On Losing My Faith...

I think I might be losing my faith.

Not my faith in God, nor many of my convictions. But I think 'faith' as I used to understand it, may be due for an obituary in my life. I don't think I'll purchase a headstone, I've no wish to honor the ugly bit of pride I used to exalt in my life under the surname "Faith".

I don't know what I believe.

Yes, some things feel very sure to me. Yet, as I grow older, see more of the world, and watch God work in diverse ways, I realize more and more how very little I know. I increasingly believe that there are many ways to live a life that pleases God. And there are many things that are NOT outlined clearly in scripture.

I grew up knowing it all.

I had millions of hypothetical answers to hypothetical situations. I had scriptures to back it all up. Yet most of it was not actually true belief. It was idealistic hogwash. And I judged those who disagreed with me. I had tunnel vision, and a narrow stream of logic to back it up. Somewhere, at the source of that stream, was an obscure scripture or two that I thought proved me right.

I put God in a box.

Because I 'knew' what faith was, and how to have it, I actually limited the ways in which God could work in my life. I gave him only the options that fit into my tidy little view. It was important to me. Growing up in a Christian sub-culture that self-identified as 'the faith camp', I'd have to say that this is an issue I've heard a lot about.

And rightly so.

Without faith, we cannot even please God. So.... yeah. It should be a big deal. But I don't think the measure of our faith is defined by the results our prayers get. And some of what has been prescribed as 'walking by faith', or not seeking the 'arm of the flesh' may not be found in scripture at all. And other times we find that our lives do not line up with our understanding of scripture, even when our actions do.

Faith is vital.

But in some ways, it was made an idol. Faith was the end goal, not God. Faith made you good.... better.... more enlightened than others. Faith, defined by a specific group of people, by a specific set of actions, and a distinct way of speech. Not only by things revealed in scripture, but by rules made up by a man. My heart was lifted up with pride, and my soul was not tender toward His voice because I knew the textbook answer.

It settled my religious need.

I began to think of Christians in terms of the 'haves' and the 'have nots'. And honestly, I usually put myself in the 'haves' category. It felt good, and I had a group of people who agreed with me. I could defend my ideas down to the last jot and tittle. My sheltered little life fit my framework, and I never humbled myself to ask God if I was on the right track.

But it wasn't faith.

Really, it was religion. Pride. A superiority complex. Naivety. And God had to shake me. He had to break me. He had to turn different parts of my world upside-down and inside-out, and twist them a few times. Until I didn't know what I believed. Until nothing fit. Until it was just God, and clinging to him, giving Him everything, and trusting that what He did was right and good.

And guess what?

I'm losing my 'faith'. I am questioning everything. I find that a lot of my previous beliefs and standards for life are actually not anywhere to be found in scripture. It is completely revolutionizing the way that I think. Some of these thought patterns are so comfortable to me.... It is hard to let go. I'm finding myself concerned about whether my new ideas will be approved of by people I respect.

My motives are out of wack.

Instead of asking, "Is this scriptural?", or "Is this godly?" I have been comparing myself to man's ideals, and seeking their approval. It's so wrong. God is gently teaching me to look only to Him. Not to compose a four-step plan to multiple hypothetical situations, but to know Him and His word so well, that I behave in a way that pleases Him when these situations arise. To be humble enough to not know the answer.

So yeah, I think I'm loosing my faith. But you know?.... Maybe I'm just now beginning to find it.

Homecoming Dance....

I leave this country in 8 days. That creates mixed feelings in my heart. I actually have to be completely honest and mention that I'm not really doing a homecoming dance. I feel really torn.... Because as much as I love all my friends and family in the states, this place here is SO RIGHT for me. My heart is settled here, and I love every moment. I really have waves of joy and excitement multiple times per day when I think about how God has placed me here. I grin like a fool often.

This is my life!

 

It's so hard to believe. After 8.5 years of waiting, I have my first 'field assignment'. I feel that every one of my dreams has been handed me on a platter. The words of a song I sang in gospel choir run through my mind. "God Favors Me". My life is unmistakeably directed by a loving author. I feel that God HAS given me the desires of my heart. He has both shaped my desires, and then fulfilled them.

