Weary

Weary

“And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all, especially to those who are of the household of faith. “ Galatians 6:9-10

The excitement and adrenaline of being here and remembering how to be a nurse lasted for most of the first two weeks. I was cruising along, surrounded by really cool and encouraging people who gave me energy. I was renewing relationships from before and having fun making friends with the weekly volunteers. My patient load was pretty reasonable and the moments of feeling overwhelmed were few and far between, outweighed by the small victories of mostly knowing what I was doing and being built up in confidence.

The beginning of week three was a different story. A pediatric surgeon was here and we were over-capacity with patients and it was a light volunteer week. I recognized that I had been drawing confidence from the strong nurses and doctors I had worked with in previous weeks and I acutely felt the lack of that. I was tired, overwhelmed, and irritable. I caught myself cussing at temperamental IV pumps. Mostly I felt a total lack of grace in myself towards others. I was irritated by the people I was working with and short-tempered towards patient’s parents asking for this or that. “Can’t they see how busy I am?” My patience was in short supply.

Tuesday night of week 3 was the breakdown. The weight of what I was being asked to do seemed so heavy. But what really laid me flat was the total lack of grace and patience I had towards others for the previous few days. I had grown weary of doing good and looked at it as a burden, feeling harshly towards others for not adequately appreciating me for bearing it. Pride is such a cunning and despicable enemy, creeping in to spoil beautiful things. But my God is merciful and gentle, reminding me in the dark on the roof of all the grace He has for me in infinite supply, how He is redeeming every part of me; and even though that work is far from done, He will never give up on me.

"Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed,

Because His compassions fail not.

They are new every morning;

Great is Your faithfulness." Lamentations 3:22-23

Truly each day is new here. No two days are ever the same. And the hope in me makes me feel that every day is a fresh opportunity to get it right. I am so grateful for the patience that others have shown me. For the moms and dads and nurses and kids who allow me to try again to serve them well, even after I’ve been cross or unkind. And these kids teach me so much about forgiveness, because even after I poke them with needles and make them take their medicine they still allow me to be their friend; they smile and play with me. I am learning so much from them about bearing patiently with others, as they do so with me.

“Love is beautiful, but it is also terrible—terrible in its determination to allow nothing blemished or unworthy to remain in the beloved.” Hannah Hurnard

Since that evening on the roof, the past two weeks have been far more difficult physically and emotionally. I have had more patients, sicker kids, worked longer hours, and seen more suffering. It’s kind of comical, in fact, that every time I think to myself, “that was probably the hardest/busiest/most tiring day ever,” then the next day is sure to be even more so. But God is relentless in His pursuit of the person He is shaping me into. I see that in all of these things He is flooding me with opportunities to be the person of grace and peace He desires me to be, and because of His great mercy He allows me to try again and again, though I often fail.

“The Eternal will finish what He started in me. Your faithful love, O Eternal One, lasts forever; do not give up on what your hands have made.” Psalm 138:8

Made New

As the Lord is teaching me about redemption, the process that it is in my own life, He is illustrating it for me in so many beautiful and encouraging ways. In the middle of being a total stressball two weeks ago, I got the most delightful gift as a reminder that God is making all things new.

When I was here in the fall, the last few weeks of my stay we had a patient who I worked with a lot. I wrote about her here, she is the girl whose bowel ruptured and had to have an ileostomy. When I left, she was still so sick, afraid, and in pain. I often wondered about how she was. When the pediatric surgeon was here one of the scheduled surgeries was none other than a bowel reanastomosis (putting the intestine back together) for that same sweet girl.

When I saw her I could hardly believe my eyes. She was so strong and healthy and happy. She had grown so much and seemed totally at ease in her own skin, ileostomy and all. I was beyond delighted to see her and hug her again. Her mother, who used to run from the room at the sight of the ileostomy, was helping other moms on the unit learn how to care for their babies who had new colostomies themselves. The surgery went well, put the girl’s body back in order, made it whole and right again as it should be. But it is evident that God has made her new again in so many other ways as well. It was a great privilege to see such an evident display of God’s healing. His love is strong. 

Swinging

(From May 19)

So here I am back in Haiti. It is finally sinking in that I’m actually here. Now that all my clothes are soaked in sweat and I have a few mosquito bites, I think I’m starting to believe it. It has been interesting to see what has changed in the last six months and what is exactly the same. One huge improvement was the new airport building that I was received by. Last time I came the arrivals wing was essentially just a warehouse, since they had to rebuild the main building after the earthquake. Now it looks like a real airport, with luggage turnstiles, bathrooms, and a few shops even. More roads are paved and they have even painted lines on some of them. Everyone still drives wherever they want, mind you, but it looks nice.

