Well, after 10 solid days back on US ground, life is feeling a bit more like my own: might I even say, a bit better? :)
I love toilets that flush...and the throne with which to rest! I enjoy the luxury of brushing my teeth with water from the faucet...and that with one reliable turn of the nozzle, water comes out...every time. I am loving that my amoeba friend who took up resident in my belly appears to have surrendered to the antibiotics. Oh, the list could go on and on. Not because I didn't love every bit of Africa--I loved it more than I could have ever dreamed but simply because I needed fresh eyes and a realigned heart. Even over the basic, nonessentials of living.
Two random things I want to share:
Forever and always an Andrew Peterson fan, I loved his most recent journal entry and I thought some of you might too. So if you have a second click on the link below. Just further evidence of why he will always be my most favorite musician, song writer, and author...even if it's by way of his blog. :)
The Tick of the Clock-Andrew Peterson
And for the ladies out there: At Christmas I got this purse that was hand-made by Hands of Hope. I'm enclosing a link (just click on hands of hope in the previous sentence) because I love it that much. (thank you Milzareks!) It was my constant companion on my recent travels and now that I'm back I'm still loving it for every day stuff. It's simple; small; definitely Megs...not so much Kitty-(haha) but nonetheless, for kindred spirits out there, I think they make incredible gifts. If you go to the site, it's hard to tell by the pics just how beautiful the fabric is, you'll just have to trust me.
I copied a small blurb from their site because its worth noting who they are and why they exist:
Hands of Hope is a sewing business that aims to provide former commercial sex workers and other at-risk individuals in Cambodia further opportunities to build new futures for themselves and their families. Hands of Hope began as an extension of House of Hope, a Christian rehabilitation center located in Kompong Cham Province. Hands of Hope is a part of the ministry of InnerCHANGE, a Christian order serving among the poor.
Hands of Hope has created sewing and handicraft jobs for graduates from the House of Hope program. The anticipated goal is that each seamstress will remain an independent contractor and will successfully run her own small business sewing and creating Hands of Hope products. Through this, each woman will achieve an improved quality of life for herself and her family.
Good stuff.
Last Day of Clinic
The least, the lost, the last.
…back at clinic for our 8th and final day. Morgan and I were told that we could triage 100 patients that morning. After a break for lunch we would then try to see some of the pastors and their family members who were not able to register due to the conference. Our plan was to be completely done seeing patients by 3:00 pm, pack up the supplies, and go to bed early so we could leave at 0400 for the game park and some African wildlife!
Oh, how plans change.
As Morgan and I were triaging the last two patients that morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about the people waiting outside the door. I wondered what their chief complaint might be…how long they had waited…did they come from far? Hasn’t someone told them yet, that this is it? Why do they still sit and wait: patient; hopeful; expectant? As we sent the final two on their way to see the doctors, I closed the triage door and accidentally made eye contact with what would have been patient #101. As Morgan and I packed up our stethoscopes and papers neither one of us spoke. It wasn’t until the triage door closed behind us that I realized she was crying too. We linked arms and did our best to move forward through the people; our eyes fixed on the ground in front of us. I wasn’t about the make the mistake of locking eyes with someone else.
Self protection. Even after everything, I couldn’t look the people who were left waiting, in the eyes. The thing is, no matter what...whether we were there 1 week or 2 weeks, there would always be one more. And I cannot tell you how awful it feels to walk by...to look away.
At lunch, I didn’t have much to say. We were out of jelly so I couldn’t tell if the lump in my throat was from the tears that were walled up within me or from the peanut butter that just wouldn’t go down. One of the clinic workers spoke with a member of our team. She didn’t think it would be wise to bring the pastors in to us, with people still behind the gate hoping to be seen. To avoid any risk of rioting, they made the decision to allow 50 more patients—a combination of local people and the pastors. And so, that afternoon, #101 came through the triage doors after all.
