let's talk story

Had I completely lost my mind?  I crawled into my new bed as the coqui frogs sang their shrill, exotic song just outside the screened in porch.  The humidity and warm, fragrant air filled my senses, stirring up the discombobulated thoughts and torrents of questions inside of me.  Two weeks prior, I hadn’t even considered the possibility of moving to Hawaii, and now here I was with nothing but two suitcases and a hunch that I had heard from God.  Just get through one day at a time, I told myself.  If it doesn’t work out, you can always hop on a plane, go home, and forget all of this craziness ever happened.

See, moving to Hawaii sounds like a lot of fun unless you don’t have any money or enough time to say goodbye to all your friends.  I felt foolish for taking such a leap of faith, even though every fiber in my being was rejoicing in the adrenaline rush.  In theory, I knew God was more than capable of providing for all of my needs—now my trust in Him would be put to the test.

The next week brought confirmation after confirmation that God had me right where He wanted me.  My heart resonated with the call of becoming a midwife, a title that carries a lot of mixed feelings for people, but which actually just means “with woman.”  My eyes were opened to the living hell that childbirth is for millions of women around the world.  It’s heartbreaking stuff to learn about, yet I finally felt like I could do something to help.

The fact is that developing nations have little to no healthcare for expecting mothers and newborn babies.  The number two killer of women worldwide, second only to HIV/AIDS, is childbirth.  What?  The very thing that God created to bring new life into the world is killing 287,000 women every year, and 99% of those deaths occur in developing nations.

But we’re not off the hook either.  Western cultures rely heavily on medical care to feel safe in childbirth.  Yet why are 32.8% of U.S. babies delivered by cesarean section when experts agree that anything over a 15% C-section rate does more harm than good?  And what of our induction rates?  I had never known that induced birth not only hurts eons more than natural labor, but it also sends fetal distress off the charts—no wonder we need so many epidurals and narcotics.

It’s all in your perspective, I suppose.  Mine has shifted drastically over the past three weeks.  So far, we've learned how to take blood pressure, heart rates and UA's.  We've learned how to be doulas--someone there to comfort and support mama during labor.  We're learning about nutrition and how it impacts not only mama and baby's well-being during pregnancy, but how it can also cut down on delivery complications.  We've learned how to teach classes on childbirth education (even though it might be a while until I'm ready for that).  We have all been assigned to expecting mamas who are sharing their bellies with us so we can learn how to perform prenatal appointments.  And most importantly, we are learning more and more every day who God is and how He designed birth to work.

It's been a wild journey so far.  In a lot of ways, I had put God in a box.  I believed He could do anything, yet I held tightly to the idea that I was in control of my future.  He has overwhelmed me with His provision.  Whenever I begin to panic, He just whispers, You may not have everything you need for the next six months, or year, or decade, but do you have what you need today?  He has blessed me with beautiful new friends who are wildly in love with the King.  He has given me the sweetest house to live in.  He has kept me safe even though I’m living on a rock in the middle of the ocean, thousands of miles away from civilization.

But most of all, He has reminded me that He loves me.  The dreams in my heart are in His as well.  He is an extravagant God...I need only trust Him.

A few of my lovely classmates.
(photo cred: Morgan)

(photo cred: Sara)

We have some talented budding midwives among us!

The first of many stunning sunsets.

Turns out you have to cut down the whole banana tree to get the bunch of bananas.
(photo cred: Christine)

At the marina.

love does not envy

Everything outside is soaked with green and rain.  The breeze is sifting through the window as I spend moments alone.  A friend is in labor with her first child.  So many I know are getting engaged, married, watching their perfect love story unfold.  Others are off to the farthest lands, exploring this planet we all call home.

I, on the other hand, stand in the corner watching, eyes wide, heart beating, wondering what I'm doing wrong.  I blame myself for where I am in life.  It's probably a failure on my part to seek God's heart deeply enough.  Or maybe I'm waiting for an answer when He's just telling me to take the plunge and go.  What do I do?  What don't I do?

In the meantime, I often wonder what it means to really walk in love.  I Corinthians 13 tells me I have miles and miles to go before I love even close to flawlessly...scratch that, I never will.

