True Confessions of a Dreamer

Dare to dream!  If you did not have the capability to make your wildest wishes come true, your mind would not have the capacity to conjure such ideas in the first place.  There is no limitation on what you can potentially achieve, except for the limitation you choose to impose on your own imagination.  What you believe to be possible will always come to pass - to the extent that you deem it possible.  It really is as simple as that.  - Anthon St. Maarten

Most mornings, I wake up in another country.

Each morning is different, although I'll admit it was easier when I was living in my last apartment.  The high vantage point made it easy to imagine quaint Italian villages, or I could just as quickly find myself among the rolling hills of Ireland or between volcanoes in Latin America.  My current apartment has bedroom windows that open to another building.  It's not the best, but I can still envision a small, sparse apartment within a bustling city in Africa, or a sleek high rise in Australia.  It doesn't have to be a country I've visited before, and for a while, it was a treat to wake up in the morning and open the blinds.  I wasn't sure what I would find.

Yesterday morning, I woke up in Nicaragua.  It was early in the morning, somewhere around 6:30am, although it felt more like 5:30am with the recent time change.  I'm almost never up at this hour, and although my mind was alert, my body was tired.  I laid in bed, listening to the birds chirping outside my window, and I held on to the idea that, if I opened my eyes, I would suddenly find myself back in 2009 on La Finca Magdalena.

My cozy, fluffy bed became a cot, the fabric tight and covered with my orange twin extra long sheets.  It's one of 15 exactly like it, but mine is positioned in the middle of the hardwood floor of the girls room.  The room has wide wooden doors that slam shut in the wind, and not enough electrical outlets to meet the demands of the American visitors.  There's space between the walls and roof, allowing in light and air and all sorts of four legged visitors.

It was easy to imagine waking up, stretching, and opening the heavy doors as quietly as possible.  The wind is warm, rustling the hammocks that hang on the porch.  My eyes are assaulted by the vibrant colors - green, red, and yellow cover my field of vision.  My ears perk up at the sound of happy morning chatter coming from animals and people alike, languages mixing among one another.  My stomach is tempted by the smell of breakfast - gallo pinto, tortillas con crema, huevos, and fresh fruit juices.  My coral colored Crocs squeak across the white tile floor of the co-ed bathroom as I head in to wash my face in the cold spring water.  I'm careful to keep my eyes down, not wanting to unknowingly step on a wandering critter.

The day is pregnant with possibility.  We don't know our schedule beforehand and operating on "Nica time" often means things don't happen as planned anyway.  I remember to step down as I make my way to the picnic tables, covered in blue tablecloths, that will serve as our dining room table for the week.  Many travellers are already awake, and I am welcomed with a "good morning" and the offer of coffee.

Just as I begin to invest in the moment, my eyes open and I realize I was dreaming.  My chest gets a little tighter when I come to and see I'm not in Nicaragua.  Instead I'm cocooned in my cozy, plush bed, the light streaming in between the blinds and the birds singing in the day.  While it's not a bad place to be, I am starkly aware of my heart's desire to return to small cots, crowded rooms, excitement and adventure.  I know my time will come, so for now I will sleep well and wake up to something unexpected each day.

Wait for the LORD;

be strong and take heart

and wait for the LORD.

-Psalm 27:14

A Desire to Serve

At the end of life we will not be judged by how many diplomas we have received, how much money we have made, how many great things we have done.  We will be judged by 'I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was naked and you clothed me.  I was homeless, and you took me in.'  -Mother Teresa

Let's suppose you were sitting in church one Sunday, any Sunday, listening to the sermon.  Perhaps you have to catch your mind from wandering every so often.  You're making a note in the back of your notebook as the service comes to a close, but you overhear the pastor as he shouts out one last announcement almost as an afterthought.  He says there is a bus outside, waiting to take whoever wants to go on a mission trip.

He does not tell you where you are going or when you will return.  You will need no money, no tickets.  All travel has been arranged for you.  You do not have time to go home and pack a bag.  You can not tie up loose ends at work, or say goodbye to your family.  To say yes, you simply have to board the bus.

Would you get on board?

This was a situation presented to me in a sermon this past Sunday and I haven't been able to get the scenario out of my head.

"Yes" can be a scary word.  It can open a lot of doors and take you a lot of places, but it can cause discomfort as well.  There's a level of trust involved and oftentimes we are slow to trust.

I think here I would have said YES.