Just as were closing up for what would in fact, be the last and final time, I stepped outside the triage room and was met by a small crowd of men, one yielding an AK 47. “Sister, sister, please. This man is seriously ill”. I looked down and there was a man, lying in a make shift stretcher with a blanket covering his face. I kneeled on the ground beside him, and removed the fabric. He was emaciated and hot to the touch. I could tell by his appearance that he was indeed dying-likely from AIDS-and while I knew we could do very little, I had them follow me to the treatment room. Unlike hospice patients in the US, there were no morphine drops to offer him for comfort. Instead we gave him a few liters of fluid with hopes that it might lower his fever and make him more comfortable for at least a short period of time. Through the aid of our interpreters we learned that he was a prisoner-hence the AK 47. We offered to pray with him, and he refused. And so, we waited while the fluids trickled in. As I sat on the bed beside him, Scott looked at me and said, “it’s ironic, isn’t it, that he’s our very last patient.”
Since day one we were reminded by our director over and over again of why we were there…to serve and love the least, the lost and the last.
He was all three.
But I wondered what his cup of cool water looked like.
Maybe it was enough just to sit in silence.
As we finally packed things up late that day, I again, felt void of any and all things. Later that night I would become sick…the plans to go to the game park would be put to rest…no 0400 departure. thank you, Lord! But things were stirring in my soul. I craved the very thing I came to offer.
“Weepy Monday” 2.12.07
The weekend came and went quickly. Saturday we ran the clinic and we continue to triage about 200 patients a day. Apparently, without our knowledge, the crowd got a bit wild the other day, and the police were called in for crowd control. The result is that the crowds that used to hover near the triage door have now been moved away from us, behind a gate. Time will tell if this is a good solution. It feels wrong to have them out there-away from us-for we came to engage and connect.
Sunday, we went to church. Morgan, Ryan, Ben, Yeong, and I went with Pastor Jack. There were times during the praise and worship when I felt joy to the deepest part of my soul. Freedom; this is what it looks like—this is how it feels. I know that might not be true for everyone but for me, if I could free myself from all of my self imposed rules of conduct regarding worship, this is what it would look like. Some people might say that it's over the top; that it's showy...not me. I know these people dance and sing and celebrate because they are in the throne room--and He is worthy. Showy? Showy is when I close my eyes and lift my hands when my heart is far away and cold. Showy is when my public displays of worship or praise exceed what I do when I'm alone and on my knees.
One woman pulled out a huge drum and the whole room was filled with the most amazing music and dance. I thought of my church back home…they would love this.
Now, for today and the title of this entry. Scott has, in my opinion, appropriately coined the phrase ‘Weepy Monday’ for the Monday that follows the first full week of clinic. He should know—he’s done this a time or two before. From what I can gather, this is the day when even the most stoic of men become, well…weepy. Fatigue settles in, the meds begin to run low, the bodies grow deep. When I penned the title of this entry it was just a name for the day. Now, I’m afraid I have consecrated the day and made it official.
It is, indeed, weepy Monday.
I have not been emotional thus far on this trip. In some ways, that’s bothered me. I expected to be overcome. I’ve held countless babies with their little bodies ravaged with disease and in those moments, with my eyes upon their faces, I find myself so detached. "How can I feel so little?" I wonder as I look at them. Especially, when I’m a girl who normally feels so much? I’ve definitely had my moments…but that’s just it. I’ve had moments. And, few of them, at best. I expected to live in that real, raw place every day. I came with the desire to be broken but in reality I feel...okay.
or maybe that's not an accurate statement.
I don't feel okay. I feel void; which is so unfamiliar-almost unsettling to me.
After Clinic today, we all piled onto the bus and our driver took us on a “scenic drive” towards home. Or so we thought. To our surprise, a group of pastors planned a surprise certificate ceremony for us. There, in a tiny, brightly painted room in the middle of town, we gathered together. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows into the room, we took our turns cheering one another on 'Ethiopian style'. To my left, through the empty hole of a vacant window sill, curious little faces strained for a glimpse into our festivities. The night was full of energy and joy. As the evening drew to a close the pastors said they wished to pray for us—and of course, we desired to do the same for them. And so, we placed our arms around each other. We did not stand side by side, linked in a prayer circle but rather, we morphed into one tangled web of flesh and spirit. Male, female; black, white; sitting standing; singing, silent. A chorus of English and Amharic filled the room. In this tiny, yellow room in the middle of Yabello-under a big African sky and in the presence of an even bigger God, the room filled with music. And power. I felt the hair on the back of my neck respond to the Spirit in the room. The first tear hovered, threatening to slide down my cheek. I dared to open my eyes and then it was hard to close them. Two tribes of people; covered in grace; broken but free. I realized in those moments, that one of the things I am most called to do is to pray for this band of believers in this forgotten (by the world) little town. Our mighty warriors-few in number but great in strength, courage and power. I often say that prayer is necessary-that it’s important-but do I really believe it? Does my life reflect that? Not hardly. After that one lonely tear paved it’s way down my face, the tears came hard and fierce. I am void, no more; but still perplexed for I don't even know why I cry.