Back at the hospital it was wonderful to be greeted by many of the same sweet friends. There are some exciting new things here, like the solar power panels that are covering a couple of the rooftops and the new isolettes in the NICU. I didn’t have long to stand and wonder at things, however, since I worked the night shift a few hours after I got back to the hospital.

I think the phrase “back in the swing of things” pretty accurately describes this week. I felt like I was oscillating constantly: between harried nerves and calm confidence, laughter and tears, adrenaline and exhaustion. I am finding my flow again, remembering how to manage time and patients, and getting re-conditioned for twelve hour shifts of running and doing. It’s a good thing I like rollercoasters, because that is exactly what nursing is like. I’m strapped in, hands high, screaming my head off. One minute it’s an IV that needs replaced while babies are crying and monitors are alarming, then it’s hours of relaxing and organizing, then it’s a new patient with fever and seizures and I’m off to the races. It is horrific traumas and small steps of improvement. Some moments I am swinging with ease, in others I feel totally off balance, but if you just keep going things will always come back around and your feet will feel on solid ground again.

Each evening I like to sit on the roof and think about the day, soaking in the brilliant beauty of sky and mountains. And somehow, no matter how calm or crazy the day was, I am always so thankful. This is the hardest, best thing I have ever done and I am so blessed to be back here. I can’t wait to see what the swing will bring tomorrow.

To Make Us Small

In March I went to the Grand Canyon for the first time. Seeing the Grand Canyon is kind of like standing before God. We call it mind-blowing, because it makes us realize just how little of existence we can actually see and understand. It reminds us that we are small. That’s one of the things I love about nature, and God- that feeling of smallness.

God has been doing some amazing things lately, things that make me feel like I’m standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon. I can’t even claim to have mustard seed-sized faith, but He is so faithful that my mind is blown again and again.

I have wanted to go back to Haiti for a while and for various reasons felt unable to move forward. Sometimes God speaks in an instant, but sometimes He speaks over weeks and weeks of experiences and conversations with people. Through the latter I felt like He was moving me towards Haiti over the last few months and was really trying to believe Him for that. My small group prayed with me a month ago that God would make a way for me to go back to Haiti. I listened, and then kept worrying about money and things…

A few days later, in the course of a conversation, a man I had just met was offering to sponsor my trip back to Haiti through his internet marketing company and asking me to blog about my experiences for them! God spoke then in an instant, of His faithfulness to His promise, of His love for me, of His plan and story unfolding.

So here I am, standing on the edge of His Greatness- mind-blown, feeling delighted by my smallness, steamrolled by his faithfulness once again. In Ephesians Paul describes God as “Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think.” This experience has reminded me so acutely how true that is. No matter how my faith grows, I know that I will be joyfully surprised by Him for endless eternity.  

This time next week I will be back in Port-au-Prince. I know that I will struggle and cry and feel crushed by the brokenness. I will fail and fall short. I will get tired and cranky. But I also know that I will look on my Grand Canyon God as He does many marvelous works and I will stand in awesome wonder as He makes me small.

Pray

I leave on Saturday, May 11 and I am planning to be there for three months. I will be primarily staying at the hospital, which will be exciting and exhausting. Please pray for final preparations and details to come together this next week and for safe travels. Thanks!! 

Waiting... and other profanity

I like plans. I like having a plan. A good plan, that sounds clean and well-thought-out and impressive. I like being able to tell people that I have a plan and it’s a good one. In fact, I am totally freaked out and unhinged by the lack of a plan, especially when it is in fact my life that is plan-less.

 There is also apparently this phenomenon where, when you live in community with other humans with whom you converse and who know you or are marginally acquainted with you, they ask you questions and want to know things like, “what are you up to now?” (translation: What’s the plan?). That is all well and good when you are a well-composed human with one of those good plans to tell people about.

I, on the other hand, am neither well-composed, nor plan-having, or perhaps even truly human-feeling these days. Since my return to the US almost five months ago I have been flailing about and almost drowning in this disorienting, directionless ocean I call Waiting.

For me, Waiting has mostly looked like some conglomeration of activities including, but not limited to: living with my parents and working at the family cigar shop, going to College Station to see horse and people every other weekend, sitting up late at night and googling hospitals then wondering whether I should apply to them then freaking out and not being able to fall asleep for a long time, thinking about Haiti a lot, traveling with my best friend in Memphis and having an epic road trip adventure to the Grand Canyon, moping about in self-loathing over the fact that I am “that loser college grad living with the parents and not having a plan,” routinely thinking each month that maybe this time next month I’ll be back in Haiti.

