out Mountain Dew bottle. Actually the hospital doesn’t have any syringes that big, we had to send a student to go buy them from a pharmacy down the road. The patient did great and is going home tomorrow.

Another kiddo today woke up out of the coma he had been in the past 3 days, which is always super amazing to see. This particular child had probably 5 or 6 different types of string tied on his limbs, neck, and around his waist. His family had been having trouble affording the medicine, because they had spent so much on “local healers,” I believe is the politically correct term. Whenever you ask the moms about it, they get ashamed and say the grandmother did it. It’s very annoying when they can’t buy medicine, which is very cheap here, because they have spent it all already. Then when the child doesn’t get better, they finally come to the hospital.

After 7 weeks, I now know when it is truly hot. It’s when your forearms sweat. Sweat is a normal, all day occurrence. But let’s get real. Forearm sweat is gross. Today, for example, we packed 9 people in an office about the size of a sardine can. Just kidding, but it’s probably about the size of a queen-size mattress. There is a desk, a bench for ultrasounds, the ultrasound cart, a folding chair, and a cabinet thing already in there. One of the PA students and I were perched on the bench, the doctor behind the desk, a patient sitting on a folding chair that we magically pulled from behind the cupboard. The other PA was behind the door unfortunately, and as his 2 concerned family members came in, they slammed the door open. Another doctor arrived with a question. The janitor also came in, squishing the PA and shoving the second doctor behind the door, then closed the door. There is a window, but no breeze. There’s no fan in that room. We were doing our best Southern lady impressions with EKG books, fanning for all we were worth and watching forearm sweat pop out. Then as the patient and his family were leaving, the next set of 3 people came crowding in. That didn’t count because the door was open and there was movement. Oh, can we talk about the complete lack of waiting turns here? There is no concept of lines, queues, numbers… nothing. It’s called whoever is fastest and loudest and gets their booty in the door first. Patients will come in 3 at a time and just stand there and listen to your entire conversation with the first one before you realize it’s not their family. #nohippa. It makes me so annoyed at clinic. I kick out all the fast moving young people and call the sweet 74 year old post stroke who has to have 2 people help her hobble in. They don’t get angry, they’re cooperative. Or maybe they are angry and I just don’t know angry words or swear words in Swahili, so I just smile and shut the door.

I read this from Jude recently: Be merciful to those who doubt; save others by snatching them from the fire; to others show mercy, mixed with fear—hating even the clothing stained by corrupted flesh.

It reminded me of this quote by Charles Spurgeon:

“If sinners be damned, at least let them leap to Hell over our dead bodies. And if they perish, let them perish with our arms wrapped about their knees, imploring them to stay. If Hell must be filled, let it be filled in the teeth of our exertions, and let not one go unwarned and unprayed for.”

What would that look like in our lives?

Love you all and see you soon, Lord willing and the plane don’t break.

Snake Cake

This week has been so busy I can’t even remember what all happened. I just know I am going through multiple cups of coffee every day and I don’t have wifi at my house. “Bado” means later. Some things are eternally bado.

We had some PA students come in this week for a tropical medicine rotation. They were supposed to arrive on Monday, but flights here are a bit chancy sometimes, so they finally arrived on Wednesday. A flight got cancelled with no notice, one of the two planes owned by this particular company broke, etc. However they are finally here and fun to be with. It’s been a long time since I’ve been overseas with people who have never been overseas. They’re very eager and excited, so it will be grand.

