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.

Of a Sudden....

It came to me of a sudden....

I am not who I want to be. I am not good. I am not noble. I am not
a self-sacrificing, humble, diligent, wonderful person. I am not fearless. I am not sinless.

In me there is no good thing....

After a busy week of work, learning, late nights, and coffee, I was living on the spiritual energy of weeks past. My times of devotion were motivated from habit and discipline rather than from passion and love. Again my depravity slapped me in the face. My priorities took a nosedive and my choices became sickeningly self-centered.

I cannot do what seems right...

I find myself making choices that do not live up to my standards. I discern in my voice and actions attitudes that I despise. Entertainment becomes a substitute for godly joy. Somehow, just as physical hunger pains vanish after three days without food, godly appetites tend to disintegrate on about the same schedule.

Shifting perspectives creep up on me....

Suddenly, without my knowledge, I'm looking through life's binoculars the wrong way. Everyone and everything that should be important seem distant, and at once, I find that I am the biggest thing in my life. My own self is so grossly out of proportion that I find it frightening.

The realization overcomes me....

I'm humbled. Astounded. Once again caught off guard by this sinful, human heart that cannot, of itself, seek God. Shattered. Realizing again the critical role that sustaining grace plays in every moment of my life. Incredulous. Trying to comprehend the sort of love that sustains a relationship which, if viewed honestly, consists of one Great God giving, and one lowly human taking. There is no balance in this relationship. No give and take. All giving and initiating from one side, all responding and receiving from the other.

And yet He persists.

On Kisses and Faces....

 I have kissed a lot of faces. Chubby faces, crying faces, sleepy faces.

Some are more impressed than others. Sweet miniature human beings.

Such fascinating little beings.... making all sorts of interesting faces. Happy faces, surprised faces, hungry faces.

















They teach me to make new faces. Early mornings, late nights, trying out our facial muscles.













Sometimes we're in the same mood and we have the same taste in colorful clothing.

Other times we're peaceful, both just happy to be alright.

Confessions of a Missionary

Today I slept until 2pm. After that, a friend and I went to an air-conditioned coffee shop for a few hours. Later, I got together with friends and ate pizza, salad, and chocolate brownies, followed by coffee and good chats. I came home, watched two movies with another friend, and now I'm headed to bed.

I call myself a missionary.

So I could justify.... after all, I did stay up all night catching a baby and caring for a few other laboring women, so 2 pm isn't so outrageous. I did study at the coffee shop, so it wasn't wasted time or money. My host provided the American-style food, so that little pleasure wasn't my splurge. And the movies were a fulfilled promise to a friend.

But I call myself a missionary.

One day I ate an entire chocolate bar just because. Two days ago I got a pedicure. I have wifi in my house. Earlier this week I went out for ice cream. I own a computer and a camera. I have nice clothing. I own a bike.

And I call myself a missionary.

I haven't seen my family in 3 months. I recently spent 24 hours at the clinic with my patient who was in labor. My niece and nephews are growing up, and some of them won't remember me when I see them again. I have missed the weddings and funerals of several close friends. I get stared at everywhere I go because I'm white. It's been ages since I drove a car.

Yes, I call myself a missionary.

Sometimes I just want to speak English. Sometimes I stay home because going out requires so much effort. Sometimes I want to hug my sister, or exchange witticisms with my dad. Sometimes I miss snow and fall leaves. I get sick of sweating. I don't want to wait for absolutely everything anymore. I am tired of things scurrying away every time I turn a light switch on.

And I call myself a missionary?

More than all of these things I want to see souls saved. I want to accurately state, "And they praised God because of me." I want to see prisoners set free, broken healed, and light and life in the eyes of the hopeless. I want Heaven to have more occupants. I want the name of Jesus to be lifted. Lives saved. God's love spread abroad.

So I call myself a missionary.

