How Do I.....

Hi, I'm 27, and I'm not fully grown. Nope, I don't have lots of physical growing to do, I have a list of things I'd like to learn. Wisdom doesn't grow on trees, but it does grow in the hearts of those who submit to and fear God. So I'll just make this an open discussion.

How do I go about becoming fully consecrated to God?

Yeah, pray more, read more, spend time with God.... but at what point does full consecration occur? I mean, we still really live in this world, and some of our thoughts and actions will necessarily facilitate basic survival. We are also called to reach the lost, which obviously necessitates a lot of time spent pursuing them. Also, God created many things for us to 'richly enjoy'. He created smiles and laughter and recreation. He designed our bodies to need rest. My mind doesn't have a good grasp on an accurate balance for this conundrum.

How do I change the world?

Some of you will automatically say that changing the world is a human-centered goal. But I'm pretty sure Jesus did it, and I'm supposed to be like Him. Where to start? What to do? I see plenty of needs, plenty of opportunities, and I have some ability to respond. But what is right? Is there really one specific set of actions that is designated exactly for me, or should I look for need and go work where I see God working? I'm a bit afraid to take hasty action, but I may be more afraid of doing nothing at all for fear of doing the wrong thing. Again and again Jesus 'was moved with compassion' and then acted. That is the main thing we're told of His prompting. Compassion alone offers a pretty broad spectrum of ministry opportunities. How does vision become focused?

How do I go about making and keeping good priorities?

To put others first seems to be a good priority until the moment you realize that in so doing, you've reduced your devotion time to a chore. On some level, serving is LIVING the heart of Jesus and I have found it to be a very real way of worshiping God and understanding His grace toward me. Yet at some indistinguishable junction I seem to cross this invisible line between sacred worship/sacrifice and distracting busyness. Inevitably, the less of Him you have, the less you have to share.

How do I feel the weight of compassion without being crushed to pieces by the sorrow all around me?

I long to empathize with people and to help bear their pain. The ugly side of pain is that each of us has about as much as we can handle. To take on that of another can be crushing. Also, there is no use in a person who is completely immobilized by the crushing weight of sorrow. How old will I be before I finally learn the balance between feeling enough and feeling too much? How much grace is required to lift someone up and take part of their burden simultaneously? At what point have you done all you can, and when is it necessary to become refreshed in your own heart? Can anyone actually give me practical advice on what it means to 'Cast my care upon the Lord"? 

How do I release others from expectations?

I would love to believe that I am strong and wise and not one bit petty. The ugly truth, however, is that I still have some very immature emotions and expectations of those in my life. Somehow, even from the other side of the world, I still manage to feel entitled to a certain level of friendship. I feel hurt over things that are unintentional, and I have unrealistic expectations of friends and family. How do I stay close to people, offer them all of who I am, and still release them from expectations? How do I adjust to a long distance relationship with every person who has been any significant part of my life?

How do I balance faith and action?

Why are some types of action considered compatible with faith, and others are viewed as its antithesis? Why is it alright to work as a means of providing for yourself, but not to make needs known when paying work is not an option? Why is the admission of unfulfilled desires akin to a statement of faithlessness? Where is the balance between relying on God for the future and proper stewardship of all He's given us? Is it possible that this balance is delicate, situational, and personal? Could God really be pleased by different combinations from different people at different times?

As you can see, I have a lot of growing up to do. I lack answers to most of my questions, and I question the answers I do have. At times I feel closer to God now that I don't know completely what I believe than I ever did when I thought I had it figured out. Possibly this is just where He wants me.... depending.

On Retrieving Peanuts....

We needed peanuts the other day. A group of mothers-to-be was having a special class at our clinic, and part of the snack was to be peanuts. Looking through the list of ladies I was hosting the class with, I realized that one of the married students was on the list.... or so I thought. She owns a car, so the task of going someplace to purchase said peanuts was presumably a simpler feat for her than for any of the rest of the group. Assuming that she would also have peanuts on the brain, I sent her a text.

Hey, do you by any chance have any thoughts about retrieving peanuts?

This fair lady, (who was actually not in the same group as me) surmising I was referring to our upcoming shift together, responded:

Hey Melissa, I am still in the catching rotation, if that's what you mean.

Much laughter after we came to a mutual understanding of our respective interpretations of the texts. We now have a new euphemism for catching babies.... retrieving peanuts. Doesn't that just put things nicely?

 I shall proceed to assail you with pictures of food and babies, both of which seem uniquely suited to putting smiles on the faces of even the most sober of human beings. To the right of your screen you should notice a plate of Indian food, a side of Naan, and a plate of burning-incense-gone-wrong. It was an exciting dinner, the fire in our mouths closely coordinating with that of our centerpiece. The climax happened to be when the incense plate cracked, and the fire needed to be dramatically swept from the table and relocated outside in the drizzle.
 