Clinic on Wednesday with all my favorite patients. A lady came in who needed a paracentesis. Plopped her on a bench in a hallway, the doctor stuck an 18g needle in her with no lidocaine, connected it to IV tubing, cut the end off the tubing, and drained several liters into a mop bucket. It took 4 of us to lift her onto the bench from the wheelchair. After her 6 hours of draining, she stood up by herself and walked out. She is so sweet and so grateful. The PA students arrived during our last few clinic patients. Guess what, I may not be able to speak Swahili, but after 4 weeks of repetition, I can understand the gist of medical conversations, so I translated. Have you had vomiting or diarrhea? I vomited 3 times today and had diarrhea once yesterday. Your pressure is high. Your sugar is high. Stop eating that. Can I eat this? How long have you been out of your meds? 1 day. 3 days. 4 months. I went on a trip for 5 months and ran out. Your joints hurt because you’re old. Don’t go to the witch doctor, take your medicines. Don’t take your child to the witch doctor, give him his meds. Stand up. Sit down. Lay down. Say “Ah.” Your heart is big. Your heart is normal. Have you had a cough? Do you have chest pain? Are your legs swelling? You have TB. You don’t have HIV. You have malaria. You don’t have malaria. He has a virus, stop giving him antibiotics and stop taking him to the witch doctor.

My personal favorite from a mother with a chunky 2 year old: “When I carry my child on my back and water on my head and walk up the hill I get short of breath and can feel my heart beating.”

Yup.

After clinic we went to go see a postpartum mother in heart failure. A little Lasix, a little oxygen, everything was great. We were walking out and saw a lady delivering in another room. We were invited in to watch. Apparently she had already delivered one twin and we were just in time to see the second one pop out. Baby #2 was not breathing. Baby #2 was blue. The person helping with the delivery was a nursing assistant volunteer. Not even a nurse, not even employed. This is not supposed to happen, but it does. The other people in the room were students. The guy kind of leaves the baby laying there and starts clamping and messing with the cord. The doctor’s like “What are you doing?” The doctor and I are both like “pick up the baby! Stimulate it!” The guy picks up the baby upside down and starts to jiggle it and we both make it abundantly clear to stop immediately. The guy finally cuts the cord and I snatch the baby and take it to the room where I knew there was suction and oxygen and an ambu bag, because of course that’s not in the delivery room. We work on the baby for quite some time, get him pinked up, get him breathing and warm. Now, the funny thing is we’re teaching a class next week on Helping Babies Breathe, so the PA students got to do it before reading the material. As we’re working on Baby #2, his sister, #1, is laying on the counter and screaming and she is a big baby and all pink, she’s fine. There’s also another baby laying on the counter who is dead. It was from someone else. This is all on a 3 foot counter. After a while baby #2 is fine, baby #1 is fine. I ask if we can take them to the mom, and they were like “We don’t do that here, we wait until mom is ready to feed them. The mom’s tired.” “It’s good for the baby.” “It’s OK, the mom doesn’t care.” Allrighty then. We give instructions to the nursing assistants what to do and to monitor them closely, etc. The next morning we learn in staff meeting that baby #2 died, and possibly baby #1, but we weren’t quite sure if they meant the 1^st twin had died or if they were talking about the other dead baby that was in there.  I was angry. While we’re on the subject, the other day I walked into a supply room on the ward and there was a dead 10-month old laying on the counter. I’m getting pretty tired of seeing kids dying. I work in an ER, we’re in the business of saving people. I see death, but not usually children.

On to more happy subjects. I’ve seen many people carrying interesting things on their heads. The most dangerous one so far was a lady walking with a rather sharp-looking garden hoe balanced on her head with the blade in front of her face. Crossing a very busy road.

We went to the market. It’s my favorite. The market ladies are so lovely and funny. I like them a lot and their fruit and vegetables are so delicious. Y’all should come.

“Slow obedience is no obedience” said my parents. As an adult, what does immediate obedience to God look like? I’ve been reading Matthew this week, and it’s a bit astounding to see the rapid response to God’s commands. “Get up” says God. Joseph gets up. “Go there” says God. Joseph goes there. “Don’t go there” says God. The Magi don’t go there. (Matthew 1:24, 2:12, 2:13-14, 2:20-21.) “Come follow Me” says Jesus. The fishermen go follow Him. (Matthew 4:19-22).

All of these people obey immediately. How can I learn to hear God like that and live like that? I believe I obeyed Him in taking this trip, but it was certainly a process with lots of doubting on the way. How do we get to the place where we walk so closely with Him that we know immediately when He is commanding us to do something and have the faith to act on it?

