Hope...

I leave for Mozambique tomorrow evening, so today has been full of last minute packing, shopping, general running about.

Today, as I sorted through stacks of this and that, I came across an article that I wrote for CIDA at the end of my internship in February. I remember exactly how I felt when I was writing it, and it is those same feelings that motivate me now.

"For five months, beginning in August of 2008, I worked in a water and sanitation project in rural western Uganda as part of a CIDA/Samaritan's Purse internship. One of the daily highlights was the natural beauty of the African bush. Everything looked like an illustration out of a Dr. Seuss book with the hills rolling crazily along, bursting with tress, shrubs and flowers of impossible variety. As we shuddered down rusty, rutted roads in our truck I would stare out the window, caught up in the stunning explosion of color.

In that marvelous medley of brilliance one tree stood out like a ghost, its sparse grey branches gnarled and bare. It looked completely lifeless, except for one thing. At the end of each deadened limb a vibrantly red flower bloomed--a burst of life against a backdrop of grey.

I was often reminded of an ancient proverb from the Bible, "Hope deferred, " it says, "makes the heart sick." Frustrated hope was all around me. Both personally and on a greater scale in the Ugandan people who hoped for almost everything: better health for their families, education for their children, peace in their homes, rain for their crops, food for their stomachs, and help from me which I often felt unable to give.

There were days when everything seemed to be painted in shades of grey. Our water program was truly making a difference, but it was easy to be overwhelmed by the many needs that were still unmet. In the midst of it all, however, I began to recognize splashes of the brightest, deepest, most perfect red. I loved those strange Ugandan trees because they made my heart ache with truth: hope always remains.

I heard hope in the trickling cadence of a filter that turned water from life threatening to life sustaining. I saw it when people living in absolute poverty coaxed beautiful flowers to grow around their simple mud and brick homes. I felt it in the generous hearts of my Ugandan community who found fulfillment and joy in relationships instead of possessions and who looked to the future with an expectation of good things to come.

I am leaving this internship with an overwhelming sense of optimism. We face massive and devastating problems as a global community, but I believe that we can work towards a better reality. There is enough good amongst us that we could make the world a better place if we earnestly chose to do so.

The rest of that ancient proverb declares that "a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." This experience has strengthened my vision to bring life into grey landscapes, watching hope bloom into reality, one brilliant red flower at a time."

Long time, no see...

So, what have I been up to for the last few months?

Well, lots of very ordinary, quite lovely, deliciously everyday things.

Mostly I have been working as a maternity nurse. I can't really take pictures at work, so here is a self portrait taken once I arrived home...after a stretch of night shifts. I actually love my job, and I can't say this photo really captures that emotion too well.

I was house sitting for a few months, too. It was wonderful. This was my tiny living room packed full of all my little treasures.

While I was house sitting I got to hang out with my super cute neighbor. Here he is helping me with the gardening.


It has been the best of times, truly.

There was one little dark cloud in my summer, if I am going to be truthful. You see, I was all ready to head off to grad school in September on the west coast.

I was rather excited. I even bought a new pair of galoshes for the rainy weather.

Then, my grad school of choice changed their mind about little me and I was left without any Plan B, at least as far as I could see. It was rough.

So, what am I up to now?

Well, instead of polishing my galoshes, I have been digging these out of storage:

These items may appear a little...vibrant, shall we say, for usage here is southern Alberta. I agree, which is why I only wear them when I am in Africa, which is where I am going in a few weeks.

I am going back to Mozambique as a short-term missionary with SAM Ministries. This is the same place I was when I was a student nurse.

I will be helping with preventative health care initiatives, along with other things.

I leave on Octber 17th, Lord willing.

I am rather excited.

I think it's going to be the best of times.

The Turkana Fighting Stick...

I was looking over some older posts the other day and noticed that I had alluded to my drama with a certain Turkana Fighting Stick. I thought I would flesh that out a bit more, as I have just finished working a stretch of nights and I don't want to do much more than stay curled up on the coach this afternoon.


Last December I went to Nairobi, Kenya to visit my friends Clayton and Esther. Clayton and Esther had been travelling around for some time and I offered to carry home some of their stuff. Long story short, I agreed to carry their Turkana Fighting Stick back to Canada. I don't have a picture of said stick. But...it's a stick, a couple feet high, tree colored. Clay and Esther were working for a bit near a Turkana community and were given this stick as a gift. I should probably clarify that I offered and insisted that I take the stick. I am an awesome packer, honestly, but at times I overestimate my abilities. The stick takes the bus with me back to Uganda.

Fast forward a month. I am leaving for the airport to return to Canada. A couple blocks from the SP guesthouse, I realize I've forgotten the stick! Blast. We race back to the house (as fast as you can race in Kampala traffic) and get the stick. Crisis averted.

