The Fairy Tale That Isn't.....

My life does not always line up with scripture.

Some of this is my fault. It is choices I've made, sin in my life, or lack of God. But some of this is things that are outside of my control. The equations I was taught, didn't equal the answer I wanted.

Faith isn't supposed to be part of the equation....

Faith + Hard work + Wise choices = financial freedom

Faith + Healthy living + Not seeking "The arm of the flesh" (ie. not going to doctors) = health/healing

Faith + Abstinence + 'Emotional Purity' = guarantee of a godly spouse

Faith + Humility + Unconditional Love = healthy relationships

.... It's supposed to be the answer.

Not the answer in some pat, recycled format. Not as a default answer to situations that have no answer; that require some grappling. Not as a way of not dealing with things. Instead, as the end product of what might turn out to be a long, heart-breaking, and life-changing story.

Like...     Life +A bunch of things we don't understand + Hanging on to God = Faith

Because guess what? I've seen all of the above equations (plus many, many more) fail. And if all of the promises of scripture came to pass as I read that they should, life would be a fairy tale. And where does this fallen world come into play? And will all of those things that are 'working together for my good' automatically be pain-free? And is pain always bad?

Who's fault is it?

So God doesn't fail. Which leaves..... people. But can we really be so assuming as to blame people for things that God sovereignly allows? Yes, God has chosen to allow man to play a role in the universe and to influence His actions. But for disillusioned people to take responsibility or assign blame when prayer is not answered in an expected way, might possibly be a bit conceited. Because faith = trust regardless of the outcome.

What if we're not in charge?

Most Christians will quickly allow that humans are not in charge. Yet our actions don't back up that allowance. When children don't turn out well, we often blame parents. When marriages fail, we tend to blame the couple. When people die, we find ourselves asking if we really prayed in faith for their healing.

Let go, and let God....

That might not just mean not trying so hard on our own. That might mean being willing to accept the answers that we don't understand. Even answers that don't line up with our understanding of scripture. That might mean wrestling over truth and questioning beliefs until all we have to hang on to, is a simple fact.

God Is.

Maybe there isn't actually an If/Then equation that sums up life. Perhaps Faith in God = Faith in God. Could it be that the end of faith is actually faith, rather than 'things hoped for'?  What if the plan is much bigger than ending up with what we think we need, or what we think we're entitled to based on Scripture?

Maybe Faith is having the courage to let God be in Control.

Several Things....

(which have little or no impact on your life)

I am moving in 3 weeks. To another house. Here, in the Philippines.

I really miss lettuce salad, Hungarian Goulash, good cheese, and chatting late at night with my siblings.

There is a new Melissa in the world.... named after me! I took care of her momma before and after her birth. (But I missed the actual event by minutes)

Sometimes, I really want to feel cold.

I have a 'tall' nose. Here, where noses tend to be flatter and wider, my nose is a coveted feature.

I speak 'cute' Visayan.

During the month of July, I will be in the states, and I want to see all of you. Message me.

I firmly believe that God allowed mankind to invent Facebook as a support system for overseas workers.

20 perfect, slippery babies have been welcomed into this world by my hands.

Intestines can be cooked in such a way as to be an exceptionally delicious food.

I am a lover of beauty and randomness. I wish to create both.

The other day, there was a 4 foot snake in our yard. My housemate and I chased him around with a machete.

Laughing is my favorite thing. Plus also, smiling. And languages, and people.

Yellow.

What I Don't Want.....

I don't want to feel alone.
Torn between worlds that cannot understand each other.
Different here, different back..... Home?
And what is that, exactly?
And where?
 
I don't want to live in transition.
Here, but only for a while.
Temporary... I cannot hold on too tightly.
Yet wonderful... I want to embrace it all.
What is normal?

I don't want to seek comfort.
The false security of the familiar.
A slow death as the world passes me by.
Afraid to let go, afraid to change.
Will this hurt?

I don't want to miss opportunity.
Paralyzed by unknowns.
Avoiding commitments laced with uncertainty.
Hesitant to love fully.
What if....?

I don't want to hurt.
But understanding joy is knowing sorrow.
To be stilled in wonder requires humility.
And tangible hope is sometimes defered.
Can I choose?

I don't want to waste my life.
Fear speaking louder than faith.
To let feelings trump purpose.
Too reserved to feel deeply.
How do I surrender?

I don't want to live for me.
My focus diverted from God and His kingdom.
Futile pursuit of fulfillment.
Prioritizing my happiness.
What is that worth?

I don't want to stay the same.
Maybe that is the scarriest of all.
Change is not relaxing.
Real life is a risk.
What is holding me back?

 

When Joy and Sorrow Mix...

I wasn't sure how things would work out. 

She was just 18, and he was 19. Her labor was long and difficult. She was my Healing Birth. But although her birth was a joy and salve for my soul, for her the story looked quite different. I could not figure out the dynamic between her and her 'husband'. He was not attentive, nor very helpful through the 29 hours she labored. She was closed up when he was around.... numb.




At least she had a good brother. 