Yesterday as we were doing rounds at the hospital, a friend texts us and says he cut his forehead. Emailed me a picture. We voted unanimously that it needed suturing and piled in the car. The kitchen table was prepared. The instruments sterilized. Banana leaves cut for thread. Just kidding, we had real sutures. Never travel without your hemostats. Valuable tools, I’m glad I brought mine. Lidocaine was drawn up. Then realized there was no needle smaller than an 18g. The 2 PA students, myself, and the doctor all started giving each other sideways glances and doing little silent eyebrow communication: “That’s huge.” “Should we drive back to the hospital?” “Do you have any smaller needles?” “Would it be better without lidocaine?” “That’s freaking huge.” Patient speaks up “I see y’all, you know. I have a high pain tolerance. It’s cool.” He did great. Do not ever do that to me. If it comes to that, just let me go. I’ve lived a good life.

Oh so many thrilling adventures today. It was the doctor’s weekend on call, so he went to do rounds and took the PAs. I stayed home because I thought I could be productive. I did everyone’s laundry and tried to bake a cake. Now, I’ve never baked a cake before, but someone asked me to. Cookies are so much more portable and you can eat so many before anyone notices. I make 2 beautiful chocolate layers and some lovely chocolate pudding for in between. Everything is going great. My neighbor and I are having a lovely time in the kitchen. I make the fudge icing. I turn around. The cake is melting. It’s so hot the cake is crumbling and melting and the pudding is dying. We get the giggles. We try to cement it with more pudding. We try to put the icing on and it melts. “#Africaprobs,” says my neighbor. The genius woman breaks it up, puts it in a dish, and we sprinkle powder sugar on top. Done.

I very carefully walk across the way to put it in my fridge. Open my side door. Hear a noise.

Snake.

It was not a large snake. But it was not a small snake. It doesn’t really matter what size it was because it was in my house. Of course, I prioritize very well, so I yipped quietly and very calmly moved the non-cake and myself out of reach. Then I yelled for the neighbors, carefully returned the non-cake to their house, and walked back across to my house. The snake had crawled down a pipe where a washing machine is supposed to be hooked up. We saw its tail, then it was gone. We follow the pipe out. It splits, one side goes to my toilet, one side to my sink, and one side goes out to drainage far away. Cool. I put a candle holder upside down over the open part. The guard suggests pouring kerosene down the pipe. We eventually stuff steel wool in there, then stand around staring at each other, then shrug. I return to the neighbors and continue rolling out tortillas. The PA students return, I finish a few tortillas, then walk over to share my day. I’m explaining to them what happened and how it could come out, and I walk to the bathroom, hear a rustling, and there’s good ol’ Edmund, staring at me from behind the toilet. “What,” he says “I thought you said to come out this way.” I scream. The students scream. Edmund screams. The neighbor comes, with a shovel, the guard comes, in bare feet. We discuss our possibilities. The only way I’ve ever killed a snake was with a large, large truck, so clearly I am not suited for the job. The neighbor goes to get boots. We’re all meandering around. He gets back and goes to look, leaning over the toilet, I’m right behind him. I see something out of the corner of my eye and look up and the sly rascal has climbing the curtain and is hanging above our heads on the curtain rod. I scream again. Lots goes on. No one gets bitten and the snake ends up with its head off and its blood ALL over our bathroom floor and curtains. The floor gets mopped with bleach. The toilet gets very, very bleached. The non-cake eventually makes it safely in the house. I made a cup of tea to calm my nerves and decided I don’t actually like baking anymore.

I beg of you: do not ever ask me to bake a cake. They taste awesome, but horrible things happen.

I love you all. Please hug your children closely tonight and check your toilets for snakes.