But even more than all that, I think Waiting has been an exercise in resisting the Lord’s attempts to still me, quiet me, teach me, refine me. Because when I give in, He shows me how beautiful Waiting can be. He is trying to show me that I don’t need a plan, I need Him and if Waiting is where He wants me, then it is the Holiest place I can be; that there is living and loving and serving to be done right here in the Waiting and it doesn’t require a plan or career or mission.

He is trying to show me I can walk on these waters if I will only keep my eyes on Him, but the waves are high and scary and I can’t see the shore that is coming next and people are asking me “what’s the plan” and… that’s why I am choking on saltwater instead of walking hand in hand with Him. I have been living in fear of people instead of fear of the Lord. So instead of Waiting being the sanctuary He intended, I spit it out like a bad word and try over and over to compose one of those impressive-sounding plans.

Forgive me, Lord. You are the Author.

“He said to me I was a tree in a story about a forest, and that it was arrogant of me to believe any differently. And he told me the story of the forest is better than the story of the tree.” –Donald Miller

Not The End

I’m not sure how this is possibly true, but it is already November 11th which, besides meaning that I’m another year older, lamentably means I am getting on a plane to the US tomorrow. (I am also lamenting that twenty-four doesn’t rhyme with “fancy-free,” but that’s not important.) I would expect myself to be a conflicting mess of emotion on this last day in Haiti but I am finding myself remarkably peaceful today. It is hard to be anything but thankful. Thankfulness fills you up like too much guacamole and makes it rather impossible to concurrently be sad or stressed or anxious.

Last year I read the book One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp and learned a lot about practicing thankfulness. And it does take practice to be thankful. If I were to make a list of the things I am thankful for from the past three months I can’t even fathom how long it would be. There are simply no words to describe how incredibly blessed I am.

I honestly don’t want to try to come up with some eloquent speech about all of the lessons I’ve learned and the moral of the story and the conclusion to my time in Haiti. For one thing, my overwhelming feeling is that this is not the end, that I have more adventures awaiting me in this beautiful place. The planes fly both ways and I’ve got a lot of Home Sweet Hispaniola to still explore.

I also know that each chapter is beautiful in its own way. God likes to amaze us and He is never going to run out of creativity in doing so. There is enough of Him to keep boggling our minds for endless centuries. I feel like my vision in seeing Him has been sharpened here and I want to keep seeing the beauty in everything. I want to keep living this vibrant life, and it’s not just here; it is in Him.

I’m going to keep learning from the past three months for a while to come. I am looking forward to talking about it over and over with a bunch of you people who I’ve been dying to see. There is so much more to tell you about the part of my heart that is staying on this side of tomorrow’s travels.

Today I’m thankful for all of the incredible people I told goodbye today- co-workers, patients, neighbors. I’m thankful for the big, beautiful painted sky above the mountains. I’m thankful for fried plantains, pikliz, and Haitian Coca-Cola. I’m thankful for flowers and bumpy roads and sweating and colors and Kreyol and hugs. I’m deeply, overwhelmingly thankful for Haiti.

The Ones That Stick With You

The Ones That Stick With You

Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it. -Confucius

The five year old boy who came in with altered mental status and irregular respirations. He was intubated and sedated, but kept fighting the vent so was taken back off of it. Had crazy breathing patterns, like really crazy. Other than his disoriented grabs at the ETT tube in his throat when sedation was waning, I never saw him move. I never saw a glimpse of the beautiful normal boy he was before getting sick. We did all the tests we could do. Doctors emailed other doctors and we all scratched our heads. He got worse. Respiratory failure. Heart block. Brain Death. We watched him die without any answers, any idea why. It was hard to see the beauty that time.