It's well known to most of you that I have a huge desire to travel, to touch the world and make a difference.  More often than not I feel stifled in my hometown, pigeonholed by many of the comforts held so close by so many.  The desire to serve overwhelms me sometimes, a constant weight on my chest that reminds me that my heart craves something more.

Pascuala, Somotillo, Nicaragua

I long to be challenged, to go on an adventure and to learn to fully rely on the Lord for my needs.  No doubt, it would be the hardest thing I've ever done, getting on that bus.  But nothing about the idea turns my stomach.  While many of the people in my life might not understand why I said yes, I would hope they'd know how much I love and care for each of them.  I strive to live my life in such a way that if I was whisked off one day, there would be no doubt from anyone how I felt about their presence in my life.

I am currently searching for opportunities to serve overseas this summer.  My heart longs for the chance to hold and love on children who have no mothers.  I have seen the power a simple touch can have on another and I want to be the one to touch heads and hold hands.  I want to serve the least and the lost, and to me that doesn't just mean sending money somewhere once a month.  Presence is key, a willingness to share life. I want to alleviate suffering, to meet basic needs.  I want to be the hands and feet.

People often ask me why I don't invest my time in an organization here in the US; there is so much need here at home.  My answer - not everyone is called to go.  I have that desire, and I am capable.  What happens if no one goes?  What would have happened if Jesus stayed in his own hometown?

Pascuala, Somotillo, Nicaragua

It will not be easy.  An experience like the one I'm seeking, be it for a summer or for a lifetime, will challenge me every day.  Some days I think about how things could go and I don't feel strong enough, but I recognize that I am not the one who needs to be strong.  The Lord uses the weak and the small.

I am nervous, anxious, about how things could play out, but I'm also excited.  Currently I haven't found an NGO to serve with but I'm exploring some options.  I hope you will join me on this wonderful, life changing adventure.

Exciting news

So...I've got some pretty exciting news to share.

Starting last week, I began blogging for a local family magazine called Growing up in the Valley.  This young company is family owned and highlights activities in the area devoted to families.  Make sure to check out the magazine here.

I've titled my blog...

While the gig is unpaid, I'm excited to get some exposure but most importantly, to keep writing!  I've been looking for a creative outlet for some time, something that doesn't take a lot of stuff.  I enjoy crafting and creating art, but my small living space (and budget) don't really allow me to collect much.  

Here's an excerpt from my first posting - 

I’ve lived in this town my whole life.  That’s 26 years of familiar streets and faces.  Being purposeful about the way I spend my time, and reflecting on the little things that present themselves each day, gives this city a magic I long thought was lost.  When I travel, it’s easy to marvel at the simplest of tasks, to see the new and exciting.  But to seek out the small within the familiar can often be a challenge. 

I want to notice and document the tiny gifts I’m given amidst the frenzied life I all too often find myself in.  Hours and days are lost in the quick pace our culture encourages, and it all can become mundane quickly if we don’t open our eyes to the small things that make up the bigger picture. 

I responded to Growing Up In The Valley when I heard they were looking for bloggers because I believe I have a unique view on the world.  Usually, it isn’t hard for me to notice the little gifts I am presented with each day.  But as life picks up increasing speed sometimes I forget to look.  I want to foster a habit of being aware and open to the tiny treasures that are too often overlooked.  Regardless of the haphazard construction of our “nests”, they are beautiful and each twig is carefully placed exactly where it needs to be.  Sometimes appreciation just means taking a step back, seeing how the small pieces fit together and create the big picture.

So there ya go.  Check it out every Saturday (and maybe more).  I will continue to write here and hope you will join me on this new adventure!

Liquid Sunshine

"Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet."  -Roger Miller

                              "Being soaked alone is cold.  Being soaked with your best friend is an                                     adventure." -Emily Wing Smith, Back When You Were Easier to Love

The red canvas of my shoes is stiff and unforgiving as I pick them up, two fingers at the heel, and put them in my closet.

Yesterday I helped a dear friend of mine ship a few boxes of her life to Texas.  She is preparing to move this weekend, driving over a series of days to return home.  I rode the relatively short distance to her house with my windows half way down, watching the fog in the mountains.  The day was gray but warm, as if it took no notice of the date on the calendar.  My heart was light, in spite of the overwhelmingly long to-do list that loomed over me, and my free hand was keeping time to the music on the window frame.

