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

The story I'm writing.

The last few weeks have been crazy.  When we were planning out the field service calendar, I knew these weeks would push me to my limits.

Two weeks of courses and all that go into that.  Training colleagues on how to do, well, everything.  A conference to present at, meetings with visiting staff only on ship once a year.  Prepping the Checklist team, going with them on the first of 20+ hospitals they will visit this year. Teaching another day course and hosting peace corps volunteers aboard.  Visiting my Beninese family at their home with my friends, welcoming them into my home with a tour and dinner on the ship.  Papers to write, big and small, keeping on with good grades in my Masters program (the end is in sight…) A road trip to the village where I served two years as a Peace Corps volunteer.  Leading a community group. Maintaining friendships.  It’s no wonder few blogs have been written! (though more blogs to come on many of those things…)

In the chaos, I lost my balance.  I moved from healthy becoming mode to a crisis managing survival mode.  I knew it was going to happen, and we all go through seasons of chaos… but that’s the thing.  It should be seasons.  Last field service was an exceptionally long season of chaos and I was determined at the start of this one that that would not be the story I am writing this year. 

I won’t get to the finish line this year with knees bleeding and gasping for breath. 

So I’m relieved to feel myself regaining balance.  Fighting for it, even.  The to-do list is ever present, but the story is not what am I surviving, or what am I achieving, but who am I becoming. 

I desperately want to be a woman of peace, of grace, of kindness and hope and love and truth.  Survival mode brings out very few of those things, so I’m intentionally moving from survival mode to becoming mode. Who do I want to become?  And then, what will it take to get there?  What is the story I am writing?

I went away yesterday and let the sun soak into my bones as I listened to podcasts, to my friends, to my heart, to Jesus.  I took a nap, I laughed with friends, I left the work and the email and the school and the to-do list at home.  The story I am writing includes taking time to breathe, to feel, to rest, to renew and refresh this heart of mine that needs care once in awhile.

I went for a run this morning.  It was awful, and I’m terribly out of shape, but the fact that I got out of bed and went counts as a win.  I know I am a nicer person to be around when exercise is a regular part of my existence, but haven’t had the capacity the last several weeks.  The story I am writing includes discipline, intentionality, and persistence.

I’m keeping time aside to reconnect with friends and feed the part of me that loves deep heart connection with others.  I’m regaining the love I have for my job, for this thing I’m called to do and these people I’m called to serve.  This story I’m writing, it is filled with good things, and I’m desperate to see them and appreciate them and be grateful for them;  for what they are and what they represent, and not miss them in the chaos that has been.

I’ve got so much to write about, but this is where it starts.  Begin with the end in mind.  Who am I becoming? Thank you, dear friends, for joining me in the journey. 

xxk 

Rhythms.

I wrote the below words last weekend, but never posted them; it was such an interesting mix of awesome and awful, and I wasn’t sure what to share and I think I got distracted and then it kept slipping down the to-do list.