Now, you may look at the picture on the left and ask yourself, "Where did Melissa get that fabulous blue, sparkly headband?" If that is the question you find yourself asking, I'll just take this moment to give a shout out to the Privett family for blessing me with a little care package. It arrived two days ago, and delighted this heart of mine.
 
This child is named Jags Christ. I do not find that I particularly endorse the name, but as a midwife, I do not always have a say in such matters. He is my first baby of the new year, born on the anniversary of my own sister's birth. Although his arrival does thrill me, the circumstances do not. His father has turned out to be a depressed, drug addicted, wife beater. He and the mother are no longer together. Little Jags has an older brother and sister to help take care of him.

While Jags was on his way out, his mother and I really bonded. She was so broken, not surprisingly, and needed a bit of extra tender love during her labor. After the birth, she asked me why I was kind to her. I was able to plant a tiny seed about the kindness of God, and how it reflects in His people. Please, dear ones, pray that her heart will be open to further cultivation of the love of her heavenly Father in the weeks to come.

 To the left of your screen you should notice some nearly indescribable cuteness. This fellow was not my catch, although I did play a huge role in his birth. I also played a role in his naming. Jack Derek shall forever be his handle. A very sweet little tyke, he cooperated extraordinarily well for his photo shoot.




Finally, a bit of laughter to wrap up this post. This child and I were mutually enamored with one another. Mother found herself amused as we spent a few moments in shared laughter. It appears that she is very weird and laughs at strange things, much like her midwife. The little doll was uberly precious, and I have not the slightest doubt that she is already developing a nerdy, off-beat sense of humor and general good-natured perspective on the world.

Alright folks. All for now! Over and out.

She was an Ordinary Girl...

This story is the product of a recent writing assignment. Although it is fiction, it is true.

 

She was an ordinary, extraordinary girl. While her friends were giggling about cute boys and hairstyles, she was wrestling over whether she’d be willing to accept a call to celibacy and thinking about matters of mortality and eternity. She was a thinker, a doer, a strong-willed, independent, compassionate sort of girl. Her bucket list was firm in her head. One item only: Change the world.  But this journey was not one that could be planned with maps and itineraries. A cartographer had never charted a route between ordinary and world-changer.

 She required more of herself than anyone else would have asked of her. The world was brimming with people to meet, skills to learn, hope to give, experiences to have, and emotions to feel. She faced it with open mind, heart, and arms. Her mind was ready to absorb skills and information. Her heart was for those who had nothing, and she was willing to give anything and everything for them. Her arms wanted to surround the hurting and offer strength.

They balked when she told them her plan.  The family, friends, teachers, and co-workers expected so much from the intelligent girl. A politician maybe, or an architect. A doctor if she wanted more meaningful work. Her potential, they said. She had so much of it, and it would be wasted.

But the long night at the bedside of the laboring woman had made it all clear. The squall of the baby in the seconds after birth became fingers that wrapped around her heart. She was in the grip of birth’s wonder. A bit of research in the days following made clear to her what she needed to know. The world needed midwives.

At the outset of the adventure, she pictured a book filled with happy endings. Newborn babies swaddled in the arms of beaming mothers. Empowered women living up to the feminist ideals of being in control their births and their bodies. Education that gave women value and the knowledge they needed to bear healthy babies.  Her training did little to change that perspective. Somehow, she wanted more. She was tired of catering to the ‘build-a-birth’ mentality. Her heart longed to offer care to women who had none, rather than to classify as yet another birth alternative.

This time there were varied reactions. Shock, horror, fear, excitement, respect, dismay… even hurt. The people who loved the girl were not all willing to let her go. They did not understand. But she had a world to change. She purchased a plane ticket and sold her belongings. Her noble intentions and idealistic goals kept her strong through the goodbyes. The other side of the world was calling her home.

It was not what the girl had envisioned. Instead of empowering and being empowered, she learned about helplessness. Sometimes supplies were not there or women arrived too late. Sometimes there were desperate battles waged for a first gasping breath. Other times, it seemed as though it were better if a little one did not tarry long. The thought was at once horrifying and liberating to the girl. Death was real, and it visited when no woman watched for it.

One day she learned how easy it could be to die. How a woman’s life could pour out behind her baby in a pool of red.  Sometimes love was not enough to persuade life to stay. Or maybe there was nothing to stay for. She came to understand the combined beauty and sorrow that was death, and the reality called giving one’s life for another.