 

 

 

 

Hakuna Sindano

Some administrative changes happened at the hospital this past week, different people moved to different positions. This is hugely exciting as the ones now in charge will probably enforce rules and hopefully return to hospital to what it once was: well-run, very disciplined, and clean. Everyone who cares is excited, the ones who like to take bribes are not nearly as thrilled. Low census at the hospital on Thursday and Friday, which meant rounds were shorter, but more time to spend with each patient and more time to do teaching with family. We saw two interesting diabetic patients, one with a septic foot, the other one comatose. I have seen some nasty wounds in my time as a nurse… but I don’t want to make you vomit. She needed to just have her whole leg amputated. Surgery saw her and they were discussing if they could take it off below the knee or needed to go higher. She died the next day. The other diabetic lady was in DKA. The ward was out of glucose strips, so they weren’t giving her any insulin because they had no way to test her sugar. Do you tell them to just give the insulin and hope she doesn’t die from low glucose, or just let her die slower from high glucose? But we found out the supply room had strips, for some reason they just never got to the ward. So we got all that sorted and we’ll see on Monday if she’s there. It’s amazing to me the amount of patients that recover from comas here. It’s very easy to see God working and healing here, because you certainly can’t always say that it was the medical care that fixed someone.

Hakuna matata isn’t a real saying here. Sorry to break your hearts. It’s only said in touristy places. Also, Lion King apparently isn’t pure Swahili, it’s a mix of a bunch of different stuff and people think it’s a joke. However, “hakuna sindano” is a real thing. It means “there’s no needle” and you say it to screaming pediatric patients who are terrified of all things hospital. The amount of IV sticks by the students these patients have to endure hurts my feelings, but I try not to take over all the time. It’s brutal. The IVs get put in at the nurse’s station, and all the wards are open and connected, so the screams just echo all day long.

We saw some patients in the office. Several little old ladies came in with test results and I checked their O2 saturation… many had sats in the 80s. They have COPD because of cooking over fires their entire lives. I’m going to have COPD from the trash fires. All trash gets burned here. Very earth friendly. Not very people friendly. However, nobody smokes cigarettes here because no one can afford them. I truly think I’ve only seen 3 people smoking, and have only seen one store that sells cigarettes.

Fun fact: Ebola is way closer to all of you then it is to me right now. Dallas and Atlanta are much closer to Alabama than Liberia is to me. I hope you guys get that taken care of before I come back. America is scary.

I’ve said before how much people hate to have their pictures taken. I don’t know why, but they get very offended if white people pull out a camera. I just want you to know how excruciatingly painful it is for me not to take pictures of these gorgeous people and fascinating sights. I was getting my kitchen knives sharpened in town because the little sharpener I had was just not working. The man had a bicycle on a stand that had a grinding wheel thingy attached to it with a belt. He would pedal and hold the knife up to the grinding part and it sharpened it! Sparks everywhere, it was so cool. I think I could definitely make a living doing that, so I asked if I could take a picture of it and he very adamantly refused. It was fine, no big deal, so I’m standing there, and an African lady comes walking up from behind him and takes a picture of me watching him with her smartphone. So we pointed out to him that she had just taken a picture of him and he shrugged and said “You’re white.” So my plan is to hire a non-pasty individual to walk around with me and I’ll tell them what to take pictures of. Also, they don’t seem to mind nearly as much if you just subtly pull out your smart phone and avoid faces. So here are some photos that are not great quality, but less offensive to the subjects:

 

 

 

 

It seems that Saturdays at the beach are when profound thoughts come out of little children. “Let’s play follow the leader! You’re the leader!” “Ok, where do you want to go?” “Wherever you go. And I do whatever you do. Duh. Don’t you even know how to follow someone?”

“Come, follow me,” Jesus said.

This is God’s command: To believe in the name of His Son, Jesus Christ, and to love on another as He commanded us. 1 John 3:23

Follow Me by David Platt is an excellent book on the subject, in case you would like to explore what it means to follow Jesus.

https://kindle.amazon.com/work/follow-me-call-die-live/B008QGYCZO/1414373287

I know I write a lot about church services, but they’re just so gloriously vibrant. The doctor was speaking at a different church again today, so we went on a lovely adventure a bit further than usual. “This really is a road, I promise” I believe were the words that came out of someone’s mouth at some point. Road is a loose term here and I have a few new bruises. Though this church was further out of town than the others I’ve been to, it was the most luxurious. It had half a floor, doors, a drum, a guitar, AND real benches! Benches made with 2 planks AND they had a back to them! I was so excited, I really was. It had started pouring when we got there, so we kind of sprinted in… and then the tin roof made hearing anything nearly impossible so everyone there probably thinks I speak excellent Swahili because I greeted appropriately and then smiled and nodded at everything else. I love storms so much and I had an excellent view out of the windows, the rain smelled so good, and the cute little kids were running around. I was most content.