This morning I am reveling in a day off.  Completely off.  No school, no work, and that hasn’t happened in several weeks, I’m really, really excited about it. When I started this year I was determined I would take a Sabbath rest every week, but knew for this little chunk of three to four weeks that would be nearly impossible; two courses to run and a conference to attend in the span of three weeks, plus other things, meant pushing hard.  I don’t mind it, really, as long as it’s a short season and there is an end in sight.  We need, in our lives, rhythms of rest and work, and I know when I lose my rhythm everything just gets hard. As I read my words from last week, I recognize myself out of sync with the most important of things…

~~~

September 24.

This week was our first medical training course in Benin.

My job is to organize all aspects of the course except delivering the teaching.  I recruit instructors, sort out their arrivals and flights and collaboration and connection; prepare and organize all teaching materials, equipment, supplies, and paperwork; ensure everything is translated and provide translators when the instructors aren’t French-speaking; find and organize and pay for a venue and catering; coordinate with a zillion different people involved in providing participant lists and try to identify the best participants for various courses; organize participant invitations, delivery, confirmation of attendance, etc.; take care of various random things throughout the course like making sure people are where they are supposed to be, reorganizing room setup, etc.; and then follow up with every hospital represented, the instructors, the participants, and close out any outstanding logistical concerns like payment and reorganization of the now-disorganized supplies.  I have a great team and am teaching a colleague how to do all of this so she can take over in the future – while this is wonderful, it does lead to many, many more questions needing answers.  We also organize transportation, other activities for the facilitators, and airport transfers and hotel accommodation if there isn’t space on the ship.

This week’s course was SAFE Obstetric Anesthesia and it went super; the participants were eager and engaged, the instructors really fun and great teachers, and logistically everything went relatively smoothly even with a few unexpected hiccups.   It’s a long week for me, as an introvert I recharge my batteries by being alone or being able to focus so an entire week spent pinging around putting out fires, solving problems, and answering questions in two different languages really wears me out.  I really enjoyed the week; last night we all went out for dinner together and it was just really fun; kind words of encouragement from the team that this was one of the best trainings they’ve ever run left me feeling that the tired was very worth it!

While the week was amazing, running this course isn’t my only job.  I’m also thinking ahead to the next course starting in a week; the conference I’m attending this week and was just asked yesterday to present at in a few days; the country-wide safe surgery training program I’m creating and managing that is in its busiest planning weeks right now; and the master’s degree program that is always lurking in the background, the deadlines of which are not flexible according to my working schedule and the 2500 word Ebola mitigation and prevention analysis and proposal due this weekend.  I didn’t sleep well last night and I would rather not talk to anyone today, however in order to even get breakfast I have to face the dining room full of people which means I can’t spend the day in my pajamas as I would really like to…. Also in my head is that one person I am avoiding in the hallways because I know I upset her this week but I just don’t have the energy for one more crucial conversation, the other kind-hearted people who mean well but seriously, if another person asks me if I got hit in the face and I have to explain that no, I’m fine, I just have dark circles under my eyes because I’m tired and stressed and no, it’s okay I’ll be okay I just need to STOP TALKING so please take the hint… sigh.

Always in the back of my head is wonderings of the future, anxieties about more difficult conversations that will likely need to happen this week… I get a phone call from a colleague who needs some advice and I honestly just burst into tears. Some days the decisions of my own life feel overwhelming, I can’t possibly appropriately problem solve for someone else, too.  How do you enforce boundaries in that situation, when I want her to feel supported and encouraged and not left on her own, when at the same time I desperately just need to be left alone and for her to just figure it out?

Sometimes this place is amazing, and I feel so blessed and honored and grateful I get to be here and do this thing.  Sometimes this place is the hardest place ever.  Sometimes I think I can’t possibly stay here even another day.  So I look at hotels to get away for a few days soon or a weekend, and remember that grad school has drained my savings account and oh yeah, another bill is due in April for $9k and where is that going to come from, and I realize a getaway is not going to happen. Then anxiety about money kicks in and I start to wonder what was I thinking doing this thing without a consistent salary (though my donors are AMAZING). Maybe a job with WHO or the UN wouldn’t be so bad, though in reality working behind a desk might just kill me… but if it means I don’t have to face the possibility of seeing any dozen of 400 roommates just to pop a bag of popcorn that will be a suitable substitute for the lunch I forgot to pack at breakfast, maybe it’s worth it.  I don’t know.

For now, I need to focus on the next thing on the to-do list. 

~~~

Today, October 1

Well, I’m happy to report that the difficult conversations I was expecting this week were indeed difficult but ended well.  The conference was great, the paper got written, we’re ready for the next course, the instructors of which arrive today and tomorrow.  My Beninese family got to visit the ship and it was SUCH a joy to have them here.  I got some sad news in an email and some good news in another; the waves and the rhythms of life keep rolling on. 

Thanks, friends, for your support and love and encouragement through it all.

xxk

Source: Link

My Beninese Family.

This week I was able to do something I've looked forward to, hoped for, and wanted for five years. I visited my Beninese family that I spent the most time with out in my village while a peace corps volunteer.  To see them again five years later was such a privilege; when we said goodbye we really thought it would be forever.  These treasures welcomed me into their home whenever I wandered in, whenever I was lonely in village life or just wanted to eat something delicious!  They dropped everything and took care of me when I had a massive allergic reaction that could have (but thankfully didn't) become life threatening; they cared for me when I got hit by a moto; they taught me how to be Beninese, instilled in me a love for this place and these people that continues on.

They invited me to join them this week as they celebrated Tabaski, a Muslim holiday I celebrated with them five years ago!  They remembered all the things I loved to eat and we filled ourselves with deliciousness, with memories, with stories, with hopes for the future and renewed relationships with each other. What an amazing thing, to have family across the globe.  I can't wait to have them to the ship in a few weeks!

The goal.