The seven year old boy with a massive complicated growth disfiguring his tongue, which hangs out of his mouth letting secretions pour down his front side constantly. I have no idea what caused the mass or what doctors and surgeons will be able to do for him. He also has a strange skin disorder and eye problems. My first interaction with him involved trying to hold down all of his limbs as he tried to fend off the nurse attempting to clean his mouth out, screaming all the while. After that rude introduction I didn’t know how receptive he would be to letting me assess him. Haitians are generally extremely wary and unreceptive of people with any sort of physical disfigurement, so I’m sure this poor boy and his mom had been given a wide berth for some time. With a friendly voice and smile I had a new friend. When I listened to his lungs and heart with my stethoscope he was curious and wanted to take it from me. So I helped him listen to his heart with it and then mine. That got an attempt at a smile out of him. Later in the morning we had to hold him down again so I could pop in an IV and we could clean his mouth again. A tiny toy car reward won him over again and we raced it up and down the bed. There’s no telling how much of his drool I got all over me this week. He gradually started helping us clean his mouth out instead of fighting. He would cry when his mom stepped out for a moment, but if I sat with him and talked to him he would sometimes stop. Love conquers all.

The ten year old girl who had typhoid which caused her bowel to rupture. She had one surgery, got better for a few days, got worse and had another surgery. She came out of the second one with a large abdominal wound and an ileostomy. I held her hand through a lot of dressing changes and tried to reassure her in many, many moments of terror. Her mom couldn’t even stay in the room for dressing changes at first. We all talked ourselves blue in the face with her and her mom, trying to explain what was happening. She didn’t understand. She was so afraid. Yesterday we put a vacuum dressing on her abdominal wound and I tried to calm her while she cried for Jesus and said she was dying. She wrote a note of a prayer asking God to forgive her for her sins and her mother’s sins, which were causing her to die. My heart is broken for this girl. I am so angry with myself for getting so lazy in learning Kreyol that I don’t know how to tell her Truth with my own words. I held her hand and stroked her head and smiled and said the few encouraging phrases I had. She liked to play with the end of my long ponytail and touch my face when I was sitting close to her. I am angry at myself for not having the words for her, I am sad and broken-hearted for the physical pain she is in, I am devastated that she doesn’t understand the earth-shattering love that God has for her. My prayers just don’t seem like enough.


My best friend introduced me to one of my favorite songs, “Farther Along” by Josh Garrels. I listen to it a lot here. Because I don’t understand why any of these sad things happen. I want to trust God that He’s always good. Maybe one day I’ll understand, maybe never. Until then it is enough that He knows.

I’m glad He is big. I’m glad He is a mystery. If He was a God that my small mind could understand He wouldn’t be a big enough God to save me, or any of us.

Farther along we'll know all about it

Farther along we'll understand why

So, cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine

We'll understand this, all by and by

Tempted and tried, I wondered why

The good man died, the bad man thrives

And Jesus cries because he loves 'em both

We're all cast-aways in need of rope

Hangin' on by the last threads of our hope

In a house of mirrors full of smoke

Confusing illusions I've seen

Where did I go wrong, I sang along

To every chorus of the song

That the devil wrote like a piper at the gates

Leading mice and men down to their fates

But some will courageously escape

The seductive voice with a heart of faith

While walkin' that line back home

So much more to life than we've been told

It's full of beauty that will unfold

And shine like you struck gold my wayward son

That deadweight burden weighs a ton

Go down into the river and let it run

Wash away all the things you've done

Forgiveness alright

Farther along we'll know all about it

Farther along we'll understand why

So, cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine

We'll understand this, all by and by

Still I get hard pressed on every side

Between the rock and a compromise

Like the truth and pack of lies fightin' for my soul

And I've got no place left go

'Cause I got changed by what I've been shown

More glory than the world has known

Keeps me ramblin' on

Skipping like a calf loosed from its stall

I'm free to love once and for all

And even when I fall I'll get back up

For the joy that overflows my cup

Heaven filled me with more than enough

Broke down my levees and my bluffs

Let the flood wash me

And one day when the sky rolls back on us

Some rejoice and the others fuss

'Cause every knee must bow and tongue confess

That the Son of God is forever blessed

His is the kingdom, we're the guests

So put your voice up to the test

Sing Lord, come soon 

Farther along we'll know all about it

Farther along we'll understand why

So, cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine

We'll understand this, all by and by

Night Shift

Canucks 

On Tuesday when I stepped onto the unit (‘cause I played hooky and went to the beach on Monday, remember?) it was super weird, like stepping into the twilight zone. I looked around and not a single Haitian nurse was to be found. Instead, there stood half a dozen blonde-haired, blue-eyed white chicks from Canada. I knew this was coming, but I was still startled to find a whole bunch of people who looked like me. Trippy.