 Right after birth when she decided to get up and use the bathroom without asking, she stood up only to find an alarming amount of blood pooling around her feet. Her 'husband' and brother were in the cubicle, yelling for me. We sat her down quickly, and grabbed a bed pan. Then her brother knelt down and carefully wiped all the blood off her legs and the floor.


I yelled at her 'husband'.

He was going to let her walk to the bathroom alone, with her IV, only two hours after giving birth. He was going to stand there, not offering help, and watch her go. So I yelled at him.

You will be the one! What do you THINK??!! She has already given birth. She has already worked for 29 hours to bring your baby into the world. YOU CANNOT LET HER GO ALONE! Here! Take this IV bottle. Take her arm like this. DON'T LEAVE HER FOR ANY Reason!

I was still a bit angry.

I whirled around to the brother.
"You will watch the baby while she is gone." I ordered
 "Oh yes ma'am" he replied, all the while texting updates to family and friends. But I was in a passion.
 "NO! The baby will be cold just lying there on the bed. You will hold the baby."
"Oh ma'am, I cannot! I'm afraid!" He said.
I did not respond. I lifted the baby and carried her to her uncle.
"Hold your arms like this." I showed him the way the baby would just rest against his body. I helped him to relax. "See? You're like a professional now." I turned to clean up the bed. Then he started shouting.... "Lihok sya! Lihok sya!" (she's moving, she's moving!) I turned to see a terrified uncle trying to balance the little bundle who had just turned her head. I almost laughed, but, in deference to the personal dignity of the uncle, I swallowed my humor and assured him it is normal for babies to move when they're alive.

He adjusted well.

A few minutes later, I looked over into the cubicle and noticed that the uncle had become much more relaxed in his posture while holding his tiny niece. Just a few minutes after that my heart was overwhelmed with pride when I peeked over and caught the uncle, now comfortable enough to pose for a selfie like this. -->

The joy mixed with tears.

Three weeks after the birth, I was doing a routine checkup with my cute little patient. I asked her how her 'husband' was doing, and if he was helpful with the baby.
"No ma'am" she replied. "I think.... deep breath... I think maybe he has another girl."

I look at her, suddenly understanding it all.

 Is that sad for you?
"A little, ma'am" she replies. In a culture where everyone is supposed to smile all the time, to joke about pain, and to laugh over embarrassment, "a little" means HEARTBROKEN.

 
And then she blew me away. 

"Ma'am, at least I have my baby, though." Wow. A single, heartbroken, 18-year-old mom, living with her parents, betrayed by the father of her baby, no way of making a living, and she is thankful for her little girl. She told me she doesn't mind the sleepless nights, or the lack of support. She LOVES her baby.


 A few days later I received a text. 

"Ma'am Melissa? I know now, my 'husband' has another girl. Thank you ma'am. I just wanted you to know."  I cried with her. I cried for all the joy, and for all the sorrow. Mixed tears. For the baby who will not know her daddy. For the young woman who is pioneering motherhood alone. For the new life granted. For anger towards the young man who is shirking fatherhood. For wonder over the way this girl has chosen to value her baby.... not to resent her.

The Longest Minutes .....

 That day in prenatal clinic, when I met her, I knew she was mine. The darling 16 year old girl sitting on my prenatal bed needed to be adopted by one specific caregiver, and as I asked her questions about her health, I knew I would be the one. I gave her my number, wrote my name on her chart, and committed to taking care of her throughout her pregnancy. I would be the one by her side as she birthed her baby into the world, and I would be the one who did checkups for her and her baby in the days following birth.

Good morning!

She sent me text messages 3-4 times every day, asking how I was and wishing me a good evening/morning/afternoon/coffee break.  My heart became increasingly endeared to her throughout her pregnancy, and I prayed regularly for and with her in the weeks leading up to the birth. I prayed that she would give birth before I left on an outreach trip into the country. Then, one prenatal appointment, she told me she'd been having contractions. I felt the beautiful curve that was her belly as it tightened into another contraction. Sure enough, it seemed she was in early labor. I encouraged her to eat and drink and rest so she would have strength for The Big Event.

Sakit Kaayo, mam Melissa.

She texted me all that afternoon and evening, keeping me informed on how much it hurt, and how she was coping. I decided to try to catch a few hours of sleep before The Big Event. I slept fitfully, my phone clutched in my hand, and my dreams filled with labor and birth. I woke every few minutes and checked my phone. At 2:30 am I got the text that I should meet her at the clinic. It was time. I scrambled out of bed and into my scrubs, praying for wisdom and protection.


Click.... click.... click, click, click, click....

"Breathe Jade" I told the little mamma-to-be. Breathe for your baby. The baby's heart beat was dipping uncomfortably low as labor intensified. This last stage of labor was really difficult, but Jade was not giving up. Her young determination was a beautiful thing to witness. We prayed together for her and for her baby. She used all her strength to bring her baby into the world.

Baby out! Floppy.

As I laid the new little one on her mother's tummy, I knew all was not well with this baby. I was praying in my head as we suctioned out the lungs. "1 minute apgar score" called out the charter. The answer was 4. 4 of 10 points. Points that indicated the baby's vitality and immediate chance of survival. The supervisor called for the baby's heartbeat. Urgently I grabbed the stethoscope with my blood-covered gloves and shoved it into my ears. I started taking heart beats.