I referenced in my last blog a quote from Brene Brown that has really been on my mind a lot lately:

If authenticity is my goal and I keep it real, I never regret it.  If the goal is authenticity and they don’t like me, I’m okay.  If the goal is being liked, and they don’t like me, I’m in trouble.

It’s caused me to ask what’s the goal so many times and I think it’s really saved me some panic/anxiety/stress.

How?

~ A colleague printed some invitations in black and white that I thought should have been in color.  I really thought they should be in color, and almost asked her to reprint them… but then thought what’s the goal?  To invite people to training programs, to bring hope and healing to this country.  What isn’t the goal? Impressing people.  The black and white invitations did the job we needed them to do.  I needed to let go of my need to be impressive. 

~ I had to give a speech in French. I stumbled on some words.  The goal was to get information out and build relationships with the people in attendance, and I did that well.  The goal was not to speak perfect French.  I needed to let go of my expectation of perfection.

~ I could spend eight hours on a school paper, and it would be high distinction level work.  However, the goal is to get the degree and still get enough sleep, take care of my heart and soul, and be excellent in my work.  So really? Four hours will get me a decent paper and some extra chill time.  That’s a win.

I think about friends I see panicking about putting together a perfect birthday party for their children, and I think what’s the goal?  If the goal is impressing all your friends, or the other moms, or the family, then yeah, maybe that stress is worth it.  If the goal is to party and celebrate life and family and joy, then is it worth all that stress and cost to achieve pinterest-worthy photos?  Not a judgement, just a question, that I’m asking myself daily it seems.

What's the goal of this work project? Is it to impress people or to help people?  What's the goal of a sabbath day? What's the goal of writing a blog?  What's the goal of leading a community group? 

I don’t know where I read it or who said it to me, but I have just above my desk a post-it note that says:

Just keep doing your thing with as much integrity and love as possible.

That’s the goal.  Authenticity, integrity, passion, love, purpose, light, truth.  

May it sink deep in my soul. 

Create the space.

You have to brave with your life so that others can be brave with theirs. ~Katherine Center

This is my eighth year living in Africa.  It’s been incredible and hard and awesome.  So many people call me brave. I’ve written before (here) that my brave isn’t living in a foreign country and culture; my brave is admitting mistakes I’ve made, or asking for help, or pushing through the doubt and fear and lonely and connecting with others.

This year I’ll be leading an open community group aboard the AFM.

This isn’t a closed group of friends that I know well that will be journeying together.  I’d honestly rather it was.  That’s comfortable, for me.  And what I have done the last several years.  So when I was asking God what my involvement would look like in small groups this year (as my entire small group from the last few years has left) it was so clear to me that an open small group was it. 

People can come and go as their work schedules allow.  People brand new on the ship with no friends yet are welcome alongside people who have been here longer than I have.  I know that the ship can be a desperately lonely place, and I know if I feel that I am not the only one.

What is my role in this?  Well, I will tell you what it isn’t.  It isn’t up to me to create spiritual experiences for people.  It isn’t up to me to draw people closer to the heart of God.  It isn’t up to me to make sure people hear from God.  It isn’t up to me to gather a whole big group.  It isn’t up to me to speak to the depths of people’s hearts.  It isn’t up to me to try to fill the room or make people cry or get anyone to say how awesome I am.  It’s not even my job to try to be awesome.

My role, what I have been called to do is this: create a safe, encouraging space for people to connect to others at a heart level beneath the surface.  To start a conversation about what walking with God looks like.  And to encourage authenticity and vulnerability, by being authentic and vulnerable. 

Brene Brown is one of my favorite author-researchers, and she says in The Gifts of Imperfection:

                If authenticity is my goal and I keep it real, I never regret it.  If the goal is authenticity and they don’t like me, I’m okay.  If the goal is being liked, and they don’t like me, I’m in trouble.

So my goal isn’t to have a room full of people, or to be liked, or to be seen as a spiritual leader or really anything about me.  It’s about creating space and leading by example.

So when anyone asks me “how many people did you have?” the answer will be “just the right number.”  Hey, if no one shows up one week, at least it’s a two hour time period I’ve already blocked off and allocated towards the pursuit of God.

Why am I sharing this? 

If you are on the ship, and this connects in some way to your heart, (and you are a woman :)) please join me at 7pm on Wednesdays in the Hospital conference room.