This large group of volunteers not only exceeded the number of volunteer bunks at the hospital; it provided an opportunity to do several in-service education days with all of the Haitian nursing staff for the Peds unit. Of course I participated in the classes, because I’ve been here long enough and picked up enough Kreyol that I’m pretty well Haitian now. We made use of the education center in the new hospital buildings across the street that we are expanding to. We went over assessments and ventilator settings and NICU protocols and new unit procedures. It was a really constructive and much appreciated opportunity for the Peds staff. Meanwhile, I got the impression it was an overwhelming few days for the volunteers who were left manning the unit on their own.

When we were on break from the class or done for the day I would go over to check on the ladies on the unit. It was kind of fun to see how comfortable I was with the chaos that was making some of them spazz out. The chaos is totally normal to me now. I embrace it, it feels like home. In lieu of having Haitian nurses I played hostess for them in some ways, being the person most acquainted with where things are, how things are done and so forth. That little overstuffed building feels like home now and it’s fun to feel like I’m not a guest anymore but part of the family.


Night Shift

Since there were so many volunteers in this week it really didn’t seem imperative for me to be at the hospital. I just floated and helped out around the unit, mostly cuddling with the two orphaned kiddos we have on the unit right now or running errands and tracking down supplies. But I just enjoy being at the hospital too much to not be there when there are such fun people to be around and you never know what you will get to see or do there.

Since I could afford to be flexible and my friends Sam and Kensy were going to be working night shift in Peds at the end of the week, I decided to try out my first night shift and see a different side of the hospital. So I lounged around the house all day yesterday, tried unsuccessfully to take a nap in the afternoon, drank a Coke and headed to the hospital at 1700.

It was super chill, quiet, laid back. I started off helping out in the NICU and at midnight I traded with another nurse who was coming on and wanted NICU, so I took a few patients out on the Peds unit. I didn’t ever feel super tired like I was going to fall asleep. I jammed to some tunes on my iphone for a bit. I took time to cheer for the NBA games that were on TV in the unit. When my babies woke up I fed them and held them and spoiled them a little bit. I chatted with my friends. I stood outside and admired the sky. It happened to be the Haitian holiday Day of the Dead yesterday, which didn’t change much for me, except to add the occasional background music of gunfire to the nighttime soundtrack for whatever reason. Before I knew it 0600 was upon us and I handed over my kiddos to someone else and stepped outside.

I knew there was an empty bed where I could lie down if I wanted, but I was too jazzed up from the adrenaline of the night and Coke number two. People commented on how perky I was. I too was surprised at my own energy. So I went up on the roof to enjoy God’s gift to me- my reward for being alive and with open eyes at that hour of the morning. He really knows the way to my heart.

The adventure didn’t end there either. I got drowsy after reading on the roof for a little while so I decided to try to go to sleep in the bunkrooms. Unfortunately, that was also the time that the abundantly large group of Canadians were packing up their things and talking loudly right outside the room. That, combined with a few more bouts of gunfire from the rough part of town behind the hospital put an end to my attempts at such a foolish activity as sleep. So I gave it up as a bad job and joined the crowd outside the rooms and ate some delicious breakfast spaghetti. I wandered around the complex a bit and harassed a few people, then found my way back to the unit. It was turning out to be quite busy in there so I made myself useful by holding cute babies and such. Then it got really busy and despite my excuses about being ridiculously sleep deprived, I felt quite alert again (I was onto Coke number three) and when the Meadows arrived to pick me up at 1230 I had just masterfully placed an IV in a little baby and was giving a fluid bolus.

Which brings me to this point- sitting upright at 1730, almost 36 hours from my last pillow-contact. Not really sure how this is happening. I think I am starting to slightly detach from reality. I have snapped back a couple times from zoning out while typing mid-sentenceeeenaoiwdnwfoa;iewnt……….

Whew. I’m back. There you are. At this point it only really makes sense to persevere for a few more loopy-headed hours and then crash in a major way at Senior Citizen hours. I will say though, I never thought I would enjoy and have the energy for a night shift, but when you are with awesome people doing what you love, midnight is no different from noon. I was also legitimately bummed to leave the hospital when I did- there was stuff going on and I didn’t want to leave, not for sleep or anything. That’s when you find out that you really are doing what you are meant to do. When you don’t want to walk away for food or sleep or a shower, because it’s just good and it feels like it matters and it fills your soul more deeply than any of those other things. And even though I’m just volunteering, this work is making me rich, deeply rich.


Pray
I still don’t know what happens next. Please send up some mega prayers for direction. Pray that my last week (ack!! super lame-o!!) is purposeful and so good. Pray that I would have peace in leaving, even if I don’t know for sure when I will be back.

Thanks, friends!! I’ll be seeing most of you very soon!!