It is incredible.


It is just so impossibly perfect. I was created for this place, and it was created for me. The colors, music, the emotion, the friendliness.... I love every minute of it. It is like living in a musical. It's ok to sing and dance at any emotion, in any location. So clearly, I fit in perfectly. It is ok to wear bright clothing and bright lipstick. It is ok to laugh often and uproariously. It is ok to be openly affectionate with friends and co-workers.

 I love this place.

  I feel that I daily glimpse parts of my future, I regularly see ways in which God has prepared me for this place... All my life. The excitement of being here, and the anticipation of where God will take me next are overwhelming at times. I cannot even comprehend the wonderful things which He has prepared for me. I pinch myself all the time, just trying to realize this whole wonderful thing is true.

But I'm torn.

I have such wonderful people in my old life in the States too. This godly family who all love me so much. A church full of people who love God and inspire me to godliness. A group of friends who stand beside me, pray for me, and send me uplifting messages here on the other side of the world.

I am so blessed.

I look forward to returning to my childhood home, but I have two homes now. I really have a home here as well, and I look forward to returning to this home as well.  To a new place that my heart has found refuge and comfort. A new place my heart has found people to love. A new place where I belong.

I belong.

So yeah, I'm excited to visit the States, but that's exactly what I feel that this is.... a visit. I don't quite feel like I'm coming home. It is a bit confusing to my heart. The reverse culture shock, all the hello's and goodbye's, and the extreme month of transition... it feels a bit daunting. Yet I'm happy. I'm so excited to see all of you. To hug you, to laugh with you, and hear what God is doing with you and in you. It will be a new and different experience for me.

A whole new adventure.

On My Crazy Yesterday....

Sabrina and I

My yesterday lasted 21 hours. Actually, it is still going. This is pretty common for my crazy midwife schedule. Some of the happenings within that 21+ hours, however, were not common. Not common at all. Let me tell you a bit about it.

I woke up at 11 am. Now this might seem like excessive sleep to you, unless you know that I didn't go to bed until almost 3 am. I was switching my sleep clock from day shift to night shift. I ate breakfast, made a grocery and market list, and balanced the house budget before heading off to a mandatory, organized, group learning session at the clinic.

One of my patients had been texting me all night and into the morning, showing signs of early labor. My mind was well occupied because of that and planning a visit to another patient that I'd transported the morning before. It had been a traumatic transport... a girl I really took time with, but who was not progressing normally in labor. I was going to visit her at the hospital, and I wanted company. I texted a few girls and organized the trip.

My patient smiled at me from bed 100...not the highest bed number in that single room, by a long shot. Beside her in the same bed another mother, baby, grandmother, and father sat, admiring their own new little one. 2 patients/families per bed is pretty standard in that ward. We held the baby, photographed the baby, kissed the baby, and asked questions. She expected to be discharged soon, and to leave the100+ degrees, 300+ patients, and assorted nurses and cats in the room. It was a happy ending to a story with a scary climax. We had transported her into a busy ER where we witnessed things that will not easily be processed or forgotten.

Sabrina and her momma

We prayed over the happy new family and headed out of the hospital. On our way out, a woman greeted me in the foyer. I engaged her in conversation and found that she was there with a family member who had been in a tricycad accident. I prayed over her and her family, asking God for healing, provision, and that His love would be known to them. After a quick discussion amongst ourselves, we girls decided to visit another ward to pray over some patients. We were not quite prepared for what awaited us.

As we approached the gymnasium that served as a mixed ward, a colorfully dressed older woman came up to us and asked for money. She became very angry when we told her we had nothing to give her. We asked the security guard permission, then proceeded into the gym. The first woman we prayed over was very thin and fragile. She was suffering from breathing, heart, and gastrointestinal issues. We next talked to the daughter of an old man. He had suffered a stroke or aneurism (my Visayan was not good enough to tell which) and completely unconscious. We again prayed over him, and for his family.