A silent video of Morgan with the kiddos:
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A silent video of the crowds waiting to be seen (wish you could hear the audio...funny!)
Mark 1:29-38
And when evening had come, after the sun had set they began bringing to Him all who were ill and those who were demon possessed. And the whole city had gathered at the door. And He healed many who were ill with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and He was not permitting the demons to speak, because they knew who He was. And in the early morning, while it was still dark, He arose and went out and departed to a lonely place, and was praying there. And Simon and his companions hunted for Him; and they found Him and said to Him, “Everyone is looking for You;” And He said to them, “Let us go somewhere else to the towns nearby, in order that I may preach there also; for that is what I came out for.
Day 1 of Clinic 2.5.2007
We arrived at clinic and found a crowd of people gathered by the building where we would later triage patients. They waited patiently as our team dispersed and set up each of our individual areas. I was nervous. After all of the stories I had heard about previous trips all I could think and silently pray was “please, God, don’t put me in triage…anywhere, but triage.” I had heard one too many stories about the escalating tensions of the crowds and of last year’s triage nurses having to jump out of a window to get away from desperate people. That day, as we gathered our supplies and set up, we got our assignments. “Megan and Morgan” (drum roll please), you two will be in…
triage!
Funny, how that works.
And so, Morgan and I, the two newbies, took our respected places in triage. Thankfully, the day went smoothly. No jumping out windows. No gun shots to quiet the crowds. Just a peaceful day. At the start of the day, 500 people were ‘pre-registered’ by the clinic to be seen by us. As we closed up shop at the end of that very same day, the number was 1600. Word obviously travels fast. Even in Yabelo.
As the day progressed, we saw a lot of non-specific aches and pains as well as parasites, viral infections, and sick, sick babies. I got my first taste of the local EMS services: people came by way donkey, or make shift stretchers, or even in the arms of others. I saw the face of AIDS in adults and in babies. I’m sure it’s true, that much progress has been made in Africa regarding awareness and preventative teaching but it’s still very real and rampant, killing generations of people; it is still wrought with stigma; and leading officials still try to sweep it and it’s victims, under the carpet.
At the end of clinic today I was feeling overwhelmed. If I’m honest, maybe even a bit angry. Definitely, I was feeling disconnected from myself and from God. From time to time as we worked today, I found myself staring into a sea of people; the sickest people (collectively) that I’ve ever before seen. I began to feel almost as if we were teasing them with our team of health professionals and our meds. They don’t know, I thought silently, that we can only give them a months worth of medication. They don’t know, we can’t make the serious stuff go away. Someone needs to tell those who are walking miles-or for days-to turn back. That it’s not worth it; that there’s nothing we can do.
And then, just when I needed it most: the devotion for today. A cup of cool water to a thirsty soul. Mark chapter 1. Sam read the above scripture to us and emphasized a few important truths.
1. Christ healed many, when with one word He could have healed them all. Instead he chose to heal some, one on one; with compassion and love.
2. He took time away to be alone and to pray. Even in the midst of desperate needs and many desperate people He took time to be alone with God. He chose to connect when it might have seemed inconvenient-or possibly even seemingly less important than healing the sick.
3. As the people and the needs multiplied, Christ makes the decision to leave that town and to travel to another. Why? To preach the Good News…”for that is why I came”.