I had known the day was coming.  Our relationship is unique and my life has been intertwined with Beks for a few years; we are alike in more ways than not.  I knew this little town couldn't hold her big heart forever.  She recently settled into the idea of moving and I never doubted her decision - it's time.  The last month has been full of excitement and preparation and bittersweet conversations as I know she'll only be around for a bit longer.

I arrived at her house about 9am, accompanied by a light sprinkle.  In the midst of packing tape, address labels and sharpie markers, little attention was paid to the weather.  Not long before we had prepared to load the cars, a loud clap of thunder drew our attention outside - a full blown rainstorm, blowing in suddenly, wasting no time with pleasantries.

Because of other obligations we couldn't wait long to move our packing party to the post office.  Despite the weather, we took multiple trips across wet grass and pavement, balancing boxes and tugging on doors, running and laughing, trying not to fall on wet leaves and concrete floors.  We both emerged soaking wet, tracking in leaves, water running down our faces and changing the color of our clothes.  I'll admit, I had to fight the urge to stomp through the little rivers that appeared down the sides of the streets, and I marveled at the movement of the water as it collected and spilled around the tires of parked cars.  What is it about rain that encourages the child within us to be silly, to laugh and dance?

I will likely not see Beks again before she leaves, but I couldn't think of a better way to send her off.  As we left the post office and the rain began to let up (of course!), tears made new trails on our already wet faces as we hugged and said goodbye.  I know it's not really goodbye - you can never say goodbye to someone who has left such an imprint on your heart - but rather "see you later".

The meaning of [my] life

I've been doing a lot of self-searching lately, trying to figure out where I want to be in a year.  Where I could, realistically, be in a year.

I just moved into this apartment.  I like its location.  I just started this job, and I [usually] like going into work every day.  So why am I looking ahead; why am I thinking of moving on already?

For many years, I have seen myself leaving town and moving abroad.  It's only been in recent years that the dream has begun to be fleshed out, but I still lack the courage to go.  It's a scary thing, especially when you've lived your whole life in one town.

What if I go to a country where I don't speak the language?  How do I open a bank account in a new country?  Can I even work for wages?  What would it be like to uproot every significant relationship I've ever known?  Everyday things would be new - laundry, cooking, getting from one place to another.  And don't even get me started on the idea of my travelling alone, as a single white female.  The idea of completing ordinary tasks seems exciting and new, giving me a chance to marvel at the simplest of things.  But without warning those same tasks can change to objects of paralyzing fear.

But it seems that everywhere I turn, particularly in church and small group, I keep getting the same message:


Go.  Love.  Be.  Travel.  Orphans.  Fear not.


And yet I fear.  Still I doubt.  Is this really where I am called to go?  Is this really who I am meant to be?

Last week, an interesting idea was presented in our small group.  The quote -

"We were created to glorify God"  [John Piper I think although I can't be positive]

What would it mean to embody this idea, to really live it out every day?  I know that the work I'm doing now is meaningful [actually, it's pretty close to what I would want to do as a career.  I think I only want my location to change].  I also know that one's calling is not necessarily the same thing one does as a vocation.  So why do I still feel so called to go?

That same night, a second question was posted.  This is not the first time I've been presented with this inquiry, but it's not one I find terribly realistic so I've never truly considered it.


"What would you do if you knew you could not fail?"


[Who can imagine a world without failure?  Failure is always a possibility, a scary one.]

What would I do?  I would travel the world, write, create art and not worry about how it's not perfect right away.  I would work with orphans, see and do things, leave a notable mark on the earth and the lives of its inhabitants.

And then tonight, a final thought, related to our small group study of John 6:1-25.  Mission [the work and opportunities we are given by God to accomplish, partnering with Him as His kingdom is realized, whether or not we choose to accept them] precedes faith.  Contrary to our belief, we don't have to have a certain amount of faith before setting out on mission with Jesus.  We don't have to have certain skills perfected; we don't have to have it all together.  Faith is the expectation that God will show up.

Perhaps my calling is not overseas.  Perhaps I am called down the street, to the orphaned of this community.  Perhaps I am called to a community in another state.  I don't know yet [does anyone ever know for sure?], but I'm eager to find out.

Fall Photo Dump

So I realize it's been forever since I've done a legitimate post.  At this point I figured, why break the trend?  So in an effort to get my act together, I'm summarizing the fall in photos.  More Ethiopia posts coming soon - right now I'm swimming in lesson plans for work but those should be out of my hair in the next few days.  So, please except my apologies and enjoy  --

The art wall for the kid's drawings at work.  There will be a DIY post soon...

