Things that matter.

Torn.

The current social and political climate in America has be feeling torn; between wanting to keep the peace, not ranting, even ignoring it all, and wanting to scream and shout and sob and rally against and for and in general do something.

I am so tired of politics; it’s so tempting to just ignore it, unfollow anyone too entrenched on either side.  I did that for a while, during the elections, and even now usually now shut down political discussion over dinner or elsewhere. 

But these are defining moments, a significant season.   This is not a passing phenomenon, a hot-button topic that will be forgotten in a few months’ time or ‘just a phase’ that we’ll grow out of.  I’ve kept my thoughts to myself, for the most part; but then I read quotes like this and I wonder if I shouldn’t speak up?

And these things really, really matter.  But I don’t think spewing and ranting and screaming on Facebook and blogs is the answer, either.  I know I have a voice, but often the loudest voices are the most divisive ones and I desperately want my voice to remain one of light and truth and hope; a bridge, not a wall. I still hold to my commitment that this place, and my Facebook wall, will not become places of ranting or anger.  No ones’ mind will be changed by any of those things. 

But in real life, what does it mean? What does it look like?

My closest, dearest Beninese friends, whom I call my family, are Muslim.  I can only hope the fact that I love them as extravagantly and openly as I possibly can will show them, in action, that not all Americans hate Muslims.  That the words they hear on the news from my country are not representative of the nation… but then, America doesn’t make much sense, for they know that we are a nation of the people, it is what is taught, that America was formed by immigrants, and the beauty of democracy, and they hold it up like a beacon of what all nations here should aspire to look like.  But our leader clearly distrusts and hates them.  It doesn’t make sense.  

And my heart grieves deeply. 

I’ve said it before; in my previous life, life before Peace Corps, I didn’t really identify much with national pride or anything political.   And then I learned what it was like elsewhere; experienced it, not just read the stories, but met the people affected by decades and centuries of oppression. Where expressing dissent might get you killed. Where opportunities weren’t earned they were bought. Where there is no such thing as a speedy trial or privacy or any of the zillions of other rights we take for granted.  That is the history of this continent; now, things are much better, but the shadows of colonialism and oppression and corruption still hang over this land and her people.  I realized, truly, that I won the lottery of life, being born in America, and what we have is a precious thing.  And heck yes, I’m proud to be an American. 

Until now. Now, I am sad. And ashamed.

~~

The great divide.

I feel paralyzed, because, though I hate labels, I am a feminist who also happens to love Jesus and don’t think those things are mutually exclusive.  I have dear friends deeply entrenched on both sides of this great divide in which I find myself living.  Both labels carry baggage, and usually alienate one from the other.  Sarah Bessey nailed it here.  I often feel like an outsider to both feminism and Christianity, and I know I am not alone in that feeling...

I really want to be able to talk about it and try to understand all sides of all the issues, though for most people a civil conversation and mutual sharing of ideas and open-minded listening are outside the realm of possibility. I simultaneously want to scream and cry and lament and dream about living, I don’t know, anywhere where the primary headlines and topics of conversation don’t include presidential temper tantrums, and houses are only divided by cheering for different sports teams, not whether or not we should care for the downtrodden, the weak, the marginalized, and the oppressed.

America has changed and it is no longer a country I recognize; but then again, I know I’ve changed, too, and maybe it’s me that I don’t recognize, or that isn’t recognized anymore.  I don’t fit in, but then again, I never have; thankfully I don’t need to, in order to make a difference, to leave a legacy of light and truth and love and hope.

Maybe it’s those of us like me, who feel like they have one foot on either side of this great divide; maybe it’s us, by the grace of God, that can pull both sides together. Oh, that it would be so. 

~~

Action.

So what do I do in all of this?  Be the change I want to see in the world. Continue on, as before; putting one foot in front of the other, trying to do the best job I can with what I have been given.  I will not put my head in the sand nor will I shout from the rooftops; but I will consistently love, speak truth in love, serve others, love, be grateful, shine light into dark places, and love some more.  Because we all need that. 