We get to the airport to find a loooooooooong line up to get in. This is unfortunate, because we were cutting it a little close as it was. I finally get through the first security point and get my bag weighed. It's too heavy. Frantic repacking and purging commences. Then we stand in line at the check in counter for quite some time. In fact, we are still waiting in line when our plane is supposed to be leaving. Panic! Panic! Luckily, the entire airport was a little behind schedule so we are still okay. (Nevertheless, situations like that really cause me a lot of stress. I was a little bit unsettled.)

At last, I get checked in, get through security, and get on the bus to drive over to my plane. I get to the plane and clamor up the stairs. I'm ready to board when I realize that, yes...I've forgotten the stick on the bus! I tell a member of the airplane crew that I left my...stick...on the bus, and that I really need my...stick. He humors me, the bus comes back, and the stick is again in my possession. The stick and I fly to London, and surprisingly, I remember to take the stick off the plane. While loitering in the Heathrow Airport a man approaches me and says, "Hey, you were on my flight from Uganda! I recognize your stick!"

I stay overnight in London at a hotel and come back to the airport the next day, stick firmly in tow. I arrive 3 hours early, in PLENTY of time, which was great because I had a bit of a time getting to the airport as some key underground stations were closed for renovations. I approach security and I am informed that my stick is not welcome on the plane. I decide to try and mail the stick. I ask around and find out that there is a post office in Terminal 2. I am in Terminal 5, so I hop on the train to get over to Terminal 2. Once in Terminal 2 I get extremely lost. My three hours are dwindling rapidly and my panic level is slowly but surely rising. FINALLY I find the post office and get the stick wrapped up and addressed. The postal service worker is skeptical that I will make it to my plane in enough time. So am I.

Back on the train, racing back to Terminal 5. I go again to security. They tell me there is something wrong with my boarding pass. I run back to a ticket counter and they point a wandy thingy at my pass which apparently solves all my problems. Back to security, this time I get through (third time's the charm, I guess). It is then I find out that Terminal 5 has many different sections. I am in Section A and I need to get to Section B. Surprisingly, I have to take a train (within Terminal 5) to get to Section B. The sign says to leave 15 minutes to get to Section B. I have, like, 8 minutes until my plane leaves.

I get on the train, almost in tears, and the trip turns out to only be about a minute (what was with that sign!?). I get to Section B, emerging somewhere around Gate 5. I need to get to Gate 48. I start to run, dragging my carry-on on the floor behind me because it is just too darn heavy. I hate the stick at this point.

I finally arrive at Gate 48 and find that, miraculously, they are delayed and still in the process of boarding! London is my favorite place in the world, and staying an extra day wouldn't have been that awful, but I was eager to be home...and I could just picture my mom waiting at the airport in Calgary, watching....watching...

So, I get on the plane and come home to Canada, in spite of the Turkana Fighting Stick's best efforts. When I come through customs they ask if I have mailed anything home. Yes, I say. I mailed a stick. The customs agent looks at me curiously but still lets me back into the country.

The stick arrived safely by mail several weeks later. Clayton, Esther and I are still friends (it really was my fault anyways).

Low point...

It has been a hard couple of days, full of disappointments, uncertainty and insecurity.

I am feeling rather blue, I must admit. Nothing tragic has happened. Just a big let down that has definitely "stirred the pot", so to speak, and brought to mind a lot of other things that I have been discouraged about, wanting, ready to give up on. You know what I mean, I'm sure.

When I began my internship with Samaritan's Purse last August all the interns were given a Bible by the director. In the front cover of mine he had written down Proverbs 3:5:

"Trust in the Lord will all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding."


This is one of those verses that is quoted an awful lot, right? I have to admit that I didn't meditate on it too much as something specific that God was trying to teach me. It wasn't until the end of my internship that my fellow Water for Lifers and I got to talking and I realized that the director had written difference references down in each of our Bibles. I started thinking more about Proverbs 3:5 then, particularly because the director didn't include Proverbs 3:6:

"In all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight."

You almost always hear these verses quoted together as a unit, and I wondered what God might be trying to say to me with just verse 5.

About a week ago Provers 3:5 began to weigh on my mind. This lasted for several days, which led up to the last few grey days.

Perhaps what God is trying to teach me is that what matters most is that I learn to trust in Him will all my heart and let go of my own understanding. He will make my paths straight, but that is His job. I just have to trust that He is doing what He has promised.

Do you ever pray things like, "Hey, God. You would get a LOT of glory if you did the following miraculous thing in my life. Just a suggestion."

I definitely pray prayers like that, or at least think things like that. But what I am beginning to realize is that God might get more glory from my trust and long obedience than from my brief gratefulness when He gives me what I want. Who doesn't like a God who dishes up good miracles? But will I keep loving Him and trusting Him and lean not on my own understanding, particularly when the not knowing is breaking my heart?


(And I am terribly bad at not knowing. Did you know that I usually read the end of a book first?)

I am struggling to come up with a conclusion for this post, so perhaps I will just let it be.

