It Happens

I decided to be a good little blogger and not leave you all hanging about my appointment with the doctor on Monday. He started out with, "Your case is very rare and very tricky." That made my heart try to jump right out of my body, but it didn't quite make it. Instead it got stuck in my throat. I quickly attempted to swallowed it back down, but it slid right past my chest and landed in my stomach. It swam around down there for a while making me have to concentrate really hard on listening to what the doctor said and not throwing up all over his little rolly desk.

Fortunately, he was saying some things that made my displaced heart calm itself, and by the end of the visit it was back where it belonged and even feeling pretty optimistic, because even though my case is rare and tricky, this doctor has a plan. And that plan starts with removing my gallbladder. We're hoping that removing the gallbladder will solve most if not all of my issues and this will be end, Amen. I will have surgery on Tuesday and I never would have thought I could be so excited about having a body part removed!

There you go. Consider yourself updated- those of you who were on the edge of your seats waiting for news (basically just my mom).

With all these appointments, tests, and procedures, I've spent a lot of time talking to medical professionals about what we do as missionaries in PNG. I've had some very interesting conversations with varying degrees of response from shock and awe to I don't care would you please shut up so I can go to lunch.

I always find it fascinating to see what really surprises people or what they really focus in on about our lives and work. A lot of people really can't believe that we can/do live without the internet. You know that meme that keeps going around saying something like, "Go live in a cabin in the woods for a month with no phone, internet, or TV for $100,000. Would you do it?" Umm, yeah. One month? Try six months and where is my money?

Anyway, there are lots of different things that people just can't wrap their minds around. I always think it is going to be the witch killing, but it almost never is. Today was one of the funniest though.

I was talking to a nurse, explaining everything, answering lots of questions, and somehow we got to talking about mothers and babies and how no baby in Hewa wears a diaper.

She was shocked. She was speechless. Her eyebrows shot up so high they hit a flock of birds and crash landed into the Hudson River.

"But what happens when they go?" "I mean where does it go?"

And when I explained that it just "goes" on the moms and they wipe it off with a rag and go on with life, it was like I said they mixed it up with dinner and ate it.

"Well, you must never hold their babies then, " was her next response.

"Um, no, I am pretty much always holding a baby."

"Do they go on you?"

"No, they instinctively know that I'm a spoiled Western lady and would die or at least get pancreatitis if I was ever pooped on."

Is what I wanted to say, but instead I answered,

"Yes."

I refrained from showing her the picture my husband took one day after I was pooped on by one of the cutest babies* ever born into this world, but I won't refrain from showing it to you.

Yes, that is baby poop. He got me good.

I tried to explain to her that I just wipe it off with a towel or rag like they do and keep talking/walking/doing whatever I'm doing at the time like it's no big deal. I don't freak out. I just act like they do. But the next time I go into my house I do shower and change my skirt. Fortunately, I'm rich enough to own more than one skirt and have the ability to that.

One of my favorite things to do in the village when a lady gives birth is to gift her with a meal and a new skirt. She has to bury the one she gave birth in (they don't take their skirts off, ever, even to give birth or bathe) with the other bloody rags and towels to avoid contaminating anyone or anything which usually only leaves her with one skirt to wear. This means when her newborn poops and pees on her, she can't change or wash it until someone graciously decides to give her another skirt or until she can afford a new one. Since babies don't wait to start pooping, I don't like the mothers to have to wait to be able to wash that poop off.

I also tried to explain this to the nurse today, but I don't think her brain could handle anymore information regarding babies, poop, and no diapers because I had a hard time getting her to focus on anything else after that. Even as she walked out of the room she said, "It was nice to meet you and hear about your work," and then mumbled, "no diapers..." as she walked out.

I say all that to say, I get pooped on. It happens. But it happens a lot less to me than it does to the actual mothers of the babies that are caring for them round the clock. And by now things like this in the tribe have become weirdly normal to us, so time in America is always a good wake-up call to what is and isn't normal (nothing and everything). It reminds me that I should keep writing blogs and keep record of this weird life that God has given us because I don't ever want to forget what He has allowed us to experience. I don't ever want to forget that He uses us in this place with these people that are so different from us and everything that we know. I don't want to forget what it is like to be so inadequate for a task, but for God to miraculously take everything that we are not, everything that we can't and produce something eternal.

And as weird as it sounds, I don't ever want to forget what it feels like to be pooped on, and just keep on going. Because that is daily life for my Hewa sisters. And I don't ever want to forget what it is like to live life with them.

*I wasn't exaggerating

A Feast of Crumbs

It's Sunday night. Tomorrow I have yet another appointment to discuss the latest test performed on my pancreas. It is test number 1,438,25. And just like all the other tests before it, it showed nothing. Well...that's not true. It showed that something is wrong with my pancreas. But still no answers as to what or why or how to treat whatever is wrong with my pancreas. Also, I now hate hearing, saying, and typing the word pancreas.