October DC weekend with a fantastic college friend of mine.  Rocking a new dress and getting ready to hit the town

Part of a happy meal consumed during DC weekend.  The french fries were 100 calories but when compared with the size of the toy, I'm not sure it was a win.

Laying everything out for my Ethiopia trip.  Kind of amazed it all fit in my small pack.

Pajama day with the elementary schoolers and some pretty sweet staff

Halloween not-so-scary monsters inspired by Pink and Green Mama

Coat sorting with the Friday Night Youth in early November

Rainbow shoes.  I work with kids partially because it gives me a license to wear brightly colored clothing

Thanksgiving weekend bonfire

First apartment christmas trees - ornaments coming soon!

Ethiopia Day 5

This day was the second day of clinic, and it seemed slower than I thought it would.  I figured that word of mouth would have gotten around and people would have lined up at the door waiting for us to show up.  But only 2 or 3 of our stations were functioning as many of our physicians were occupied with home visits (I believe this was the day Sumer’s youngest child had symptoms of meningitis and Dr. John was occupied for the day with the family at the hospital.  Luckily it was nothing as serious as that).  With so many of our doctors occupied, perhaps we seemed slower because we couldn’t get as many patients through the door as the day before. 

This day was definitely an interesting one in terms of patients.  We had one woman who was in our back “private” area for quite some time. She came in and was 8 or 9 months pregnant.  Using a translator (our high school helpers were always so professional and mature during some of these hard cases) Stephanie and Samme tried to discern if her water had broken.  Apparently she was 2 cm dilated and had been leaking for a few days.  I believe the diagnosis was that her water had broken and the baby had been without amniotic fluid, so she was sent to the hospital.  Her name was Helen and last we heard (days ago) she was undergoing an emergency C-section.  While I was hoping to have a new little life make an appearance right there (and I totally would have been a part of that), we caught something that could have been detrimental to that little baby’s life.  I hope things are going well for her and her (hopefully) healthy new baby.

Two of our wonderful translators

Also during this clinic, I was able to sneak away from the pharmacy and sit in triage for a while working with some kids on crafts.  The Bright Hope kids came for their physicals today, and I was supposed to spend the day with them, just hanging out.  But no one let me know they were here or where to go to set up, so I only spent a few minutes with them.  Pastors little daughter Lydia had come to be seen, and she was standing by the door with Kathleen as I was making my way.  She was a beautiful little child and I stopped to talk to her.  She grabbed my hand and I ended up sitting in the doorway while her small adept fingers began braiding my bangs.  At one point she was trying to pull my hair out of my ponytail to braid it.  Her work was small and didn’t stay very well, but it was great. 

After visiting with Lydia, I made my way next door with a bag full of crafts.  There were only 6 or so kids over there, so I started passing out necklaces and bracelets and tried to figure out a way to communicate with them.  It was interesting trying to find a way to show the kids how to make the jewelry and let them know that it was ok to start making them now.  That was really a challenge, trying to overcome that language barrier.  It was funny to watch the kids too, who would often take the packet and put it in a pocket, only to stick their hand out and ask for more.  If I told them they already got one, they would make a comment like “for my sister” or “for my mother”.  Of course, I gave them extra, but only after feigning a bit of scolding.  The kids were also eyeing some pipe cleaners, which I handed out to make more bracelets.  Their little wrists were so small, we folded them over a few times to make them fit.  One little girl took the pipe cleaners and made a little figure out of them.  Each time the figure talked, she would use a different, higher pitched, childlike voice.  It was very interesting to see that part of kid-dom, especially girls, translate cross culturally.

We only did a few of the crafts before the kids were called away to go back to the school.  They were all super cute and fun, and I wish I was more confident in myself in order to be able to enjoy them more.  I was worried about not being able to communicate with them, or not having enough crafts, or any number of other things that really probably didn’t matter much at all.  Janet’s grandkids had also made the cutest things to pass out.  They had sent bottle cap necklaces.  The strings were made from old t-shirts, the caps came from oriental trading, and the mom had put small images on the caps.  Super cute idea that I totally think I am going to borrow for my elementary schoolers.  Also, Charisse had put ribbons around the wide rubber band bracelets and made beautiful hair bows or bracelets for the girls.