I don't always know how to justify things. I don't find justice in the duplicity of life here. I don't know how to feel about days that are filled with things like laundry, coffee shops, movies, and wifi. I don't understand how to balance the mundane with the eternal. I don't understand why to half of my people I live a life of sacrifice, and to the other half, a life of luxury. After all these months, it's still a bit of a conundrum to me.

Still, I call myself a missionary.

Continuity.... Continued

Continued.
 

So, after my first weekend of continuity patients and my mid-week birthday celebration and catch, my schedule was full of baby checks. I figured, since both of my other patients had almost two weeks until their due dates, that I'd buckle down and get some learning done. But babies are really surprising creatures, and they tend to come at the most unpredictable and unexpected times.

 Complicated.

After a late night with a heartbroken friend on Friday, I expected to sleep in on Saturday. Carl Wesley (pictured above) had another idea. He was planning to show up before his mother expected him, and before his daddy could get off work.

Unexpected.

At about 9 am I got a text. Ma'am, the pains have started. I really think this is labor. That's the rough translation. Since Carl Wesley is Rosalie's fourth baby, I decided that it would behoove me to believe her. I packed up a bag, and continued to text Rosalie as I prepared some lunch and dinner. I figured it would be best to be prepared, as I had night shift Saturday, and I might be at the clinic for a LOOOOOONG time.

Hurried.

Rosalie showed up at the clinic, and it was pretty obvious there wouldn't be much time before we met baby. I put on gloves and assessed her. She wasn't quite ready, but her body was in a hurry. With the next contraction, her bag of waters broke, and the following contraction resulted in the birth of a screaming baby boy. All of the sudden, he was here, and the rush and hurry was over. About two hours later I biked home at warp speed to get in a quick shower before my night shift started in 20 minutes. A long night full of a beautiful family. And they named him for a friend of mine.


Surprised.

That's how I felt the next evening when I got another text from the clinic. Melissa, your patient is here, and she's active. I asked if I might get a ride, but they told me to hop on my bike and ride like mad. I arrived at the clinic just minutes before the birth of this little girl, Joylyn. I had taken her momma as my patient because she was so young, and so lost seeming. Yet even in my wildest imaginations I couldn't have guessed her whole story.






Grieved.

My heart was broken as more and more of the story unfolded. At just 14 years old my patient had become pregnant. Just a child herself. Worse, the father of the baby was 46.... and married. A series of poor choices, and several lives forever changed. A little girl, confused about her identity, choosing a lesbian lifestyle. A drunken evening. A fight. An 'understanding' neighbor man. And at the end of those choices, she was pregnant. Scared of the father of her baby.... and rightly so.

Crying.

It's what I felt like doing every time I walked into her room. Every time the father of the baby asked me creepy questions, and touched his daughter. Every time the mother of my patient looked at me with worried eyes and tried to understand what had happened to her little girl. It's what I did that night when I got home, and the next few days after every checkup.There are no words, no scalding, salt-water drops, no heaving sobs that could express the sort of heaviness and pain.

Amazed.

This describes me as I held Joylyn about 2 hours after she was born. She looked at me, and she was so alert. Suddenly, I wanted to protect her from all the ugly her life may hold. I told her how she will serve the Lord. I told her how it doesn't matter that she was conceived in rape, or that her father is dishonorable. It doesn't matter that her mother is still a child. It doesn't matter what her life may hold, all she is belongs to God. I spoke over her that she will be a strong woman of God, a prayer warrior, and a testimony of His grace. As I spoke, she just stared at me like in these two pictures. As though she UNDERSTOOD. And there was rest in my soul.

Tired.

It's how I felt after my whirlwind 8 days in which 4 babies were born into my waiting hands, 5 women were coached through labor, and countless hours were spent at the clinic. It's how I felt when I thought about the world and how many tragic stories it contains. It's how I felt when I curled into my bed in the wee hours of Monday morning. Tired, Fulfilled, Sad, Happy, Peaceful, and finally.... Relaxed.

(Pictures of Joylyn's mamma will not be posted due to the sensitive nature of her story. I would, however, love if you will continue to join me in prayer for her dear little heart.)