Today, I mistakenly and pridefully saw myself as a nurse-and my team, as a mere handful of medical professionals. I got preoccupied with treating the physical manifestations of disease. I was overwhelmed that we could not rise above the need; that we could not catch our breath for there were too many out stretched hands. It’s no wonder I became discouraged, disillusioned, angry. I am not God; a glaringly obvious truth but despite it all, I seem to frequently need reminding. God, I am not, but I am His: chosen for this time and this place-and He is a God who is big enough to heal all with one word. He may not; we may come and go at the end of these two weeks and barely make the tiniest dent in the way of physical disease, aches and pains. But hopefully we will leave the fragrance of Christ. And hopefully we will be vessels that can be used to touch lives for eternity.
We are here as disciples of Christ. We are here to love. Above all, and if nothing else, we come to proclaim the Good News. We have nothing to offer these people that’s of any consequence apart from Him. So let the people come; I was mistaken. Don't let them turn back. We come by the grace and power of His Spirit to offer a cup of cool, life-giving water to desperately thirsty souls.
thanks to my tech savvy husband, we were able to post a few photos. There are many, many more but that took much longer than I first anticipated. :) So, the rest will come later. If you were on the team, and do not see your face--it's coming, I promise! Along with a link to snapfish.
I've talked a lot today...so much that I can't muster up the words right now to write about the trip. Maybe tomorrow. :)
In the meantime, here's a glimpse into Ethiopia.
Just a brief note to say we made it home, safe and sound. I will post pictures and journal entries over the next few days. It was the most incredible trip; full of amazing people.
After 4 days of travel this is one weary girl so for now know that your prayers, notes of encouragement, and love made all of the difference.
It's good to be home.
more soon. megs
Daily Prayer Guide for Ethiopia Medical & Pastoral Team Mission 2007
Yabelo, Ethiopia - February 1st to 17th
NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS!! We will not have access to email or phones so I'll write more once we get back. Thank you all so much for your phone calls and notes! God bless!
Ethiopia!!
So many people have been asking questions about the trip--which is wonderful, thank you! It's now days away-which is so hard to believe! Until recently, the most inteligent thing I've been able to utter in response to most questions was "Mmmm, I'm not really sure". The fact that I've known so little, really hasn't bothered me-which is shocking to some of you, I know! :) I have this incredible peace; it goes beyond packing lists, medical supplies, politics and fears of getting sick. I know this trip is beyond anything I can conjure up in my mind so it's easy to just go with it...especially when you know so little!
Over the past couple weeks I've received frequent emails from Sam Molind, our team leader and the medical director for Global Health Outreach. The following is an email I received today from him. Please click on the link he provided and it will bring you to an article about where I am going. It was written in 2002--which sounds terribly out-dated but he tells us the climate of the region is very much the same. I will post again soon with the prayer guide he emailed us. Please pray. I've realized in preparation for this trip, that the very same fervor with which we pray about the details of this mission should be no greater and no less than the way we approach prayer in our daily lives. It's not about one mission trip; or acts of service; it's not about taking up a cause for a day or a week or a year. It's not about how loud you shout about the issues. In fact, it's not about us at all. We all have the same purpose and mission-whether we are waking up in the US or in Africa or anywhere else. Nothing of consequence in our daily living is possible without His Spirit.
Here's an excerpt from the email. Prayer guide to come soon!
love, megs
Ethiopia Team,
Here is a report from 2002 on the area where we will be serving in Ethiopia. It is still a forgotten and destitute area with needs that are of such a great magnitude that only the Lord can provide.
Yabelo, Africa-article
In the Yabelo Health Clinic some progress has been made now there is intermittent electricity and some running water and few more clinic workers. Love and compassion are something that they have not seen in this forgotten area - especially the love of Christ and so they may not respond to our efforts as we would expect. Often they can develop the mob mentality with a fear that they will not be seen and that this may be there only chance. And yet we may see some of the people carrying their family members or friends for care.
Editors note:
it seems I was mistaken. Last night, as we watched the Colts play, something happened to my husband. It started with some loud shouts of disgust during the first 1/2 of the game. He was not in a good mood. No love for wifey; not at all amused by her ploys to get his attention. And then it happened somewhere at the beginning of the second half. Kyle got the crazy eyes that I've seen in the men of my family while growing up. He was on his feet, he was yelling at the boys; he was cheering, pacing, complaining of 'tension in his neck and shoulders'.