"Love is patient..." I snapped at a coworker today.

"Love is kind..." I made a thoughtless joke that could have hurt someone.

"Love does not envy..." Hold up.

Does that mean that by comparing my life to someone else's, I'm actually not loving them?  Or perhaps even hating them by default?  Or, worse, hating myself?  If I cannot love myself, I cannot love another...or God.

"The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these." -Mark 12:31

 "We love because he first loved us. Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen." - I John 4:19-20

I don't know.  I got tired of Sunday school answers a long time ago.  Genuine love is hard to come by these days, and even harder to come by is religion that is pure and undefiled before God: "to visit the orphans and widows in distress [thus] keeping oneself unspotted by the world." - James 1:27

This place in my life is somehow where God wants me.  I'll look back and be thankful for this odd, dry wilderness, and also be thankful for the little oases he takes me to in the midst of it.

home

via

I realized for the first time yesterday that this doesn’t feel like home.

When I read stories about people and how they describe the place they live, I am always struck by how content they sound—you know, happy to travel to work via the all-too-familiar road day after day, or describing with tender love the places that make their hearts always return to.  But that’s not how I feel about my home…for some reason, it barely feels like home at all.

I’ve always wanted to explore.  As a kid in middle school, I would lay out on the hammock during lunch hour with a book and a sandwich, grab a stick to use as an oar, and rock myself back and forth pretending I was gliding down the river in some beautiful European forest.  The sun would filter through the trees and carry me away with my imagination and returning to my studies an hour later was the heaviest cross I could have borne.

I lived for summer road trips.  I loved the snacks and books and cramped legs because it meant that when I would step out of the car hours later, I would breathe in the humid, fragrant air of another place.  Nothing compared to the awe-filled mystery of visiting someone else’s normal.  Hotel swimming pools were the waters of Greek mythology and horse-grazed meadows were the fields of Narnia to me.

I covet routine, yet I almost always find it suffocating once it comes.  Why?  It’s like the more deeply I wear a rut in the dirt, the more toxic the air becomes and I begin feel the overpowering need to escape.  Every time my dad mentions how much he loves his city, this uncomfortable feeling fills my gut.  It’s his city, not mine.  I didn’t choose this one, and as fond as I am of it, I’ve never been able to escape.  Not like I haven’t tried.  Everyone else seems like they just choose a place they want to go and they’re there, for school or ministry or just straight up adventuring.  But here I am, still at the same job I was at when I graduated high school, and restlessly trying to get through school at a great and affordable place nearby, but where I don’t fit in even a little bit.

Maybe money is holding me back.  Maybe I’ve limited myself because I refuse to go into debt and I don’t want to live off of the support of benefactors for the sake of being a missionary.  My life makes sense in theory right now, but I can’t remember the last time I felt completely content and at home.  I feel like a parasite living off of the contentment of those closest to me, but feeling as though my own vision and dreams have no room to fly.  The plane keeps getting stuck at the end of the runway, forced to taxi back to the starting line and try again.

This could be a good thing.  This could mean that the slingshot is just getting pulled further and further back, and when the great Hand finally lets it go I’ll be soaring farther than I could ever imagine, and the dreams trapped inside will come to blinding, vivid, exhilarating life.  But the big     w  h  a  t     i  f    is: what if it’s not good?  Too many people get to their thirties and realize they should have just jumped off the diving board instead of playing it safe.  Am I playing it safe or just playing it wise?

Because conversely, some of the most successful people never did what they’re famous for until they were in the second half of their lives.  They simply needed more time and experience; rushing the process would have been self sabotage.

I don’t know.  I’m not looking for instant gratification, even if it seems like that.  I’m okay with waiting as long as it takes, just as long as the monotony I feel now isn’t really monotony, but is in fact the slingshot being pulled backwards with purpose.

There is so much world to see and I am determined to see as much of it as is humanly possible.  I want to live on the edge, out of the box.  I always want to look back on December 31^st and say I lived well this year.  Heck, I always want to look back at 11:59 pm and say I lived well today.  I want to be brave enough to accept the mundane with grace and joy and creativity if that is what is required of me.  Perhaps living well is not having lots of great moments handed to you, but rather making every moment great.