170....160.....160...180....170

I called out the heart rate every 6 seconds, praying that God would give the breath of life to this little one. 2 minutes and still no breath. Only 2 minutes, but they passed by more like hours. A mask was fitted over the baby's mouth and nose, and my co-workers pushed air into those tiny lungs.

3 minutes.... 3.5 minutes...

 And then, finally, the answer to our collective prayer was manifest in the form of a gasp and a slight cry. That first little pioneering wail was followed by several more, stronger cries. By 5 minutes after her birth, the Apgar score was 7 out of 10.

Salamat sa Ginoo!

Gratitude was all I felt as I thanked God in her native tongue. The mother and father held hands and thanked God with me as their little girl made her presence known. We all knew clearly that He had sustained this little life, and given her breath.

Those were the longest minutes.

When someone who should be breathing, wasn't. I realized yesterday just how long a minute can last. Sunshine Melody, they named her. I will continue to care for this little family in the next few weeks. I will continue to share God's love with them, and marvel in the grace He has bestowed on them in the form of this tiny, new life.

All glory be to God, the Giver of Life.

On Making and Entrance....

I met a little boy the other night. He was one minute old when I met him. What stood out to me, was how he already had mastered the art of a Grand Entry.

The night wasn't so busy. We had one birth, and the mommy and baby were well, stable, and in the hands of a capable midwife. We were sitting around the midwife lounge area, occupying ourselves in various ways, when suddenly we heard it.


Beeeep! Beep beep BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!


Immediately four midwives jumped to their feet and ran out the door, grabbing various things on our way out. As the first out the door, I was putting on gloves, ready for anything. The taxi doors opened as I ran out the gate, and out piled three kids, one husband, a taxi driver, and one Lola (grandmother). I was a bit taken aback, because I couldn't imagine anyone else could've even fit in the taxi, but as I jerked open the back door, I was met by the frightened face of the mother and her sister, and the shocked first cry of the tiny baby lying on the seat.

Baby out, crying!
 

I'm trying to communicate our situation to the midwives behind me. Someone hands me a blanket, and I pick up the brand new little man, wiping his face and making sure he's ok. Another midwife pokes her head in the door from the other side, and in the dim light filtering out from our clinic windows we are trying to clamp and cut the umbilical cord and make sure the mother isn't bleeding too much. The guard shows up behind me with a wheelchair for the mother.

I feel like a celebrity.

As I walk back into the clinic I pass the awe-filled faces of three older siblings, and auntie, a grandmother, a father, and a traumatized taxi driver. I turn the little guy in my arms and tell the little kids to say 'hello' to their new brother. The poor taxi driver is standing there, a mixture of relief and bewilderment on his face as he surveys the mess that covers his back seat.

Bless his heart.


At post-partum appointments, little Patrick's older brother, Adrian, came to help mommy take care of him. He was so proud of his new little brother. He looked at me in wonder as I put the stethoscope in his ears, and let him listen to the heartbeat of the little guy. Such a proud little man, looking out for his mother and little brother. 

Practicing to be a good daddy.


Baby and mother turn out to be just fine. They didn't have any prenatal care with us, and I honestly think the taxi driver just drove them to the first place he knew of that could catch babies. The little guy continues to thrive. I'm not sure, he may have a future in performance... Because if nothing else,

He knows how to make a dramatic entrance.

My Only Desire...

My only desire is to bring Him praise.

This is what I sing. It is what I tell myself, and it is what I tell Him. I wish to believe this about myself. I wish it to be true.

But it isn't true.

When I'm perfectly honest with myself, I see that I have so many desires. Many of them fall in categories like "good", "noble", or  "harmless". And to be perfectly honest, many also fall into categories like "selfish", "prideful", or "fleshly". My lips sing that I want nothing more than to know Him, but my actions tell a different story.

I want pure motives.

Honestly, though, I have a hard time knowing where the boundary is. Sometimes I want things, but I'm really not sure why. Is it because it sounds exciting or fun? Is it because I know it is the heart of God? Is it because I will be well esteemed for making that choice? Is it so others will know God? Is it a desire due to the changes God has worked in my heart?

Oh God! Search my heart!

  How often am I telling myself God is my everything, but when I evaluate my desires, I realize that so many of them are only my own.I don't even know the difference. And I know, that even if I start something with good motives, my heart can be swayed. So again and again I ask God to purify my heart. To give me clean hands, and a right spirit.

Do I love the work of God?

Sometimes I catch myself being interested in someone because they are interesting. I find myself taking time to know someone because  they have a tragic story, or an interesting life. But do I care about their souls? Is that my motive? I realize again and again how human I am. How incapable I am of doing good, apart from God.

How much I NEED Him.

I realize that the more I make God my only desire, the more I will have to give to others. The sooner I crucify my flesh, the more the life of Christ will be evident and desirable in my life. The more God directs my passions, the sooner my motives will be corrected, and my heart set straight. And so I sing again....

Be my Only Desire.