And then, the heavens opened up, God smiled down--the Colts had it in the bag-they were officially super bowl bound! Kyle had been standing for the last 3 minutes of the game but then to my amusement, he started a victory dance I didn't know he had in him. There he was, shaking his rear end at the TV, clapping and carrying on like you wouldn't believe.
My heart swelled with pride.
The Roehrig clan's got nothing on him.
GO COLTS!!
So, I may not qualify as a die-hard football fan. Actually, I'm far from it. In all fairness, I do rank higher than many-especially with regards to the ladies out there but it's not really the football that gets me revved up. (which completely disqualifies me as a true fan, I know). I'm all about the food and mood. Today, I will pull on one of Kyle's big oversized colts sweatshirts. I'll grab the coziest blanket in the world and I'll curl up with husband & stinky on the couch. Kyle's made some chili in anticipation of the big game and we have wood to burn in the fireplace. mmmm. Doesn't get much better, does it? A friend or two may join us--and company is always something to smile about.
Now this is different then Packer games at Grandma's. There's not as much racket with everyone yelling and clapping (or, occasionally cussing) at the TV. The spread on the dinner table is not nearly as varied or as tantalizing to the tastebuds. And sadly, there are no big, thick white flakes falling from the sky-which is what is happening in my home town today. But, the mood of the night is delightful--just like it always was on game day in the frozen tundra.
I'll play the part of a football fan for the rest of my days. it's just that good.
“So, tell me why you’re here.”
Staring down at my feet, I tried my best to formulate an answer. I squirmed a bit in my seat knowing that he was waiting for my response. I felt swallowed up by the oversized chair I was sitting in. The office was dimly lit in an attempt to make it feel less threatening. Nonetheless, I felt like a child in the principal’s office. The room had the distinct, mildly nauseating air of a clinic. My mind was reeling and I felt my heart pounding in my chest.
‘Why am I here?’
Generally speaking, I'm a 'glass half full' kind of girl. :) However, a number of months ago, the world felt terribly dark and I wanted to hibernate day and night under the covers. It was unfamiliar territory for me. I was sad but I didn’t know why. I dreamed, and talked, and wrote about freedom because it felt so terribly far away from my reality. Like a caged bird dreaming of open air, I longed to get out of the prison I found myself in. It was as if all of the painful parts of life were catching up—threatening to overtake the false sense of peace I created in my heart. And while the solitude of the covers felt safe, I hated being alone. I wondered on a daily basis if I would feel this way forever.
So, one day I found myself in that room, sitting on that slick, oversized chair, wishing I could be swallowed up. ‘why am I here?’ On day one, I simply followed orders. “Go see a counselor” occupied a single line on a script of things I ought to do in order to feel better. And so I went, dragging my feet-staring at the ground, feeling somewhat ashamed. But as it turns out, I was meant to be in that chair and every day I've returned since then, I’ve gone in pursuit of something greater.
I know many of you are very much aware that this has been part of our journey over the past few months. Not typically the type of thing one blogs about…right? The thing is, it’s been good. Not fun, not painless, but real...and real, is good. The door to that lonely cage has opened up and now I feel like I’m sitting on a threshold. Soon the time is coming where I will make a choice: leap or retreat. This girl wants to test her wings.
“Slow down Child. At this pace you will not be whole. Wholeness takes time with God, letting Him bind us up from the bruises and bumps of inevitable living.”
It’s amazing how we slap band aids on bleeding wounds and leave them unattended, to heal on their own. Eventually, the band aids aren’t enough. You can go to all of the counselors in the world, you can share your story with a handful of others, you can cry and make resolutions to do better or to be better but if you don’t get on your knees and let Him have your broken, sinful heart, you’ll always be a dreamer. Freedom will always elude you. Wholeness takes time with God. Period.
I’m thankful for that stiff, uncomfortable chair; for compassionate counselors and friends who pray. I’m thankful for medicine which promotes sleep and takes the edge off of my grumpiness. (cheers to that, right, Kyle?) But above all, I’m thankful for a God who meets us where we’re at and that He doesn’t allow any of the above, apart from Him, to take away the hurt.