At times there were beaming mothers and swaddled babies. Just as often there were tear-stained faces and empty arms. Very rarely did two parents welcome a child. Sometimes there were no waiting arms for those swaddled babies.  Birth could not be controlled. Bodies could, but often not by the women they belonged to. And sometimes she gave everything she had, yet it still wasn’t enough.

There were new things learned in this new home. The girl learned what fear really was. She learned about little boys who carried big guns. About men who did not value life. She came to understand phrases like ‘run for your life’ and ‘scared to death’. And that some things are worse than dying.

For the first time she experienced real hunger. The kind of desperate hunger that makes a woman sell herself… or her child. She heard cries that would only cease with food or death… whichever came first.  In this new context her needs diminished even as her possessions did.

She also learned about breathtaking things called hope and survival. Humility and love. Things she thought she understood before. About real life and really living. She learned how to be happy even when she was sad. Her book was no longer filled with happy endings, yet it was filled with happiness. 

For the first time she came to understand humanity. It was ugly. It was beautiful. It was tender tears over the loss of a life, yet mass executions with no discernible hesitation. Saving a life, and taking a life with the same pair of hands. Loyalty so strong it caused treachery, and love so powerful it taught hatred. She understood that a good person is an oxymoron. 

Change the world. It had been her goal. For some, she did change the world. But something significant happened to the girl on her great adventure. Something she had not anticipated. She had gone out to change the world, and somewhere along that journey the world changed her.

On a Happier Note...

Violet and I decided that Larissa's camera needed to see a good time.

This little man has already got some style at just one day

This girl can always make me laugh. Go Dutch!

The headband I made this cutie pie is just too outrageous.

My always favorite supervisor, Ate Susan.

Big brother had a smile for me.

A Tribute....

... To a life that wasn't.

I cry for you, little boy.
For the fact that you have no name.
I cry for your mommy's empty tummy and empty arms.
For your daddy who came in after you were born.
He was wearing my shoes.
I cry for the aunty who examined you before I covered your still face.
And I cry for your 3 brothers and sisters who will never know you.

Little boy, your face was perfect.
Your mouth was a little 'O'.
You looked like you were sleeping, once I wrapped you all up tightly.
You had ten fingers, but they will never grasp your mamma's nose as she laughs.
You had little knees and elbows, and black hair, of course.

The silence, little boy.
It was loud. So, so LOUD.
Louder than any newborn wail.
I couldn't shut out that silence, little boy.

Your midwife was so strong, little boy.
She bravely helped you out into the world.
She told your mamma, softly, that she had done well.
I was so proud of her for being willing.
Willing to feel the pain of a life that wasn't.

I tried to be gentle, little boy.
Gentle with your mamma when I told her she had a son.
Gentle with you when I wrapped you and laid you beside your mamma.
And later, when I covered your face.
Gentle when I laid you to rest in your little box.

Little boy, you were so fragile.
So delicate. So tiny.
The box we brought for you was small, but you fit.
My hands shook as I cared for your still form.
I didn't know how to do this, little boy, I hope I did alright.

Life is a gift, little boy.
Yours was so short.
7 months or maybe 8.
I cried for you, little boy.
And in a prayer, I sent you back to the Giver of Life.

To The One Who is Struggling...

To The One Who is Struggling,

I don't know what it is that leads you to read this letter, but we all have struggles. There is no such thing as a silly, or insignificant struggle. Sometimes the 'little things' destroy us faster than the big ones. I want to offer you encouragement. You may be the main cause of your own struggle, or it may be someone or something else. That doesn't really matter. It's real, and it needs to be faced.

They will try to tell you that it could be worse.... and they're right. But it could be better too. And while we must focus on thankfulness, it is also important to face our difficulties, not to stuff them. Think and pray through your struggle. Take responsibility for what you can change. If you cannot change it, let it go. Put it in the hands of the loving Heavenly Father and let it go. It is not necessarily dis-contentment to realize that whatever you're going through isn't ideal. Sometimes that's really healthy.

They might not even recognize that you are struggling. It's ok to let them know. In fact, it may be the very strongest thing you could ever do. It takes courage to admit that you're not ok, and that you need somebody to lean on. That is being vulnerable, but you may actually be giving your friend a gift..... the gift of going second. It is always hardest to be the first to admit your weaknesses. Offer them a chance to be used by God to speak into your life. It will be good for them, and good for you. Do it.

They will tell you it's just part of life. Loneliness, sorrow, an unclear life path, a bad mood, the perpetual cycle of besetting sin, hurt from others, disappointment with yourself..... And it is. But guess what. Life is hard. We're not supposed to do this by ourselves. That is the purpose of the church, the Holy Spirit, and scripture. It may be 'normal life', but we cannot even do that by ourselves. It's ok to have a hard time, even with standard struggles. We're humans in a fallen world. Don't let yourself become isolated in struggles because they feel too small to share. Chances are, the person you share with will have some experience with the very same things you're going through and some godly wisdom to offer.