I want to dream for the future, hope for greater things yet to come.  I will also pay attention in a way I haven’t until now; we are a government of the people, of which I am one, and I will have my voice heard. I will call my congressional representatives.  I will support organizations fighting for truth and love.  And I will encourage others to do the same.  Regardless of what you believe or which ‘side’ you land on, the wailing and gnashing of teeth does absolutely no good.  Try to understand all sides of every issue, do something, love someone, speak truth and dream and hope for the future.

~~

I wrote everything above this yesterday, but something kept me from posting it.  Tonight, Nick, our senior chaplain, addressed this very issue from the front of our community gathering.  He said many beautiful, true, life-giving things, but I especially loved an illustration he used…

There’s a difference between a thermometer and a thermostat.  A thermometer gives you the temperature of the room, but a thermostat controls the temperature of the room.  Let social media and news be a thermometer, telling you the temperature of things out there, but not a thermostat.  They don’t determine your emotional state – that is giving them far too much power.  Be a thermostat, change the atmosphere in the room. 

And also this: Divide has the same root word as diversity. 

I don’t want everyone to agree. What a boring world that would be! I want to embrace our diversity – in culture, in theology, in how we approach problems and in the discussion and implementation of solutions.  I want to debate and discuss and disagree, yet still love each other and see the best in each other, bring the best out in each other, and offer grace for the rest.  God, show me how to be the change I want to see in the world. How to wake up and love the world again, every day, and not give up. 

--k

Discovery.

It's been a week of discovery.

My mom's first trip overseas brought her to Benin; the country that almost killed me but actually made me stronger, between the allergic reactions and moto crashes and desperate loneliness that somehow exists at the same time as joyful contentedness, that is the life of a Peace Corps volunteer.  It also brought her to the Africa Mercy, this remarkable place of hope and healing, of life and light and joy and incredible stories and lots and lots of love.  This place, these people, this continent has been my truth and the basis for all of my life choices... and now someone else in my family 'gets it' in a way that you just can't until you have actually discovered the truth for yourself.

It's been a discovery of why I left Microsoft and a salary and stability and life in America to serve on the far side of the sea.  Why I left family and friends and everything familiar to love people in a land I didn't even really know existed.  Why I've stayed this long, and am grieving my departure in a few months.  And why I will never be 'normal' ever again.

It's been a discovery of why I will always choose experiences over things and that the collection of 'stuff' has never really interested me.  And that though life to the full doesn't include much of what America thinks it should, it is still an abundant, extravagant, beautiful, full life.

It's been a discovery of the beauty of Benin, that can be found in even the most dismal conditions.  The smiles of children who have little material wealth but more joy than can be contained.  The colorful fabrics and buildings and foods, the smells and sights and sounds of a busy port, a chaotic market, and the crashing sea.

Once these things are discovered, one can never go back; already, whispers and wonderings of the next trip or the next adventure, and a contented smile as I wave her goodbye on the dock.  It's true, what they say, you know. Once you walk up our gangway, you always leave a different person; it's not just for our patients, but for each one of us, too.

Thank you, Mom, for accepting the invitation, and being brave, and discovering the truth that is my life.  May we never go back to what was, but always look ahead with anticipation to what is yet to come. I love you.

Bon Voyage.

--Kris

Whirlwind.

It's been a whirlwind of a January; I've hopped across the United States and then across the globe, started my final class as an MPH student, ate dozens of sweet things, shook hundreds of hands, and thought to myself how is this my life a thousand times.

I got to spend a week in Seattle visiting dear friends and supporters.  I love that place, I love the people there, and it's always a treat to sit and sip really good coffee with really good friends and share in doing life together, yet far apart.  Somehow it works, and I am grateful.