If you aren’t – if you are friends, family, support, strangers afar – I want to encourage you to be brave with what God is asking you to do.  Maybe it’s leading something like me, or planting a church, or stepping into something new, and you need to be told it’s not up to you to create spiritual experiences for people, or bring in the multitudes, or manipulate emotions or experiences…  God never calls us to do any of that.  Promise. It’s only up to you to create the space to do so.   I’ve lived under so much pressure in the past that it’s up to me to bring people to youth group or to church or to a new experience with God… but really, that’s all His work, and He’s got it. 

My brave wall.

Your being brave allows others to do the same. 

I’d love to hear what bravery looks like to you today!  xxk

On being here.

I blinked and a week has passed, almost as if arriving at home in the car and realizing you have no idea how you got there.  It was a busy week, one full of meetings and planning and challenges and joys; also one of peace, which is truly the cry of my heart for this season.  I am so grateful.

~~

During my time away in France this summer, I spent a whole lot of time evaluating the things that went wrong last field service and what I need to do to remedy the situation this field service.  One of those decisions was I must have a Sabbath day once a week.  One full day, where I don’t do any work and I don’t do any school work.  This was nearly nonexistent for me last year, and I committed to arranging at least one day per week that was free to do whatever my heart needed to do to find peace and be refreshed for the coming week.  Reading, listening to a podcast, running, sitting by a pool, going to church; it might look different every week, but I knew it had to be a day free of school and work.

Then we landed in Benin. And things got crazy.  And two days after arrival I’m already thinking I am going to have to work all weekend to catch up.  We had literally been in country two days and I felt behind; the panic of failure creeping in the back of my mind, with a to-do list a mile long and the desperate need to achieve overriding any other needs, no matter how urgent. 

Two days in.

I took a figurative step back and said whoa.  No way.  I am not starting this way.  This is not going to be this year.  It. Is. Not.

So the weekend came and I worked hard one day to catch up on things, and then I did it. I took a day off from school, from work, from the need to achieve and accomplish and cross off to-do list items.  It was glorious and refreshing and I found that Monday morning not only was I not behind, but I was exceptionally peaceful and productive.  It makes no sense, that one.  The rational part of me says it’s a waste of time.  But I’m beginning to learn that rational doesn’t secretly mean right. 

~~

I went up to someone the other day and said “I’d like to have dinner with you, I want to hear your story.”  Truly, she lit up like a Christmas tree; she said really??? like four times and then said how about tonight? We had a great dinner and a beautiful conversation, but what stuck with me was the excitement she showed when I gave value to her, to our time, to her story.  Isn’t that truly what we are all hungry for?  Someone to tell us I see you, you have value, your story is important and I want to hear it. 

I encourage you to try it.  Be brave. They might say no.  But if their face lights up and they feel seen for the first time in maybe forever?  It’s worth it.   

~~

On Thursday we went as a team to the screening site.  In the last few years we’ve changed our screening strategy dramatically; while huge screenings with 7000 people lining up like we had in Congo has its benefits, from a public health perspective, large numbers of desperate and potentially ill people in a confined area could be a recipe for disaster.  So now our screening team holds smaller screening days over a longer period of time, and they need a lot of help with security and patient escorts throughout the day.

We left the ship long before the sun began to rise; when we arrived at the screening site, the crowds outside the gate were already loud and rowdy.  We couldn’t see them but could hear them; the desperation clear in a group of people who had already spent days in line, sleeping in the rain, the mud, the tropical sun.  It took a lot of jaw clenching and focused concentration to keep the tears at bay.

Once the police had them calmed down they started to file into the compound.  I got to greet each second person as a friend and I were giving everyone who entered a wristband.  They were so eager, the grandmothers and the pappas and the mamas with their little ones.  Some cried at the sight of our pale skin but most were just relieved to be inside and a step closer to their long-hoped-for healing. 

Some we can help; many, many we cannot, and it’s hard to see the disappointment of those who receive a no shuffling out of the compound, their faces and hearts heavy and grieving the death of hope.  Please pray for them; for the multitudes we cannot help, and for the screening team who have to deliver the news.

~~

I guess it should come as no surprise that I aced my last grad school module.  What module was it? Programme and policy challenges in low income countries. Yeah.  Like a transcript of my daily existence would probably be a suitable textbook.  In fact, I had to read very little of the actual course material, drawing upon my own experience proved much more fun and less tedious.  Now I’m struggling through Managing crises and disasters which I think I would enjoy if it weren’t for so many other things I’d rather be doing with my time. 

