It's a hard knock life...

My internet is being a bit slow at the moment, so these are not all the photos I wanted to post. I scalped these three pictures from Rick and Heather (a couple who work here with SAM, along with their adorable foster daughter, Tendai). I will try and get the rest of them up later, but for now...

My first weekend here all the staff went to the Indian Ocean (close to Inhambwe, if you are into maps) for a few days. The place we stayed at was right on the water and there was an awesome reef running parrallel to our beach. The weather was perfect. I love the ocean.

This picture is a little misleading. I wanted to go snorkling out on the reef but didn't have a life jacket. I am a pretty terrible swimmer to I took this board out and floated on it with my head submerged in the water.

Heather and I spent a lot of time frolicking around in the ocean and letting big waves smack into us. So fun. Seriously.

All that frolicking was pretty tiring, however, so every now and then we had to take breaks. You can't see it really in this shot, but the sun was just starting to go down and the light was beautiful on the water. Oh, it was so lovely at the beach!

Recap

I bought my motorbike yesterday. It is purple and I call it The General. I spent a good portion of my day today riding around the farm, practicing switching gears. For my reward, I have a watch tan.

This morning I also went out on a home nursing visit to see an elderly woman who is part of the mission's orphan/widow program. She has been feeling not so hot, and has one nasty sounding lung. I also drove out to the mission's school to try and find a little boy who we hear has a serious abscess on his chin. No luck tracking him down, but his mom was around so we sent her home with some medication and careful instructions to bring her son to the health post next week.


So, my trip over. I will use photos to capture the magic:



Here I am, just arriving at the airport in Calgary, striking a pose for mom. You can tell if my mom is taking the picture because she always makes me place my feet just so. I'm so hopeful, so stress free...

Now, the suitcase on the bottom of my pile was being a tad problematic. When I weighed it the night before it was slightly overweight. When I tried to open it to remove some items, the zipper jammed. I decided to just pay the overweight fees because I wasn't sure what to cut. When I got to the airport I was informed that I was actually allowed to take THREE CHECKED ITEMS.

Three? Who has ever heard of that? So, weight was no longer the issue but I did need to wiggle some stuff out of the suitcase so that bag at least would be the right weight. The stuff I removed was going to go in a cute plaid plastic shopping bag-esque container the airline provided.

Here I am with my cousin Laura and the plaid bag. Although I can't actually open my suitcase to get anything out of it, we are optimistic that we will be able to drag enough stuff out of the bag using the little gap that is available before the zipper jam. Trying to claw my belongings out of the gap resulted in numerous scrapes, which resulted in drops of blood all over my stuff. What's a girl to do?

So, a few minutes into our endeavours my suitcase had a change of heart and the zipper came completely undone, undone in the sense that I would never be able to close it again. The zipper, and the bag, were toast.

Noting my predicament, the airline guy gave me two giant see through plastic sacks to shovel all my stuff into. I liked to think of it as a glorified Ziplock. That's right, all my stuff in a giant baggie, all set to jet across several continents. I was rather nervous about my stuff actually arriving, but, it did!

Who are the gentelmen behind us, you ask? Why, it's the entire team of Saskatchewan Roughriders. As Laura and I were madly trying to repack my stuff in the baggie, with fistfulls of underpants flying through the air in the middle of the chaos, these gentlemen quietly lined up behind me. So quietly that I didn't really notice their arrival until my baggie was packed and I became conscious of the fact that people had been watching my little episode. Ah well.

Okay, the rest of the trip, moving on.

London: neutral, I slept practically the entire time.

Jo-berg: walked around a corner and stumbled upon a woman having a seizure. First Aid hadn't arrived so I went to help, and a few minutes later a doctor came along. Later, I took an airport survey and was given a free key chain. There is so connection between the seizure and the key chain, I'm just trying to wrap this up.

Beira, Mozambique: I handed in my passport to get my visa and was given back a passport which was 1) burgandy in color, and 2) had a picture of a man in it. The customs guy asked, "Is this yours?" Had I known more Portuguese I would have said, "Are you kidding?" I had to wait a while but I did get my nice, navy blue passport back.

So, there you have it.

Arrived...

Hello, friends.

Today is a good day. I am wearing my favorite blue butterfly earrings and my feet are dusty and red. Perfect.

I am waiting to go to down to the woodshop to pick up a plank for the..."shelving unit"... I am making in my tent. My tent is the cutest. You can check it out on MTV Cribs next week.

I want to tell you all about my trip over but I will save that for another time. It will be an epic tale. Ziplock bags, professional athletes, a mistaken identity oh, I could go on! And I will. Tonight? Tomorrow? Some time.

Enough to say that I am here and safe and sound and taking the occasional deep breath.

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.