I had the incredible privilege of representing Mercy Ships at our first-ever Founder's weekend; an amazing opportunity to share about the people, country, work, and organization I love so very much.  I'm so grateful to have had the opportunity; I met some fascinating people and enjoyed staying at probably the nicest place I will ever stay in my life.

A marble birthday cake.  My 3yo niece was in charge of candles. 

I got to celebrate another year of life.  36 has been good so far!  To make it extra special, I celebrated with family in Minnesota on a quick overnight after finishing up with the Founders event in southern California.  I haven't been able to celebrate my birthday with family in a very long time, so it was a special blessing!

The little bakery with the best rated croissants in all of Paris and it's suburbs.  It's not just me that says that, it's like a real thing. 

 I celebrated my actual birthday in Paris... with my Mom! We did a food tour and ate croissants, cheese, wine, and chocolate; a perfect combination for a great day!  We spent three nights in Paris, it was Mom's first time there so I got to show her the highlights of the city I have come to know quite well.

It was so cold in Paris I have no idea how they kept these looking so beautiful...

Ganvie stilt village in Benin

Then mom came with me to Benin and is with me on the ship this week, experiencing all Benin and Mercy Ships is!  Today we went out to Ganvie, an entire city built on stilts in the middle of a lake!  I didn't take great pictures, but maybe Mom did...

Mom heads out of here on Friday, so I've packed her week full of activities; a hospital tour, trips to the Hope center and children's home, a visit to my Benin family, a day trip to the Ouidah slave route, and of course a trip to the fabric market.  It's been really great to have her here, to show her a glimpse into my life, why I love this place and these people...

It's great to be back, and I'm looking forward with anticipation and gratitude already for my final four months aboard the Africa Mercy.

Love to all - Krissy

Culture Sadness.

cul·ture shock

[ˈkəlCHər ˌSHäk]

NOUN

1.     the feeling of disorientation experienced by someone who is suddenly subjected to an unfamiliar culture, way of life, or set of attitudes.

I first moved to Benin eight and a half years ago, and it was shocking. The heat, the dirt, the different foods and different languages and colors and habits and traditions were disorienting, to say the least. They warned us about it, that scary unknown thing that might make you cry without warning (or maybe that was just the malaria medication).

Then there’s the reverse.  The first time I returned to the states was after two and a half years in Benin and Sierra Leone. The first time I walked into Target, I cried and walked out.  Grocery stores were overwhelming; why does one need so many different kinds of yogurt?  Slow granny driving on my first time out on American highways, getting absurdly excited over cheese, and wondering about the seemingly sudden obsession with bacon were some of the manifestations of culture shock.  

I’ve traveled back and forth enough times now, that I don’t really feel culture shock.  I can transition and insert myself into the culture without a second thought.  Things don’t really shock me, and I don’t feel disoriented.  But I also don’t feel just alright, either.

I realized on this trip what actually happens now. I no longer experience culture shock.  I experience culture sadness.

My flight to Seattle was delayed for three hours; a minor hassle, in the grand scheme of things.  It could have been so much worse.  But the complaining and the whining and the apparent need for the people waiting to outdo each other’s stories of how hard their life is because they will be arriving three hours later than anticipated nearly caused me to lose it right there in the Minneapolis airport.  Honestly.  But it made me really sad, just seeing and hearing them all interacting; a metaphorical jousting match where the person the most inconvenienced wins, but in reality everyone is losing while simultaneously forgetting that by the sheer fact alone that we are all flying somewhere indicates we are significantly more well off than the majority of the citizens of the world.

It makes me sad that in this country we have the most choices of healthy food in the world and yet we are the most obese we have ever been.  Most dogs in America have better healthcare and diets than most children in Africa.  We sit in the top percentage points of income in the world, but we are the most in debt we have ever been.  I’m disgusted by so much of what I see; from the woman at the clothing store that drops a shirt, looks at it, and walks away leaving it there on the floor, to the blatant racism that has become almost normal in places across this country.  And more. And more. And more.