So I’m still managing to work and do school at the same time; I also will be leading a small group and I hope to spend some time learning the local language of Fon while I am here.  I am not sure why but something in me really wants to learn it!  It’s very different from Tcha which was the local language in my village; speaking of village, I do plan to go up there sometime in the next few months.  Someone asked me today if I had seen anyone that I knew from my previous time yet, and I replied no, but we’ve only been here a week!  

It’s so good to be here. Thank you for your prayers and support, I couldn’t do this without my funders and my friends and emails and family and letters and love.  Thank you, from the depths.  

xxk

On arrival. See me? ©Mercy Ships

On new life and mango trees.

I was teary several times on Thursday, arrival day, the day we have all been waiting for since 2014. People asked if they were good tears; I said they aren’t necessarily bad tears, just alive tears.  Most people get that, thankfully.  I was awakened by the horrid grinding of metal on metal reverberating through the walls; the pilot entrance being opened!  The usual annoyance of a sound like that was quickly replaced with leaping out of bed and throwing open my window shade – Benin, right out my window!   We entered the harbor and our berth (parking space for ships) with all the pomp and circumstance expected; singing, dancing, a ceremony attended by various dignitaries, representatives, and assorted VIP’s.  During the sail I had shared with the crew some of my Benin experiences; quite a few came around and asked me if it looks familiar.  Well, I was never in the port, so no, not really!  Let me escape these industrial barricades and I think I will feel more at home again.

And it was true.  Yesterday I got to go out and see or HOPE center, and had several meet-and-greets with hospital directors and contacts that I will be working with over the next ten months.   Aah, the familiar streets, the lively colored clothing, the massive assortment of fruits or fabrics or other paraphernalia piled on heads and babies slung on the backs of their mamas.  We pulled in to the HOPE center parking lot (a pre- and post-hospital residence for patients and caregivers) and as I got out of the Landcruiser it just smelled like Benin.  No idea what that is; some combination of the local foliage in thick, humid air with whispers of garbage fires, cooking fires, rotting fruit, and life going on all around us.  I was immediately transported back to just over eight years ago; my first steps on African soil right here in this city, taking it all in with wide eyes and an open heart.  I could feel it in my blood, the feeling that all is as it should be; that a piece of myself that was left here has slipped back into place and I am whole again.

I wandered around the compound, the reddish dirt at my feet and the honk-honk of the Fanmilk man walking just outside the wall.  Laundry hanging out to dry, and a huge mango tree with baby fruits just making themselves seen, and I remember.  So many good times under a mango tree. So many friendships forged and memories imprinted and beverages consumed and laughter and light and joy experienced under mango trees.  They’re everywhere here and they provide a really nice canopy of shade so many gathering places near my village and elsewhere were under a mango tree. That’s where you’d spread out your mat and take a nap during the hottest part of the day in the hottest part of the year; desperate to catch a breeze and unable to do anything but lie still.   There’s a deep joy that wells up in me at the sight of the mango tree; in a cruel twist of fate I happen to be allergic to mangoes, but there’s something about a mango tree that makes me feel at home. 

Today we meet our day crew, 225 locals without whom we couldn’t do what we hope to do here in Benin.  The ship is now blissfully still for the next ten months, so the work of unstrapping, untying, and unsecuring has begun.  Patient screening starts next week, with the hospital opening a few weeks later and the first of many medical training programs also in just a few weeks.  It is a lot of work; but suddenly I find myself thinking not about the work, but about the joy it is to do this, to serve here, bringing hope and healing, light and life and service to the least of these.  I pray our patients find new life, our training participants new hope, and our crew their own mango tree experience here in this incredible nation. 

HOPE center mango tree

Heroes.

After nine days at sea I feel myself getting rather… antsy, shall we say.  I’m tired of being penned up and I’m ready to hit the ground in Benin; to pour out hope and healing and love and life into the place that will always hold a special piece of my heart.  Instead of a distant point off the horizon, suddenly we are saying things like ‘tomorrow we’ll do this’ and ‘next week we have scheduled this and this’.  Finally, it is time.

This morning we started bobbing a bit more than we have been, and after a long-ish meeting in a windowless room that was rolling and swaying and stuffy, I took some seasick meds and got myself up to deck 8 for some fresh air and a long look at the horizon (the only unmoving thing in my current existence).  Sticky tropical air greeted me; we crossed the equator yesterday, that invisible line that meant exchanging winter for summer and the inevitable teasing of new crew to make sure to look for the line just under the surface as we sail over it.