Jane, Karen, and Lindsay
Rebecca, Tony, and John
Jim and Kyle
Recently I sat in a crowded auditorium, snuggled up against Kyle, listening to a Christmas concert by Andrew Peterson and friends. It's the most amazing show to be a part of. If you've been to one of Andrew's concerts you know it's not about the lights or special effects or even the people singing. It's about Truth & passion in the form of song.
Sara Groves was a featured guest this particular evening. There was a tremendous amount of talent that quietly took the stage over the course of the night but she told a story and sang a song that I cannot seem to forget. Sara described being inspired to write a song entitled "Why it Matters". She wrote the song after learning about a man who lived in a war torn country. She told us that every day he would get up, as war waged around him and he would take his solitary place on the street. While destruction ensued all around him he played his cello, day after day. It was his peaceful protest: a thing of calm beauty in the chaos; a bit of life among the dead in spirit. After sharing the story with us she went on to sing 'Why It Matters'. The song references the man and his music but uses the symbolism of a tall statue that stands like a pillar in the center of town. It was the kind of song that takes you to a different place. As I sat in the auditorium that night, I felt like I could see the silhouette of this man playing his cello on war torn streets; with shattered buildings and shattered lives in the streets around him. For some reason this song penetrated every bit of my being. What motivated him to get up every day to take his solitary place on the street? Does one man and his cello bring peace to his war enraged country? Does his song make the slightest difference in the grand scheme of things?
As the story plays out Sara sings, "with it's protest of the darkness; with it's beauty, how it matters.
How it matters."
Since that night, I've listened to that song countless times. For whatever reason, it's become personal. One man gifted the world with his song. In the midst of our mountains and sunsets, the flowers and the rain, war rages around us and within us; the temporary and eternal clash and chaos is all around. But then there's that person-or persons-who seem to bring light into our lives-- into the dark. Some teach, some create, some build, some sing, but our lives are meant to be light; protests of the darkness; a constant melody.
I want my life to be like that of the man who made music in those war torn streets. I want to be motivated by His Spirit to get up and to go out, day after day. Did one man's music affect the outcome of the war? Not likely. But I bet it mattered to different degrees for those who were close enough to listen. Maybe it calmed them or comforted them; maybe it even gave them hope: a thing of beauty in the darkness. I believe his music mattered to the One who placed the song in his heart. And much like the man and his cello, we too, are called out-each with our different gifts and our different stories to bring beauty and music into a broken world.
Stand apart; shine like stars; sing.
"Like a single cup of water, how it matters.
How it matters."
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!
ahhh. It's been that kind of weekend.
It definitely didn't look so promising when we decided to head north for the holidays. Kyle's mom spent 1/2 the week in the hospital terribly sick with the flu or food poisoning. Tom, Kyle's step dad, spent a couple days in the hospital room right next door to her recovering from surgery on Tuesday. Riley, our niece, had her first bout with the flu this past week. And Jim, our Brother in Law, followed suit. Needless to say, we thought we were a little bit crazy when we packed up the car (with our sanitizer in tow) and headed toward the land of sickies. Fortunately, everyone was feeling a bit better by the time we arrived. We got to Kyle's parent's at 2 am on Saturday morning and were back on the road headed in the direction of home Sunday afternoon. Once upon a time, I might have said it's way too much traveling for such a short trip but this was not the case. It was so good to be together. If only I could bottle everyone up.
With that said, a piece of me was with the Roehrig clan at Grandma's on Christmas Eve. I missed the laughter, the caroling, the paper fight, the feast and the football. Another part of me was in AZ watching movies with mom. It's hard having those that we love so far away. If only it were possible to be in 4 different places at once.
Today, Kyle and I spent the day together. It's our only Christmas that I can remember where we had absolultely no agenda. Friends ever so graciously extended invitations to join them but today felt like it was made for just the two of us. And it was good. All in all, it's been a weekend that's been full of the things we most love and we wish all of you, the same.
Happy Christmas sweet friends and family!