And in a few more days I’ll get on another plane and head back over the sea, where landing will not bring on culture shock but a different kind of culture sadness; where I feel somewhat guilty and infinitely lucky that I was born in America, the land of opportunity. 

I can’t dwell on it too much or the darkness really threatens to overwhelm me.  Instead, I do the only thing I can do; be the change I want to see in the world, by keeping on, trying to speak life and shine light into dark places. Sometimes that looks like serving, or loving, or smiling, or just biting my tongue and praying a blessing over someone, that somehow they would get their eyes off themselves and God would give them eyes to see. 

That's my prayer for myself, every single day.  May it be so.

Onward. --k

Transitions.

I'm sitting in the Minneapolis airport, nibbling on a mediocre five dollar muffin.  My flight to Seattle is three hours delayed; better than cancelled, I suppose.  It does give me an opportunity to breathe, to think about what has been an what is to come.   It's an appropriate place to do so, this place that is not a destination in itself but a stop in the transition from one place to another.

I suppose that is one good word to describe what I expect 2017 to be.  As mentioned in my previous blog post, I complete my current commitment with Mercy Ships on June 1.  This has been the date 'on the books' for several years, but suddenly we are in the same year, and it feels real.  I love this organization, I love what we do, I love being a part of it.  I also feel I have taken the medical capacity building programs to a place where it's time to hand over to someone else to continue to grow, build, keep making better and better.  I'm ready for a new challenge, and there isn't another position open that would be a good fit.  

So as I sit in this place of transition, looking ahead to the changes that are to come, I actually feel nothing but gratitude.  I've thankfully already felt and survived the period of grief for what felt like the death of a dream; I've survived the fear that inevitably came, that thief that whispers you will never do anything as cool as this again.  Lies, from the pit. Greater things are always yet to come.

So I look back with gratitude for all I have been able to do, to see, to be a part of; I am grateful for the consistent support I've received up until recently, for the friends and family that have loved and encouraged me through all the transitions, the challenges, the joys.  Thank you, from the depths.

And I look forward with excitement to the road less traveled; the one that might not be the easiest, or it might not make the most sense, or be the most financially beneficial, or the most exotic, or whatever else the darkness might whisper I need to strive for.  Rather, the road that is right for me, for a season or for a lifetime.

I've got one more class in my Masters degree in Public Health before getting to the thesis/dissertation stage; there is indeed a light at the end of the tunnel.  Part of me is excited to reach the end and get that degree in my hand, while part of me will really miss it.  I have always loved learning.  Thanks to those who have supported this piece of my journey, too.  It's allowed me to do my job even better, to broaden our impact in the countries we serve, to report it more clearly, and help get some of what we have learned out in to the realm of public knowledge.  I'll finish that up somewhere in the middle of 2017.

Whatever I'm doing when 2017 draws to a close, it will certainly be different.  I'm excited.  I plan to keep writing, to keep growing, to keep speaking life and light and truth and joy.  I hope that you will join me.

May 2017 be a year of unfolding goodness, of trust, of truth, and a true experience of life to the full.

xxlove, Krissy

All the difference.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - 

I took the one less traveled by, 

And that has made all the difference.*

Reflecting, as one does at this time of year, has me filled with gratitude for what has been.  I welcomed 2016 in on the beach in Madagascar; I ring it out in the cold, snowy woods of northern Minnesota.  In between I've visited several countries, climbed some mountains (both literal and figurative), grew academically, professionally, and personally, published a few papers, managed some incredible programs and dreamed big dreams for Madagascar, Cameroon, and Benin. 

Every year has the potential for more - more joy, more love, more hope and creativity and adventure.  My commitment with Mercy Ships is finished on June 1, and after five years on the ship and eight years in Africa, it seems a new path will make itself clear in the coming weeks and months.

I am looking forward to the road less traveled.  Happy New Year. 