I took a walk around deck 8, the wind whipping my hair and clearing out the dizzy that had built up earlier.  As I sauntered along, I came across two of our security guards; Gurkhas from Nepal, who are some of the most wonderfully kind and selfless people you will ever meet.  These are the guys you want on your team. If you’ve never heard of Gurkhas look it up; they’re fierce, they’re loyal, they would do anything to protect the people in their charge.  These guys leave their families for months at a time to serve this little crew of world-changers trying to make a difference.  I am forever grateful for these unsung heroes.

After chatting a few minutes I moved along and around the corner; there I ran into our maintenance coordinator, an amazing guy who always says hello and has a word of encouragement on his lips.  I said hi and looked more closely at what he was working on; he was making walkers from plastic piping.   He said he wanted to get a little bit ahead before getting to Benin, because once the big work starts he’d have to put them together at night and on the weekends.  Incredible.  Giving up his time and energy to help make life a little bit easier for our littlest patients; helping them learn to walk on their new legs or their new feet into the gift of a new life and a new future that surgery has offered to them.  Another hero, another world-changer, giving of himself to spread hope and healing.

A bit further along I find our transportation manager picking up a zillion little washers of various sizes that had been spilled across the deck and rolled under the vehicles secured up there. As I stooped down to help him gather the runaways, I couldn’t help but think here is yet another unsung world-changer.  I don’t know much about his job, and like many who work in service, he probably spends the majority of his time fixing problems and handling complaints; I confess, I don’t really think about or appreciate the transportation guys until the cars don’t work.

This organization does amazing things and I’m so grateful to be a part of transformation.  But even more, today, I am appreciative of the community that I get to be a part of.  It takes an incredible amount of unsung heroes to put out the stories of transformation.  Thank you, Africa Mercy Crew, for continually teaching me about selflessness, about humility, about service and loving your neighbor and the power of community, family, and faith; when all rolled together, the result is truly glorious.  

To the unseen and unknown heroes in our midst, my heart echoes His in saying well done, good and faithful ones.  Well done. 

Can you see the line?? 

May it be so.

It’s the strangest thing to look out the window and see absolutely nothing.

It’s early, the first sunbeams have yet to make their way to this side of the globe. I’ve become used to the rocking; to the unending movement, never still, always swirling and rolling and flowing our way over the sapphire blue to our destination far beyond the horizon.

I feel so small.

As far as the eye can see, rocking, rolling, white-capped water; they say it’s teeming with life, but the evidence of that has been mostly hidden from view.  A few whales have made themselves known; in the early days sea birds would soar around us, but they’ve disappeared now as we’re cruising both along and away from the land mass of Africa.

The first ribbons of light have begun to appear on the horizon; somewhere out in the beyond is Congo.  I remember, with fondness, stepping out in faith and courage to bring great ideas from the dimension of mystery into reality, running our first training courses and mentoring programs; stumbling through the unknown with grit and perseverance and a few tears but a lot of joys. 

That little program has grown; from a few part-time investments alongside our surgical programs to now a large, stable, solid program with full-time staff and international recognition.  I love what I get to be a part of.

And we are cruising towards Benin; the country where it all started for me, my first experience with Africa and her beautiful culture and people and heart and passion. It wasn’t just an experience, it was a becoming; seeping into my blood and bones and skin until I could no longer separate myself from it.  While I’ve loved my time away, and wouldn’t trade it for anything, there’s a longing somewhere deep in the marrow of my existence that needs red dirt caked around my toenails, pounded yams and peanut sauce filling my belly and the enveloping community of ‘we are all family’ that pervades the African spirit.  

One of the hardest things that I faced when I was first in Benin (as a Peace Corps volunteer, 2009-2011) was seeing so much that I intrinsically knew was not okay, but not being able to do anything about it. The baby born with a cleft lip that was abandoned. The way that midwives treated the women in labor and the way they handled the newborns.  The broken, rusty, dirty instruments and equipment used in the healthcare setting.  These things didn’t sit right with me but I couldn’t do anything about it; now I’m returning, and I can.  What an honor.

So we’re just over halfway there; in another few days we’ll enter the harbor of Cotonou; there will be drums and dancing and celebration and joy as we begin ten months of service, bringing hope and healing, to her people and her health system.  May the words of our mouths, the meditations of our hearts, and the works of our hands be pleasing to the One who knows both their deepest needs and our deepest desires, and can bring them together in a glorious symphony of new life this year.

May it be so. 

Photo: ©Mercy Ships