Craft time

After clinic today we went back to the Guest House to “freshen up” before heading out to go shopping.  I didn’t shower or anything like that because I didn’t see the point, it’s not like you could ever really get clean it seemed.  There’s a smell that accompanies you from Korah. Not a bad smell, but dusty, unclean.  And there’s dirt constantly under your fingernails, no matter how many times you wash your hair.  I didn’t get under my fingernails clean until a few days after I got home.  I didn’t shower until Monday night after returning home and when I took my hair down to wash it, it still smelled of Korah.  I got a little sad washing it out, a part of me feeling like I should be keeping that with me as a reminder.  Maybe even as proof that I had actually come and gone from this place. 

Shopping was an interesting experience.  There are small shacks lined up on a street, sharing walls, all selling scarves and clothing, shoes and cds.  The street is shared with a primary school, so there were children wandering in groups in various colored school uniforms.  They all wanted to stop and touch you, asking you how you are either in Amharic or English.  They were forever looking at you.  Sometimes they would say something in Amharic and then turn towards their friends and laugh before continuing on.  At one point, our small group got spit at by at least one child.  Reason for this reaction is unknown.  While we were making our way to the shopping street, I saw something I’ve never seen before – a woman squatting in the gutter, skirt hiked, doing her business.  Despite all the men who utilize nature as a public toilet, this woman was the first and only one I’d seen do it.  I wonder if it is a source of shame for them where it’s not for the men.  What made her decide it was ok to squat in public – could she just not hold it?  Is it really socially acceptable and we just hadn’t seen anyone up to that point?

While shopping we tried to stay together and keep an eye on each other.  We all had “buddies” that we tended to hang around with and we worked to make sure that if someone deviated from the group they had hooked up with someone else from the team.  At one point, Beth and I were walking on the far side of the street, where the shops were a bit farther away from the road, and we had turned around to check on a group member.  Walking a few steps behind us was Sami driver.  That touched me in a way that I cannot even fully express.  Amidst this crowded street, in a foreign country where sometimes very foreign things go on (like a meat stall where the meat is cut fresh off the bone, and people wait in line for it outside of the little detached shack on the side of the road in front of some shops), and here was this familiar face walking with us and protecting us without our knowledge.  Saying goodbye to Sami at the airport I told him how much this meant to me and my eyes got a little teary.  It doesn’t help that I think it speaks highly of a man who is willing to protect a woman and that is a prominent quality I long for in a husband.

We spent a little bit of time shopping on the street here but there wasn’t much to do for the amount of time we had.  A lot of the shops were selling similar items and it was kind of that mentality where if you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all.  I bought a beautiful green skirt for 200 birr.  Our group reconvened more quickly than we were supposed to so we piled into the vans and headed off to another shopping location.  Sumer knew of this place outside the city that acts as a refuge for women with HIV/AIDS.  It’s a church with a fountain that many believe has healing powers.  The women I think have the ability to live on the church property but I know that they work to make goods that are sold there and help to benefit the church and the program.  I bought two necklaces with orthodox crosses on them that match, one for me and one for my brother, and two pairs of earrings, one for mom and one for Emily. 

After shopping we made our way to Island Breeze, a restaurant owned by Americans that offered a lot of the tastes of home.  (Before we turned down the street that Island Breeze was on, I saw the weirdest sight that perhaps gave me my only culture shock experience in Ethiopia.  We made a right hand turn down the street before turning left into the Island Breeze parking lot.  Just before that right hand turn, on the right was a bright yellow shop, carrying nothing but DeWalt power tools.  I’ve never seen anything like that in America, much less in a poverty-inflicted country).  Anyway, Island Breeze had a really cute and laid back atmosphere and an awesome brick oven where they made their pizzas.  I ordered a ranch chicken wrap, but the chicken was breaded and not grilled and a little over done.  It wasn’t fantastic but it was nice to at least recognize something on the menu.  We had a large party but dinner took more than 2 hours if I remember correctly and by the time we left I think we were all ready to go home.  Of course the night concluded with some Bananagrams but with a larger group than our normal three or four.  It was fantastic and I felt like it was really a time when we got to bond as a team.

Island Breeze

Day 4 - Clinic

This was the first day we set up clinic in Korah. If I remember correctly, we got a little bit of a late start – it was maybe 9am when the vans picked us up. The actual task of setting up took some time, but the stations looked great when we were done. We had five stations of seeing patients, and a small waiting area and table for the pharmacy. I jumped in and helped Beth set things up and run the pharmacy, partially because it was the safest area (no blood and guts) and partially because I already knew her and had dubbed her my “buddy” for the trip.