The Velveteen Rabbit...

I love children's books, and one of my favorites is The Velveteen Rabbit. For those of you unfamiliar with the story, it is about a little toy Rabbit who is given to a Little Boy. The Boy loves his toy Rabbit and they are inseparable. In the end, the Boy loves his toy Rabbit so much that the toy Rabbit becomes real.

Early on in the story the Velveteen Rabbit has a conversation with the Skin Horse, an older and wiser toy.


"What is REAL?" the Rabbit asked the Skin Horse one day. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"


"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse, "It's a thing that happend to you. when a child loves you for a long, long time, then you become Real. By the time you ar Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and you get very shabby."


"I suppose you are Real?" asked the Rabbit.


"The Boy's uncle made me Real many years ago," said the Skin Horse. "Once you are Real, you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."



I think about this part of the story every now and then because it reminds me so much of the Lord and what He is doing for me. He is loving me, carrying me everywhere, delighting in me and in the process of all this, there are bits of me that are slowly being worn away.



The Velveteen Rabbit, after being cradled in the arms of the Little Boy for weeks and months and year, begins to lose some of the gloss off of his fur and the pink velvet of his nose is rubbed away (from kisses). Because he is so happy that the Boy loves him, he doesn't notice that all of his outwardly, pretty, inconsequential elements are slowly disappearing. I love to think that as God walks with me and loves me He is wearing away all my outwardly, pretty, inconsequential elements. There is so much of me that is frail and corruptable.



I also like to hope that as I learn to delight in the presence of God it will be all I really care about. I won't notice the departure of my nice, glossy coat and cute pink velvety nose that were so eye catching in their day (and by that I refer to all the fronts and faces and shows I can put on that look so impressive but in the end are just fake rabbit fur with no life underneath).



The Velveteen Rabbit ends with the Rabbit being loved into Real. He gets real arms and legs and can run and jump and scratch His ear. He goes to live in the forest with all the other rabbits and, as the author puts it, is home at last.


This reminds me of how, one day, love is going to make me Real too. One day God will transform me, and I will leave behind the constraints of my weak seams and lumpy stuffing. All the fake, artificial stuff I live in right now will be gone and I'll be alive, for real. And, as the Skin Horse said, "Once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."



Can't wait. Happy Easter.

March 8

Is...

International Women's Day

(The woman on the left is my friend; we call her "Mama Saida". Infected and abandoned by her husband, she is now raising three children on her own while living with HIV.)

Today is a day for the international community to acknowledge the great accomplishments of women around the world.

Today is also a day to consider the great challenges facing women in this day and age, and what our global community must do in order to promote gender equality and the empowerment of women.

Did you know?

A woman dies every minute from complications related to pregnancy and delivery. 99% of these deaths occur in the developing world.

60% percent of the adults living with HIV/AIDS in sub Saharan African are women.

Children of uneducated mothers have the highest risk of dying while in their childhood.

Roughly 100 to 140 million women in the world today have suffered female genital mutilation.

Today...

I am thankful for Jane, who oversees a women's vocational project in northern Uganda. Jane told me her story of how she ran for her life when the rebel army attacked her village. Today she radiates joy and hope as she helps women learn how to sew and introduces them to the love of Christ.

I am thankful for Eunice, in Mozambique. She helps coordinate programs for women in her area where they learn about how to nourish their families physically and spiritually and how to read and write. The women are also taught income generating skills in order to help their families financially.

I am thankful for mothers like Mariza, also in Mozambique, who work hard every day to make sure that their children go to school, have enough to eat, and grow up healthy.

"...I've seen it around the world, in the poorest countries and in countries riven with conflict...It is women who are key to breaking out of poverty, breaking out of stagnation...It's women who can contribute to achieving real security--not bombs and bullets and repressive governments."

Queen Noor of Jordan

Frightful...

The weather today is awful. Yesterday I drove about half an hour away to get my CPR recertified. The roads were perfect. This morning they are covered in slush and ice.

I tried to drive to Red Deer early today in order to attend one of my many upcoming orientation classes (oh, I am a nurse again. Have I mentioned that?). I spun out of control and hit the ditch about 2km away from Three Hills. I know it was 2km away because I came to a stop right by the sign that says, "Three Hills. Access. 2km." According to Lenny, the tow truck man, I am just one of many. Lenny had to postpone his efforts to get my car out of the ditch because 1)it was too dangerous to be on the highway, and 2) there were three roll overs that he needed to get to. Three! I hope everyone is alright. What a horrible day.

It felt just like my accident a few years ago, only there was no bridge to fall off of, just a nice, gently sloping ditch. Still, it scared me to death. I hate driving in the winter. I'm going to stay inside the rest of the day, drink tea, and remember not so long ago when everything was much sunnier.

A scruffy photo of me and my friend Kristi on safari. Riding atop the Land Cruiser is the only way to do it.