Eventually the storm calmed down enough to where we could hear, so the service started with some announcements and welcomes, the choir stands up, and then everything just stops. Everyone is just sitting there, no one’s doing anything, clearly I missed a memo. A rooster crows outside. A toddler pulls a handkerchief out of his mom’s purse and starts tying it around his head. The pastor yawns. 2 minutes later a lady starts humming… and then finally the choir starts. We continue with the usual hour of singing, the 5 member choir that has enormous volume, etc. This time, however, it suddenly got super amped up. First, a little kid had been slapping on a drum kind of casually, and the old lady sitting next to me takes it from him and starts going to town on it. I mean beating it so hard I had to casually slide away from her before I lost an eye.

 I had been warned about this church’s dancing beforehand, but it was so much fun to witness. This particular song goes something like “Who is the rock? Jesus! Who do we call on? Jesus!” etc, etc. A lady gets up and starts shuffling around to the maniacal drum beating and then suddenly all the women and the kids are out there doing this shuffle with their feet and then they all stomp rhythmically and clap. They would all be doing different beats and then suddenly be in sync for a stomp and then back out to different beats again. Good thing they were doing it on the concrete half of the floor and not the dirt half or we would all have died of dust inhalation. So about 3 minutes into this awesome dance the old lady with the drum gets up and takes it to someone else and joins in the fun… How she has not broken a hip yet I cannot fathom because she was going insane. She had on a long red and orange dress with a matching headwrap and it kept coming off and she would tie it back on, hike up her skirt, and just keep on jumping. So this goes on for 10 minute, some of the toddlers and little kids give up and stand out to the side with their little hands on their hips, trying to catch their breath. Eventually it stops, everyone returns to their seat, and the service calmly continues.

 Let me just say, people are not afraid to pray here. Everyone prays out loud, and loudly, all the time. It’s cool. We’re moving along quite briskly in the sermon, everything is great because sermons are easy to follow if you know the passages. Also, pastors tend to repeat key words often and refer back to the passage often so it was awesome because I could catch the gist of it, though I’m sure I missed a great deal without a translator. BAM CHICKENS. All of a sudden all these chickens are everywhere. They’re jumping in windows, they’re walking on the back of the choirs’ benches, they’re under our benches. One goes running across the floor and loses its footing and slides on its butt for a minute. The little kids and I thought it was funny, no one else giggled. Have y’all ever looked at chickens’ feet up close? They’re so gross. I was so afraid one was going to touch me with its nasty foot. Once the chickens got loud enough that they actually started disturbing the sermon, a few people casually waved songbooks at them and they eventually left.

I hope you have learned, as I have: Follow Jesus, love people, avoid chickens.

Stairway to Heaven

Tuesday

Remember the tetanus guy from when I very first got to the hospital a few weeks ago? Well he finally was able to open his jaw wide enough to eat and can walk with a walker and only falls over with entire-body spasms when he doesn’t take his valium! So he got discharged home!
In other thrilling news, I got to hold 2 brand new babies today!! I saw a nurse walking out of the OR with a bundle of cloths and some instruments. I walked down to maternity to get serial numbers off a machine and saw the stuff she had been carrying on the counter… then suddenly the bundle starts wriggling around and screaming. I think we all know screaming wriggly bundles need to be held. The doctor walked in a few minutes later: “Did you get the serial nu… You can’t keep it. It stays here.” Then that afternoon we had walked down to maternity again to do an ultrasound and I heard newborn crying… walked down the hallway and there’s a different bundle chilling on the counter, yay! I missed the whole ultrasound, but someone’s got to hold the baby while mom gets taken care of. My willing heart saw one in need…