The pharmacy med chest

We had the pharmacy set up with a med chest on top, and then tubs containing cough and cold medicines, topical, gastric, and OTC pain meds. Eye drops and some of the topical were kept on the table where we filled prescriptions. I learned a lot about pharmacy type things, like Tylenol and Advil are dosed based on weight. You can’t give Ibuprofen to a pregnant or breastfeeding woman. Bactrim treats UTI’s and I think it probably a little resistant in the area because it’s so commonly prescribed. Ivermectin, a drug used to treat parasites, doesn’t work in the area because I don’t think the parasite is found in the area; we more commonly used Mebendazole. The most common things we treated were eye complaints (dry, itchy, bothered by the sun, etc) and stomach issues. Triage was given things like OTC pain meds, tums, eye drops, Neosporin and band aids in an effort to treat people there and only send big cases to the doctors.

Maste playing doctor

I didn’t make any notes in terms of specific patients or things that affected me. This day I think spirits were high and we were stoked to be really starting to settle in doing what we came to do. I do recall that we were supposed to be able to leave our things in the church because the door had a lock, but it turns out that each day we were going to have to pack things up and move it all across the street to the church office. That was a bit of a pain in the butt but by the end of the week we had quite the system down and could set up the 6 station clinic in 20 minutes or less. We got to eat lunch as a group in the church. The lovely ladies at the Guest House had made rice and vegetables for us, and it really hit the spot. I didn’t eat much for breakfast because I wasn’t feeling super well but being able to put something on my stomach made me feel a lot better.

Clinic on Tuesday was a later one, and we didn’t start closing up shop until about 5pm. We went back to the Guest House and had dinner with the promise of ice cream later. I remember this dinner was candle lit but I don’t know what we had. Salad, because we all questioned whether or not it was safe to eat, and probably beef and pasta because we also ate a lot of that all week. We did a fair amount of sitting around after dinner, waiting to go to ice cream. We were told we’d be leaving around 7:15pm and didn’t hit the road until close to 8pm. I was surprised when we loaded up the vans, as I thought it was a place we were walking to. Apparently there is nothing safe to walk to within that radius of the Guest House, so we took a van into Greater Addis to a place called Kaldi’s. It was reminiscent of American Starbucks, selling coffee and some food, but the food was hardier than Starbucks, including things like burgers and fries.

Maste sat across from me and it gave us a good time to chat. I asked him about his life and he told me how Young Life came in and introduced him to the Lord. And how he went to University and studied Business Administration. For dessert he had ordered a vanilla frappachino, but unlike the states, the drink didn’t have coffee. I got chocolate and strawberry ice cream. Someone had ordered a plate of fries, and I started eating my ice cream with the fries. The ice cream was thick and rich and wonderful, although I’ll admit to being a bit skeptical of milk in Ethiopia. Maste was eyeing my concoction with some wariness but I convinced him to try it, telling him it really was good and reminding him that I was daring enough to stick my hands in injera. He tried, dipping a fry in my ice cream, and the look on his face was priceless. I think he had a bit of a hard time swallowing it. Haha. He said that Americans eat some weird stuff, but I say his distaste comes from a general lack of knowledge about desserts, since I don’t think most Ethiopians eat much dessert.

Mmm, ice cream

After ice cream, we made our way back to the Guest House. Beth and I played Bananagrams with Andy and learned a bit about his past. He is a very interesting person. Just as we were getting ready to go to bed, one of our teammates comes downstairs saying she doesn’t feel well. Beth and I talk to her and eventually we wake up Dr. John and Kathleen, because we think she is having a slight panic attack. We spend a good part of the early evening awake, just chatting and waiting for her medicine to kick in. We don’t make it to bed until after 1am.

Ethiopia - Day 3 Akake

Monday was similar to Sunday in that we spent a lot of the day travelling.  We made a short visit to the Akake boarding school as we made our way back home from Shashemene.  At Akake, we saw around 50 kids.  This clinic was a bit more of a challenge, as it was an open air, uncovered affair. 

Pharmacy from a bag

The set up at Shashamene was outside but underneath the covering of an amphitheater.  Akake had nothing but trees to offer protection.  It proved a bit difficult this time around as there was no triaging area.  The kids were coming to us without as much information as we’d had yesterday, so we sometimes had to weigh kids to get the correct dosing for medications.  I’m working with Beth again in the pharmacy, and to help her as much as I can, I’m trying to pull out the medicines she needs but am not worrying over the amount to give them.  However, with limited space, the only place to put them is on top of the medicine chest.  This area only holds so many things, and with the wind blowing, we find ourselves chasing papers more often than we’d like to. 

