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.

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.