OK let’s have a brief moment of developing country fun. The guest house I moved into is great and I love it, but not quite finished. There are many small bits to work on. The stove part of the oven doesn’t work. But there is a handy dandy little 2-burner gas stove perched on top of the other stove. The neon orange gas tank is displayed quite nicely on the counter by the stove. The handy dandy gas stove lights very well indeed. I would estimate the flames at about 1 foot high, such pretty flames. The microwave doesn’t work either. The light turns on, the turn table turns, it makes appropriate sound effects… but no heat. The washing machine fills up with water but can’t quite get the washing part down. However the fridge does work! As does the electric hot water kettle, the shower, the fans, and the lights. Plugging my computer in to charge involves 2 switches, 1 voltage convertor, 1 voltage stabilizer, and two different plugs. The water filter takes 4 pots of water to fill, and to fill up my Nalgene from the filter takes me at least half of Stairway to Heaven (do you remember laughter?). But y’all, I have a huge jar of organic peanut butter, so pretty much nothing bothers me.

Wednesday

I have so much fun, I really do. I cracked open the gas stove manual yesterday (meaning the half page of misspelled English that basically says “connect stove to gas and turn on”). There is an air damper on the stove that supposed to adjust the flame, but it has to be lit while you lift the stove up and reach your hand inside. I thought about it, then did not attempt it by myself. You’re welcome, Mom. Sorry, Dad. I phoned a friend. So windows don’t close here, because you need all the airflow you can get, and very few have curtains, so everyone can see inside each other’s houses. I was sharpening knives (because they were too dull to cut pineapple and that is just unacceptable) and we were adjusting the dampers on the stove and the coolest looking flames were coming out. My neighbor texted “everyone’s eyebrows and limbs intact over there?” Everything is intact. However the flames are still overenthusiastic and soot gets on everything. Now we know why Rogers and Hammerstein picked Brandy to play Cinderella: so they didn’t actually have to use soot because it gets everywhere.

The car hasn’t had air conditioning since we’ve been here, but it got fixed today! The mechanic came to the hospital, got the car, took it back to his “shop”, fixed the valve and replaced the Freon, and returned it to the hospital, all for about $55. The reason it was so cheap was probably because his overhead is so low… cause his shop is a workbench underneath a tree. Not that we particularly need AC. It got down to 86 degrees the other day, I about had to pull out my cardigan. Piki pikis are motorbike taxis that will take you anywhere in town. The driver wears a helmet, the passenger usually does not. The drivers also wear winter coats, worn backwards to prevent those bone-chilling drafts that come through the zippers. I understand in the mornings when you’re dashing along it might get a bit chilly. But at noon?

When driving along you will also notice unusually tall black men carrying wares for sale on racks on their back, with a specific red fabric wrapped around them. They’re Maasai. Remember, on National Geographic? The tall ones with the red wraps and the spears? When they get tired of herding animals around, they move to the big city and sell stuff on the side of the road. Apparently they also make excellent guards because of their mad skills with spears and these specific clubs they use on wild animals.

My grandmother emailed me today, wonderful tech-savvy woman that she is, with a fascinating thought from her Bible study on redemption versus rescue. Before we get into that, let’s just talk about how much I love my grandma. She is loving, hospitable, wise, humble, encouraging, and downright hilarious. She is the greatest example of someone who has been learning about God her whole life and is still finding new aspects of His character to explore. Family is incredibly important to her and she has found creative ways to show that over the years and the oceans and the generations. For those of you who have not met her, it should probably go on your bucket list. Also, she’ll probably give you an ice cream sandwich.

Rescue is when we pray for Him to deliver us from the situation. That doesn’t always happen. However, He wants to redeem every situation. We can’t always see why He wants us where we are. We can’t fathom why there are so many people trapped in evil. So many times we just want Him to extract us or others from our problems.  

Strengthen the feeble hands, steady the knees that give way; say to those with fearful hearts,
“Be strong, do not fear; your God will come. He will come with vengeance; with divine retribution He will come to save you.”

Isaiah 35:2-4

Many may not be rescued, but they can be redeemed.