*The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost

Shades of beauty.

I’m back on the ship after ten wonderful days away; one of the projects I’m responsible for is our safe surgical checklist project (read more about it here) and the team has been on the road for five weeks straight, up in the north of the country, in remote regions where running water is rare and hospitals seldom get outside training opportunities.  I joined them on the road a week ago Thursday, and I’m so grateful for the opportunity to help out and be reminded of how much I love this project, this country, these people, and this incredible calling on my life. 

It’s hot up there, about 100 degrees Fahrenheit, but so dry you don’t even really sweat, a completely different experience to down here in Cotonou where you step outside and it feels like you are drowning in the air, it’s so humid.  The air up there is full of dust and smoke; dry season, dusty roads, bush fires, and the start of the Harmattan which brings dust from the Sahara into the atmosphere makes for hazy skies and tickled throats; but the beauty of the terrain, the delicious food (igname pilee, peanut sauce, fromage peuhl, all the most wonderful eats in Benin), and the calm open spaces were a beautiful respite from the crazy, loud, busy fullness of the streets in Cotonou.

The doctors and nurses tell us they sometimes feel forgotten up there; they eagerly welcomed us into their hospitals and their practice, and received the teaching we offered with excitement and gratitude.  I so love the Checklist project; it’s such a simple thing that can so dramatically change the surgical services and outcomes in these hospitals, and I love to hear their feedback on the training.  Things like we will always have respect in my operating room  and  I’m so happy to be able to have a voice, to speak on behalf of the patient make every early morning rooster crow and bucket shower very, very worth it. 

In one hospital we helped walk them through the Checklist in a real surgical case; a cesarean section, with a team eager to put their new skills into practice.  Teamwork, communication, and encouragement; when a healthy, crying baby boy was presented a round of applause through the operating room put a smile on everyone’s faces.  What a beautiful thing to be a part of.

So I’m back on the ship now, more relaxed that I have been since summer break; I finished a very grueling research module for grad school the day before I left to go up north, and now don’t restart classes until January.  I haven’t had a break from school for more than a few days since I started eighteen months ago, and I don’t think I even realized how much pressure is on my shoulders, always in the background of whatever I happen to be doing, the knowledge that I really need to be reading more or writing a paper or studying something or preparing for a big project.  This last module was particularly difficult; I did a whole small-scale research project on malaria while also writing and editing my dissertation (thesis) proposal.  I really enjoyed it but am glad there is a light at the end of the tunnel; one more ‘class’ module that starts in January and then my thesis module!  Phew.

Now I’m focusing on finishing up loose ends and packing up for the next adventure; flying back to the States next weekend for the holidays for the first time in years.  I might just freeze to death, as it’s about a hundred degrees colder there than it is here, but to see a white Christmas through the eyes of my three-and-a-half year old niece and family will be worth it!  I’ll then hit Seattle for about a week and then speak at a conference in southern California mid-January before heading back over here to the other side of the sea. 

If you’re a friend on Facebook you probably saw my post about money; I’ve lost about 75% of my regular monthly funding in the last few weeks.  Nothing personal, times are tough and I’m so grateful for the consistent support I’ve received for the last four years…  but it does rather leave me in a tough space financially, with no alternative sources of income.  Maybe you could help fill in the gap?  There’s a button to the right of this pane that says donate with an arrow, and then the next page has a green Donate Now button; just click on it and you can join me in making surgery safer across Benin! Thank you to everyone who has made this possible, it’s such an honor to be able to serve and love these incredible people in this place where every day brings forth a new shade of beauty. 

 

An awesome photo captured by Amy Jones; me with my Beninese sister Faridah

Fruit.

Summer of 2014 I spent a week in Uganda helping to run a pediatric anesthesia course (the same one I ran this week, in fact).  We had some downtime and for some of us it was our first time in that country, so we went for a hike, one of my favorite things to do.