Luckily, on the whole, these kids are healthy, and it appears as if this school is more expensive than the school at Shashamene.  The kids wear blue and white uniforms and many of them speak at least a little English. 

Funny, not so funny story - towards the end of clinic, one of the Eggum team members comes up to me and shows me a packet of pills, asking me if I know what they are.  Looking at the packet it’s obvious.  The 6 tablet packet of Mebendazole has been handed out to each patient that is seen, regardless of diagnosis, to treat parasites.  This packet is distinctly different though – it’s empty.  The kids are being instructed to take one tablet with us, then other one tonight, following every day with one pill in the morning and one in the evening for 3 days (when the pills are gone).  Clearly something got lost in translation.  Beth consults her phone and discovers that, luckily, the worst that will happen is this kid will get terribly physically ill for a while.  Poor guy.

Once we got back to the Guest House, Beth and I stepped out on the balcony to survey the view. 

Our house looked directly into the school yard of the private school across the street, South West Academy.  There were some kids outside the school yard wall playing a game in the dirt of the street.  While we could never figure out the object, it involved tossing a marker of some sort while perched atop another player like a horse.  Inside the wall, there were a few kids waiting to be picked up.  They found great pleasure in yelling at us, asking us if we were Americans and calling us beautiful ladies.  One kid got a kick out of sticking his tongue out at us.  They were cute kids, and seemed to be well taken care of.  Green uniforms were required for school and one of the parents was very well dress as she came to pick up her son.  It seems that school in Ethiopia is free but uniforms are required and must be purchased.  The option of education is there but a lot of families cannot afford to pay for the uniforms so their kids do not attend school.

I also wanted to spend some time making some cultural notes.  Seemingly trivial things that I don’t want to forget, like Coke is called Coka and they serve it warm.  Although each time I ordered it in restaurants, it did come out cold.  The coffee is bitter without sugar but it’s normally served with sugar I think (the two times I had it I had it served once with and once without sugar). 

When driving, one faces many obstacles.  Not only are there no working traffic lights (we did see some in Greater Addis but they were not working), but traffic often gets close enough that a misplaced hand could spell disaster.  Livestock often crosses the road at inopportune times, requiring some quick thinking behind the wheel.  One will often see sheep, cows, horses, goats, yaks, and donkeys just standing in the middle of the highway testing fate.  Horn honks on the road can mean many different things.  Most often, however, they do not mean “You're a jerk” like they do in the US.  It’s more often a “Hey, I’m coming up beside you to pass, don’t change lanes” or “Hey pedestrian, don’t cross right now." 

This area is also a no-flush-TP culture.  Actually, both times we were in the Addis air port, there wasn’t even TP in the bathrooms.  You’ll often see people, mostly men, peeing on the side of the road, although most make the decision not to face traffic.  We did, however, see one woman utilizing nature in the middle of a busy intersection on our way to the Post Office district to shop one day.

Tomorrow is our first day of clinic in Korah.  Lots to do!

James 1:27

This week has felt crazy.  I've had things going on before and after work almost every day and it wasn't until Thursday that I got back the apartment before 11pm.  Although the days felt long and I was tired by their end, there really wasn't anything special about them.  Most of the activities were just life.  But it sure felt like I had a lot of life pushed into only a few days.

One of the more notable events occured on Tuesday evening, when I met with the nurses at RMH to pack 6.5 totes for approximately 5 hours. 

With our 6 team members, we're able to bring a total of 12 totes, each weighing in at 50 pounds a piece.  Once we get on the ground in Ethiopia, we'll have over a ton of supplies with us. 

I'm holding my heart out but clutching it too - Nickel Creek "Reasons Why"

This part of the process affected me more than I thought it would.  I've been excited about the trip from day 1, looking forward to experiencing something new, fulfilling a dream I've had for a long time, and learning many new things.  But seeing some of the things we're taking, and hear what some of them could be used for, really struck a chord with me.  I knew this trip would be hard.  There's no denying that.  But having talked about it with some of the nurses, it has potential to be a lot harder than I could have thought.  Of course, the unknown leaves things open to your imagination, which often translates (for me at least) to thinking of the mroe than worst case senerio.