On My Birthday...

One night, not long ago, it was the-night-before-the-night-before my birthday. As in.... two nights before my birthday. Well, that's the night it was. And this is how I spent it. I mixed up some flour, cocoa, coffee, and a bunch of other stuff that's not nearly as interesting. Then I put it in the oven. After all that, I put some frosting and chocolate chips (which I bought in States and have been hoarding) and some coffee beans on top. In the end, it looked just like that picture on the right. The reason for this, is that the picture on the right is actually a picture of the results of my labor. Like... Tastie!

Now the reason that I spent the-night-before-the-night-before my birthday baking, is that I had a party planned for the DAY before my birthday. Parties are rather fun, and I take great delight in planning them. So mocha cupcakes and Coke were on the menu. I invited all the Filipino staff, and prepared for a large turnout.






  First though, I had to teach a room full of women about fetal development in another language, and do about 11 prenatals in Visayan while explaining the whole thing to my shadow in English. This requires quite a bit of vocal stamina, mental flexibility, and a good sense of humor. Thankfully, all were in stock. The invigorating anticipation of my party supplied all the essential elements.

My party started out slowly. As in, there were two girls and myself. However before long, and in very classic Filipino timing, my Hair-Accessories-Making-Party/Lesson was in full swing. I had a full range of ages, and a representation from both genders... who knew? So in a flurry of hot glue, scissors, and sparkles, all my dear, dear Filipino friends began creating their unique versions of beauty.

My heart just swelled with happiness as I watched so many friends enjoy themselves. We chattered in mixed languages, giggles and exclamations accenting the musical flow from time to time. I just fluttered around like a regular.... something winged and energetic.... and gave instruction and opinions everywhere. These people were BRILLIANT! Super creative and wonderful.

So obviously, after a party like that, I was totally bubbly and overwhelmed with happiness. I just couldn't get over how GOOOOOOD my life was, and I had no clue how my actual birthday could top the beautiful day I had. But guess what? Well, just wait for me to finish my story, ok?

So... Now I'll tell you about my birthday. Like the ACTUAL day I was born, except 27 years later. First I woke up. That's how I start most of my days around here. Then lots of girls who live in my house told me "Happy Birthday, Melissa!". "Thank You" I replied. I think that's a pretty boring response, but it's also pretty classic, so I figured I couldn't go wrong with it.

After that, I walked to class with one of my housemates. When I walked in, I was startled to hear a lot of voices that were simultaneously saying the same word. That word was, "Surprise!" Which is exactly what I felt. Because there, in the middle of the table, was a bunch of really yummy desserts, and some soda and stuff. So while we learned all about genetic screening, we stuffed our pretty faces with delights such as pound cake, Chai cookies, cookie dough dip, and donuts.

Following the party, I had swing shift. I have this super cool housemate named Nancy. She has the gift of sarcasm, but also, she is really cool in a lot of other ways. She knew I wanted to catch a birthday baby, so she let me take the patient that was  already admitted. But the really great thing, is that God rewarded her generosity, and we BOTH ended up catching a baby on my birthday. My baby was a girl, so I gave her this headband I made, which matched the scrub top I was wearing (which I also made). And wouldn't you know, but the partying wasn't even over at this point. Wanna know why?

Well the reason has to do with the fact that Nancy is not the only really cool girl I live with. I actually live with 9 really cool girls. So all of them baked me this cake, and brought dinner and a present and this cake to the clinic while I was on shift. They also blew bubbles at me, and threw balloons at me. That was pretty special, because I never before had a birthday party where people came and threw balloons at me. Plus also, the bubbles.

So in the end, My birthday kinda lasted for TWO full days. It might be a bit extravagant, but I guess you only turn 27 in the Philippines once, right? As the day was ending, Nancy and I got our picture taken together. Her baby boy wore a shnazzy bow tie that we'd designed. So it was kinda a fun photo shoot. Except for the one thing, which was that my baby kinda cried. But I guess you could probably deduce that from the picture.

The end.