I remember clearly as I was walking up the side of the mountain what I was thinking about.  Our first year of medical capacity building programs was finished; it was a tough year with a lot of discovery and successes led to greater dreams for the next year, a field service in Benin. (if you recall, we were scheduled to arrive in Benin in August of 2014, but ebola changed that plan… but at the time this story took place, my mind and heart were in Benin).

I was remembering my Peace Corps experience in Benin; I worked in the health center quite a lot of the time, and the staff let me see and do quite a lot.  I remember thinking how sparsely equipped it was; how they washed and re-used their disposable gloves, spent hours cutting bandages, and used rusty instruments. I remember being in the room during deliveries; sometimes the baby was strong and screaming and sometimes it wasn’t.  I knew there was something off about what I was seeing, but I didn’t know enough to do or say anything about it.  I wished I could have helped more than I did; I helped them to organize some paperwork and taught a few things but I remember desperately wishing I could have done more.

Fast forward a few years, and during the Congo field service I learned about Helping Babies Breathe, a newborn resuscitation program for low-resource environments (places that don’t have a NICU, supplementary oxygen, emergency drugs, etc).  Exactly the type of environment I had worked in.  As I was walking up the side of the mountain (really, just a hill, to be honest!) I wondered if it could be taught to Peace Corps volunteers, who could then teach it in their villages to the health centers.  It seemed a little crazy, not exactly what we do, but why not?  The algorithm is simple, easier in fact than a standard CPR course which is taught by and for non-medically trained people worldwide.

I pitched it to my boss who was there with me and we brainstormed how we could do it and ways to measure success.  The programs team supported the idea and a project plan was written; I was thrilled to be able to return to Benin and offer this teaching that I wished I could have had when I was a volunteer.  The key point is ensuring babies breathe in the first minute; we would teach the appropriate methods and supply all health centers with the materials needed, the materials that I knew my health center didn’t have when I was there.  So. Excited.

Then we were re-directed to Madagascar and had to adjust everything. The system is a bit different there, with a smaller percentage of births happening in the health centers but an active Peace Corps program, so we decided to go ahead.

It went so much better than I could have imagined!  So much good feedback from the volunteers and the people they trained; overall, a huge success.  It was so rewarding to talk to the volunteers who excitedly told stories of their health center workers saving little lives!  We’ve already done one training here in Benin, and hope to do another in the spring.  

Since the Madagascar project, we’ve been working on writing a paper about the experience, suggesting the model is a good one for wide dissemination of this teaching that has the potential to have a dramatic effect on newborn survival rates.  Finally, this week it got published!

Here’s the link: Link 

What a journey! A few years ago it was just a burst of inspiration while on a hike in Uganda, long before I was a graduate student and even thought about publishing anything!  Now it’s been shown to be statistically and scientifically beneficial and added to the global pool of knowledge… what an incredible thing it is to be a part of this place.  To see a dream come to fruition; to know that babies are alive today because of an idea and a pursuit and that maybe many more will be saved in the future is… incredible. 

Thank you, supporters and friends, for investing in me so I could invest in them.  What an honor. 

The HBB class in Madagascar

Hope.

It’s 6:56 PM and I am curled up in my bed, with cozy sweatpants on and my freshly showered hair is leaving a damp spot on the pillow propped up against the wall.  This is my Friday night.  And it’s glorious.

This week we ran two 2-day courses plus a training-of-trainers in the middle; the topic was pediatric anesthesia, the venue a local hotel, and it’s my job to make it happen.  Often we run these types of courses in a three-day format, which means we usually have Monday to sort ourselves out and the translators out and gives time for the guest instructors to adjust to the culture and the temperature and the, shall we say, more lenient sense of timing among the Beninese.  However we did this one differently, so it was full on from the start; very full, long days, and then dinner together afterwards, so the introvert in me is desperate to lie here and eat chocolate and mindlessly scroll through social media feeds until I turn out my light well before 9pm.   But I can’t help but reflect on the week and feel nothing but gratitude that I get to be a part of this.