It's April 15th. Just in case you've been in a coma for a while and had no idea what today's date is. We've been home since January and are still no closer to finding any answers, and although we have until next January to get everything straightened out, I'm starting to freak out a little. I feel like I'm just watching the months roll by with no progress, and no solutions. The doctors still haven't even started me on a new immunosuppressant. It's important to find the right one and for me to be on it for at least six months before returning to PNG. We don't have a repeat of the last year where we returned too quickly after starting a medicine, assuming that it would work, and then having my pancreas explode (ok so it didn't explode, but since no one really knows what it did or what it's doing, I might as well say it exploded).  I have already tried two different drugs that did not work, so I'm very anxious to at least get started on SOMETHING very soon to make sure everything is in order for us to go back in January (there's also the issue of the chronic pain in my joints that I have endured since coming off the medicine in October- it would be nice if that would stop as well-so yeah, finding a good immunosuppressant is important).

I'm at the point where I'm just begging God every day for relief. Relief from the pain, relief from the financial strain, relief from poking, prodding, drinking disgusting fluids, and hours and hours in doctors offices and hospital waiting rooms, relief from the limbo our lives are in waiting for answers that elude us.

I came across another woman begging Jesus for an answer earlier this week in my Bible reading. A Gentile woman who socially and culturally should not have even been speaking to Jesus at all.  When she first addressed Him, He was silent, not even acknowledging her question (I feel this Gentile Lady! Let's fist bump when I get to Heaven). Then when He does talk to her, he basically calls her a dog. A lot of people get hung up on Jesus' initial treatment of this woman. Most commentaries defend Jesus' actions by saying the word "dog" actually meant like a pet puppy, which is kinda better...I guess, and I think in the past I've probably gotten hung up at this as well, but this week I focused on the end of the story instead of the beginning. I focused and the woman's response to Jesus, and it was point-of-view shattering.

Instead of getting all offended, she just basically says, ok, well if I'm a cute little puppy then I at least get some crumbs, Jesus, and that's all I need. She knows that what Jesus has is so incredible, so powerful that all it takes is a few crumbs and her needs will be met. Her daughter will be healed of the demon who was tormenting her. She's willing to lick those crumbs up off the floor like a dog, because she knows they are worth it if they come from His hands. That crumbs turn into a feast when offered by God.

Then I focused on His final response to her.
“Dear woman,” Jesus said to her, “your faith is great. Your request is granted.” And her daughter was instantly healed.

She goes from little pet puppy to Dear Woman with Great Faith. And all because she is willing to lick up some crumbs??? It seems kind of extreme until you read Luke 14 and the parable of the Great Feast. Jesus is sitting at a table full of pharisees and important Jewish people and tells them that He has prepared an incredible banquet for them and they've all rejected the invitation. In the parable they're rejecting a spectacular meal because they all had better things to do. They don't want the feast that He's offering them even though they are technically "His people" the "children" that he tells the Gentile woman that he has come to feed.

But the Gentile woman is willing to crawl under the table and lick the floor like a dog to be fed by Jesus when His children won't even come at sit at the table and enjoy the bountiful meal He laid before them.

I'm now wondering who I am in these two stories? I certainly feel like a little puppy begging and begging at Jesus' feet. But am I rejecting what He is currently offering me because I want something different? I don't really like this feast of trial and suffering and bad health. It's like He's given me a feast of bitter greens and plain fish. Sure they have great health benefits, but are very hard to swallow. Am I pushing this plate aside and begging for something sweet instead? I want dessert. Nothing to hard. Nothing too healthy. Sure the dessert won't grow or strengthen my faith or my character, but it sure does taste good.

And isn't that the reason the Jews rejected Jesus in the first place? They didn't like what He had to offer? They wanted an earthly King and not a Heavenly one. They wanted their physical problems taken care of not their spiritual ones.  They wanted Him to come proclaiming the Kingdom of Israel, but He came proclaiming the Kingdom of God instead. They didn't want what He placed on the table either, so they rejected Him and He made room at the table for those who were willing to accept it and be grateful for it. 

I decided that I want to be a part of the feast no matter what He places on the table, because I know that He is good and whatever He offers is good for me, no matter how hard it is to swallow. I know that even if I get one crumb from His hand, it is better than an entire feast at any other table.

So tomorrow, no matter what the doctor says or doesn't say, I will be grateful. I will thank Jesus for what He is doing in my life. Growing me and strengthening my faith in Him through these times that require so much trust that He knows what He's doing. Trust that He loves me and isn't rejecting me. Trust that those sweet times will come, because He has promised they will. Trust He can take my time spent as a little begging puppy and turn me into a Dear Woman of Great Faith.

Basically me looking at God for the last year. (But really our dog Max)