They will tell you to find yourself so you can help others. I cannot possibly think of a worse piece of advice. If you are struggling, most often the best thing you can do is to reach out to someone else. Not only will you find joy in service, but you will take the focus off of yourself and your problems for a while. The struggles of others will force you to cry out to God for answers, and in the process, you may find some for yourself. You will form your character into a more Christ-like image in the process, and maybe, just maybe you will come to a more full understanding of the gospel.

They will tell you to hang on for a while.... life will get better. There is no assurance of this. Struggles do tend to ease as we become familiar with how to approach them. But sometimes they stack up all at once, and things seem only to get worse. Sometimes, when we struggle, we're really in it for the long haul. They will give you the same three commonly-quoted, generic, "trials" verses. Sometimes the attempted comfort just makes things worse. It intensifies the isolation as people try to put a band-aid on a ruptured appendix instead of finding the problem and going through the whole mess with you. Know that it may take a while. There may be no quick-fix, but sometimes it's ok to be broken. Humans want to fix things, but God accepts us broken. Sometimes, these periods of prolonged darkness are the times that we most come to know God. Because He's all we have.

They will try to place blame. Sometimes that feels like the easiest thing for anyone to do. It's how we understand things for which there is no explanation. Whether the finger is pointed at you or elsewhere, please remember, it's mostly an exercise in futility. No matter what your struggle is, the gracious Father has allowed it for a purpose, and without exception there is some construction project that needs to be done in your heart. Beg God to show you. No matter how innocent you are, there is always something to be learned. A wise man will seek for that project and submit fully to it.

You will most likely feel the need to beat yourself up. You will feel like you are not growing anymore, you're just surviving. You may not even feel like you're doing that. Please, this is not the time to evaluate that. Visibility in a storm is not usually very good. Hang on to the basic truths. Trust that God is responsible for your growth, and you are responsible for clinging to him, and submitting yourself to his strong, shaping hands. Continue to make wise choices such as worship, the word, fellowship, and prayer, but don't be so presumptuous as to think you have that much control.

To the one who is struggling: I cannot promise you relief. I cannot prophecy the duration of your struggle. I cannot take away the troubles you face. But I can offer you wisdom and hope. Hope that life is short, and eternity is long. That joy and suffering are not mutually exclusive. That God does indeed know what He's doing. He is the one who tells storms to be still. That at some point, He will make all things beautiful.... But that will be in His time. Until then, let go of everything but God and hold tightly to His truth.

May your day be filled with peace and joy in knowing that He is in control, so you don't have to be.
Love,
Missowissa

It Took my Breath Away...

It took my breath away...

Almost everything last night did. It started with my assisting a birth for a friend. Pretty straight-forward at birth. Everything seemed normal. But then with every check she just kept bleeding. I inserted an IV for her. And suddenly, with one check, a blood clot that was a half liter, and we couldn't get her uterus to clamp down and stop. I found myself inserting a second IV, this time with a bit more urgency.


It took my breath away...

 Another friend and I were both caring for women who were about to give birth. The sudden splash of fluid in each of our cubicles, and the excitement of both laboring women beginning to push their babies out. The thrill when they were born within two minutes of each other, and the little newborn wails filled the room. The beautiful moment when the mother I was caring for reached out and helped deliver her own baby
then held her close. She stroked the baby and told her she was welcome and to cry.

It took my breath away...

When my patient started bleeding, and I could not coax the placenta to come. The time limit was approaching and still it persisted. Prayers went up, and answers came down. An IV, a bit of persuasion, and some hard work on the mother's part and finally the placenta arrived. Minutes later, I started an IV on my friend's patient in response to yet another hemorrhage.

It took my breath away...

Before I had time to turn around twice, two more women were giving birth. The baby I was watching over was  relaxed about his first breath Again, gushing, gushing blood. Again voices lifting requests to the kind God who was graciously granting those requests. Again an emergency IV and a bit of coaxing to get the placenta out.

It took my breath away...

Overhearing complications from the next cubicle over, and knowing we were caring for 4 vulnerable women. Then the power went out. Trying to catch up, finish up, wrap up everything so we could endorse to day shift. Watching wide eyed as two more laboring women walked in the door. Listening as one gave birth before we were even able to hand over the shift.

It took my breath away... 

I dragged my weary body up two flights of stairs to my house. A few bites of food satiated my piercing hunger pains. I drank some water. Then, just before I climbed into bed, I wash away all the evidence of my busy night in a cold, cold shower....

...It took my breath away.