Fifty people are now able to deliver safer anesthesia and critical care to the children of this country.  One of the doctors I work with remarked at the end of the course that few parents would value anything greater than they value their children; trusting their most precious possession into the hands of doctors and hospitals is truly an act of courage and hope.  Hope that they can and will save their child; that child that may grow up to be the next president, or the one that cures cancer, or the one that helps to eliminate poverty.  The hope is tangible, among parents and patients and medical staff alike; only fitting that hope is exactly what we are also able to offer, in the form of training, encouragement, methods and processes that hopefully improve the health and wellbeing of everyone involved.  What an honor to be an agent of hope in this place. 

Nine of those people have also been trained and resourced to be able to deliver the training themselves; multiplication, sustainability, hope for a future.  These could be the ones that transform surgery and critical care in this country, in this region, in this continent.  Oh, may it be so!

I’m in the process of training others to take over this responsibility for running courses; when I ran my first course three years ago we were sort of just figuring things out as we went along.  But now we have systems, processes, templates, checklists, and plans that I have loved creating and crafting and adjusting, but now it’s time to pass the baton.  I’m grateful to have been a part of creating something that will last; not only in Mercy Ships, but in the lives of the people we have taught and served and loved.   As I look forward to working on some other capacity building projects I hope and pray those that come behind me will stand on my shoulders and reach greater heights as agents of hope and pursuers of excellence in what we do. 

So tonight I curl up in bed with a tired body and a full, full heart.  Thank you, friends, family, and supporters – I could not do this without you. You are a part of this legacy; you are agents of hope to the people of Benin.  Thank you, from the depths.

xxk

Life.

I haven’t written much lately, for a variety of reasons.  School is getting tougher and taking more of my non-work time; work has been full on since the beginning of the field service, but going very, very well.  I’m thankful for that.  Mostly I’ve been appalled and speechless about the circus going on back in my country of origin; something in me felt I couldn’t just write like nothing was happening, but couldn’t formulate words.  The thought occurred to me several times that I committed to myself back when I started this blog that I would never use this platform to rant, something I never use facebook for either.  I also tend to think no one asked for my opinion so why offer it; then I thought, well, that’s ridiculous, I offer my opinions all the time on this blog.  But this is different.  Somehow.  I’ve never written about hot button topics and I’ve always believed love and truth and light and life will win.

And I still believe they will.

I am heartbroken.  The hatred, the violence, the deep division.  The greatest weapon of the darkness is pervasive and evil and more prevalent today than any other day in my lifetime, as far as I can figure.  And it grieves my heart.

But I still believe that love and truth and light and life will win.  Always.

So I’m going to keep doing those things.  Loving. Spreading truth. Shining light.  Fully alive.

~~

Something happened a few days ago.  I found myself thinking of “us” and “them”.  As in, I don’t really want to talk to any of ‘them”. 

Something twisted deep inside.  No.  NOOOOOOOOO. 

Us vs. Them is never be a product of the light.  Never.  Forgive me.

Love wins.

It’s not easy.  The best things in life generally aren’t. But they are worth pursuing.

~~

Life continues on, the clock keeps ticking and the calendar keeps turning; I’m deep into revisions of my thesis proposal, there IS a light at the end of this grad school tunnel.  Less than a year left.  We’ve already trained a few hundred people and have another 75 or so coming through this week to learn how to safely administer pediatric anesthesia.  In a few weeks I’ll spend a week in the interior with the Checklist team; a few weeks after that I’ll get to experience Christmas through the eyes of my 3-year-old niece, while freezing my tropical blood back in Minnesota for a few weeks.  I can’t wait.

The future is always filled with uncertainty.  It’s what we do with the uncertainty that matters. Don’t let fear win.  It’s a lousy companion on the journey and takes all the fun out of it. 

xxk