I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you - John 14:18

It's a bit like the beginning of a new relationship.  The honeymoon phase is gone and its almost like I'm done dreaming.  Reality is starting to set in and I realize this is going to be hard.  Perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done thus far in my life.  I will have to physically put myself lower than probably everyone that comes to the clinic, something I've never had to really do before.  I'm going to have to work hard and learn hard and pray hard and play hard.  And I'm a little scared.  What if I discover I can't do it (anything medical) and I hate it (Africa) and I just want to go home?  What if I fail?  I'm not sure that I really can fail because I know God is preparing and using each of us differently.  And I know this is a trip I need to go on.  I've known that since March when the idea first started floating around.

I don't know what's going to happen, but I do know my senses are going to be assailed in a way they never have been before.  Not to mention my emotions and my spirit.  But I also know that my God is a loving God and is holding me through all of the pre-trip emotions and unexpectedness and dependency.  And I know he is growing me (I might be feeling some growing pains!)  But I'll be walking taller soon, more confident too I'm sure.

The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.' - Matthew 25:40

The Sound of Silence

I walked out of my apartment this afternoon to go to work and stopped.  For the first time all summer, there was silence.  It was a little shocking to be honest, as this must have been the locust year.  All season there's been noise, no matter the hour, of these insects loudly proclaiming their presence.  I'm not complaining - it's the sound of summer.  But to have it stopped so suddenly, I guess you never really know what you have till its gone.

Unfortunately the silence outside has no comparable resonance in my life right now.  There are meetings at work, conference calls, two months worth of activity planning, shopping and packing and laundry, new youth groups to start and familiar ones with which to reacquaint myself.  Even though the summer might not have been all I wanted it to be, it was wonderful and I'm going to miss the weather, the lazy pace of life.

So, to commemorate Summer 2011, some cell phone photos for your viewing pleasure.

Engaged 6.27.11

The Fair's in town - June 2011

Sunset from the mountain top July 2011

Moth outside work July 2011

Patriotism

Putt putt poses August 2011

Second to last game of the season August 2011

Awesome presentation on some yummy Chinese food Sept 2011

Leap of faith

It's funny, I didn't sit down on this couch after dinner last night with the intention of making this decision.  It's one I've thought about for a long time but I was still on the fence for a while.  First, perhaps, I should explain.

Around the first of the year, I fell in love.  He's the most beautiful boy I've ever laid eyes on, and it only took one look from him to steal my heart.  His name is Juddah.



He has these huge eyes that just light up whenever he looks at you, and his smile will make your heart flutter every time.  Juddah is just here in the USA for a short amount of time but the story of how he got here is amazing.

Juddah's hometown is in Korah, Ethiopia, a city not far outside the capital of Addis Ababa.  What makes Korah unique is the fact that it houses the city's landfill.  Korah is a city populated by the undesirables of society - widows, orphans, people affected by HIV/AIDS and Leprosy - who make their living by foraging through the trash heap, looking for food.





Baby Juddah was found by Cherrie, a missionary with Project 61, lying on top of urine soaked rags with his twin sister Sarah.  The infants felt so cold, Cherrie thought they were both dead, but after some warmth and care from Cherrie and her friend, the twins opened their eyes.  It was obvious that something was different about baby Juddah - his head looked too big.  It turns out he had a life threatening condition called hydrocephalus, literally, water on the brain.

Juddah was granted a medical visa and a chance at life in the States.  This is the first visa of it's kind for someone in Korah in 10 years.  The local Carilion Clinic has done surgery on Juddah for free, and he is now resting comfortably at home with Cherrie in Oregon until he is able to return to Ethiopia to live with his mother, grandmother, twin and 5-year old sibling.

During his time locally for surgery, Cherrie lived with a family from our church, and had mentioned that some of the Carilion staff was taking a medical missions trip.  While I desperately wanted to go, I'm not medically trained and I don't even like going to the doctor (who does, right?).  I didn't think I'd be given access to go.  But after talking with Cherrie and attending an informational meeting in May, I was told I would be welcome to come along. 

The planning has hit some bumps along the way and our team of 10 or more is now down to 4.  I was waiting to fill out my application and arrange to spend more than $3200 in travel expenses until I read Cherrie's blog last night.  Only 2 non-medical spots were still available!  I grabbed my wallet faster than I ever have before and sent in my non-refundable application fee and arranged to have my references send in papers.  All in all a rushed feeling but I woke up this morning feeling very at peace about all of it.  I have wanted to go to Africa since I was 12, and I feel like this could be it.  God is calling me here for something.  Another country, in more poverty and disease than I've ever seen in my life.  And all because one little boy looked at me.



All photos courtsey of Cherrie Cornish and her blog.