Isabelle pointed out another patient. A 'human form' that we could not distinguish as man, woman, or child. I don't think she could've weighed more than 40 lbs. Her body wasted from ulcers, the stomach acid had turned her teeth into mush. She coughed constantly, a thin, dry cough that took all her strength. I went to her side and asked if I could pray for her. She summoned all of her strength, and in a very quiet voice, told me her story. She has two kids, a 7 and 11 year old. She was dying. Her head turned and she spit out a few of her teeth. She continued to whisper her requests to me, and I leaned my ear to within inches of her face, trying to understand the quiet, foreign words that tumbled from her dry lips. Could I pray for her family? Her kids especially. And for healing for her body?

I took her frail hand in mine. I prayed over her, begging God for miracles. My broken Visayan, mixed with English as I poured out my heart.... our hearts. To see her healed. That God would have mercy on her family. By the end of my prayer she lay, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Our 10 minute interaction had worn her out. My heart was full... Like a sponge sodden with water, and threatened to seep from my eyes. We stood, blessed her and her family, and made our departure.

Silently, we made our way to a grassy area behind the hospital. Our hearts were too full for words, and as we sat in silence, tears spilled down our cheeks. It was all too much to take in. After a while, we prayed together and debriefed. A large, black billy goat meandered by on the grass behind us. And then we were ready to go. To find some food and, hopefully, the elements of communion. As we walked toward the exit of the hospital, the colorfully dressed woman spotted us again. She spoke harsh, hate-filled words that, although foreign, chilled our bones and unsettled our spirits. I silently prayed against those words, and against any curse or spirit behind them.

Our spirits began to lighten as we ate sticky rice, cassava cake, and RC cola from a little stand outside the hospital. The little children played shy, waving at us from behind the legs of their parents. After returning our empty RC bottles, we went to a bakery for bread, and found grape Gatorade. Lest you find me sacrilegious for thinking that  sweet bread and Gatorade could function as bread and wine, allow me to assure you of a strict dearth of grape products in the Philippines. Even my church uses grape koolaide for communion (Yes, I'm drinking the koolaide). We went back to my house and had a very sweet (no pun intended) communion together.

Night shift started slowly. I transported a labor who was too late in her pregnancy to deliver safely at Mercy. When I walked back in from my ambulance ride I was called into a cubicle to take over a labor. You cannot possibly imagine my shock when I saw who my patient's companion was... the brightly dressed woman with whom I'd had the tense encounter at the hospital earlier. My breath came in much shorter increments and I cried out to God in my heart, asking for wisdom, spiritual protection, and grace to handle whatever lay ahead. I quickly explained the situation to my supervisor in hushed tones. She confirmed that there was a spiritual darkness here.... she got a headache the instant this woman arrived. We set to work, knowing a new baby was not far off.

Melissa and I

I checked the laboring woman's progress. By normal standards she should have been 1-4 hours from giving birth. Again, not a normal day. She was from a people group who are amazing birthers. They seem to defy all anatomy and give birth quickly, exhibiting almost no pain, and NOT following any suggestions of well meaning midwives. 9 minutes later, a screaming baby girl was laid on her stomach. She told me that I would name this baby.... Also common amongst this people group. As morning dawned, I tried to decide what name I should give.

I suggested 6 or 7 different names for the darling baby girl. For some reason, the older, colorfully dressed woman kept on suggesting 'Melissa'.  Maybe God had allowed this reunion for a reason. She treated me kindly now, and smiled at me. Just before 6am, as we prepared to go off shift, the name was settled. Melissa.... My third namesake in a month. And as I wearily climbed into bed this morning, I saw God's hand in my every move or the day. I saw clearly that my entire day was crafted by God, ordained that I would share His love abroad. I saw that although I could not give financially to this woman, I could give my love.... His love to her relative, and I watched that transform an angry, dark woman into a more gentle person, soothed by His grace.

Melissa, her momma, and I

I do not know what God will do for the patients at the hospital. I do not know the fate or future of any of the people I met yesterday. But I watched God work, and I have confidence that He will complete the good thing that He has started. I feel like Peter and John in Acts 3:6 "Then Peter said, Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I thee: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk." May God's life and light flow through me to bring His glorious gospel to the Nations.

On Acquiring a Namesake....

It was her fourth baby, so she was almost professional at this whole birthing thing. Three little girls, and this one was a surprise. She was hoping for a boy. They both were. But then, so was my Daddy and I surprised him.







She took a brief interlude from her pacing to lean on the counter as another contraction rippled across her belly. Her breathing normalized and she gave me a wry smile and stood upright. "Do you have a name for your baby?" I was trying to help her focus on the goal, rather than the present pain.

"Arnold" she stated. I lifted my eyebrows, silently asking if they had a reason for this name. "It is the name of my husband." Oh, of course. And if its a girl? "I don't know!" She laughed, shrugging her shoulders. "Oh, then you can name it after me if it's a girl, ok? Joke lang!" We both laughed this time, being silly together.

"Baby out!" I flipped the baby right onto her mother's belly. She had already started crying.... Good baby! Her mother and father held hands, looking adoringly into each other's eyes, awed by the tiny little life just given them. "Lalake or Babae?" I asked, re-positioning the baby so they could determine gender. "It's a girl!"



About an hour after the birth, when baby was breastfeeding and mother was all settled, I sat down with the family. I began to ask questions for the birth certificate. Religion, age, date of birth for the parents.... and finally, what is the name of your baby? The couple glanced at each other, and the mother quickly rattled off our little conversation at the counter. The father turned to me. "What is your name?"
Melissa. "Full name?" Melissa Lynn.
"Melissa Lynn" the father was testing the sound of it in his mouth. "Melissa Lynn" a grin grew across his face.  "Sigi" He indicated for me to write that down on the birth certificate form. Really? Are you sure? I was just joking. "Melissa Lynn" It's good. His statement was so final. The mother smiled at me and nodded her head. And in that moment, I acquired a namesake.

 The rest of the night, every time I stepped in to check on mommy and baby the dad would look at me and grin.... "Melissa Lynn". I made this sweet little girl a headband to wear. I prayed over her, that she will grow up to be a godly woman. I wonder if one day she too will catch babies. I thanked her parents for honoring me, by bestowing my name on their new little one. I even considered warning them that a "Melissa Lynn" might be a handful to raise. And I smiled a lot that night at all four of our new babies, but a little bit extra at my Melissa Lynn.

Meaningful Moments....

Her labor just wasn't progressing normally. We had tried every trick in the book, but after hours of labor, her body was still not ready to give birth and she was so, so tired. Because of this all, our supervisor decided that we should transport her to the local hospital where they have a greater ability to deal with labors that are not progressing normally.

She was scared.

She had cooperated so well during labor. We had danced together, swinging our hips to help that baby scoot down. We'd climbed the stairs so many times, and we'd tried every position in the book, and a few more besides. Her husband was there every step of the way, massaging her back, lending a supporting hand, mopping the sweat off her forehead. We were a team. I felt anguished as I gave her the news that she'd be transported.

Panic registered on her face.

Here, where hospitals are frightening, disease-filled places. Where people go to die. This was her worst fear. I took her hand in one of mine, and laid my other hand on her beautiful, round belly. "Pwede ko magampo para sa ikaw?" (is it ok if I pray for you?) YES! She squeezed my hand as I closed my eyes to pray. I placed her in God's hands, asking that He watch over her and give her body strength. I prayed over that baby too, and asked for a miracle. I reassured her that her baby's heart was still strong and normal.

Tears ran freely down his face.

The husband was just unashamedly crying when I looked up. They both were; scared, touched, and so caring of each other and their little unborn baby. I felt my own tears prickle at the corners of my eyes as I walked them out to our ambulance. I held her hand the whole way to the hospital, crying with her and telling her how God would take care of her. My heart was full, and I was floored that I could love someone so deeply after having known her only a few hours. It took all I had to walk away from her after I endorsed her to the doctor on duty. It was my own version of faith.

And I left her in God's hands.