I admit it. I love the rush that comes when I'm searching for that perfect gift. I even enjoy the crowds, the bustle, the same old Christmas tune repeatedly playing overhead. I like the way Christmas lights soften and warm a room; having friends over for a fire in the fireplace and a toast for the season. I love the snow and the cold because without them both, I wouldn't appreciate hot chocolate and a warm blanket or good book. The season is full of so many fun, beautiful, warm things...but sometimes they distract me. I didn't even know until last night how far my heart had drifted from the truth of Christmas.
Last night I walked through the doorway of a home I had never been to before. It was late, and I was tired. I was cursing the beeper in my pocket that kept going off, ultimately taking me farther and farther away from my bed and pillow. The home was located in the projects and I had already heard bits and pieces about the man I was to see. As I walked through the unfamiliar doorway and into a small living room, my eyes adjusted slowly to the dim glow. A haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air. Across from me stood a small brightly lit, tinsel strewn Christmas tree that illuminated the crowded room with color. To my left lay a dying man in a hospital bed. Scattered around the room sat various people; most of which were homeless--as was the man I had come to see. They gathered together, in the home of a friend, to take care of this man who once showed them how to survive on the streets. Around his bedside, they shared their stories with raw humor and brutal honesty; some had visible wounds fresh upon their faces. It was, as one of my co-workers said, one of the most profoundly beautiful and painfully sobering things to behold. On one hand, I observed this eclectic group of men and women living not as individuals but as one tightly bound body. I watched as they demonstrated selfless, shameless love for the one in greatest need. They wiped his face, they turned him, they gave him water. On the other hand, in the midst of this love and by the glow of the christmas lights, there was palpable pain; fragmented lives.
For a couple of hours, I was a part of a community that I have never before been in. In so many ways I did not belong. I didn't talk like them or dress like them. My stories were nothing like the ones being told and yet, I might have been the only one who noticed. For a couple of hours I was far removed in mind and spirit from the bustle and activities of which so recently consumed my attention. As foreign as this living room and the people within it's walls felt to me, a part of me longed to stay. I was afraid I might not have this experience ever again-or at least for a very long time. Although no one ever mentioned God I felt Him in the room. I wondered if He was in the hospital bed. As I stepped back into the dark, into the cool of night, I was quieted in my soul by what I had just been part of.
This was what was missing. Jesus. He came for this-for them-for me.
In the midst of the bustle I hope we become people who are caught up in His Spirit. I hope that we intentionally invite strangers in and gather together to meet the needs of each other. I hope that we unashamedly wipe the brow of one who needs it. May we live and breathe and love by the beat of His Spirit. He's the reason everything is so sweet.
I think the sparkles, lights and snowflakes are because He likes to leave us breathless.
a kiss by the tree!
Ryan and Tara on Thanksgiving
Riley!!
The past few weeks have flown by but they've been full of really, really good things. :)
1. a trip to Indianapolis--We finally had time with our niece who we couldn't possibly love anymore than we already do. We are currently referred to as "Munga and Ki". Munga is a new one for me...I've been around a lot of kids and never has my name come out quite like that. I'll admit it doesn't exactly have that lovely roll off your lips kind of ring to it but at the same time, when she says it I think it's adorable. :) We also spent an evening with Marcia, Greg, and Ava. A cozy fire in the fireplace, cocktails and hours of conversation was more than I hoped for. Between them and Kyle's family living there too, we have plenty of incentive to move north. Marcia, if you read this, thanks for taking time to hang out. We love you guys.
2. Thanksgiving with Ryan and Tara (and Tara's mom and sister Sarah). We got to spend the holiday with some people we love the most. We laughed all the way through dinner-and enjoyed a movie with full bellies. good stuff.
3. It's a wonderful Life at the Barter Theater. This past Saturday night we went on a real date to see a play at Barter Theater. The play was wonderful and it felt good to get dressed up, and to go somewhere special. We had coffee afterwards in this quaint coffee shop. We stayed all warm inside despite the cool temps outdoors. The drive was beautiful with the first glimmers of Christmas lights winking at us from the side streets.
4. Another Thanksgiving day dinner with Em and Jody. Yeah, we've eaten well this past week! We had a lot to celebrate with them since they recently found out they, too, are pregnant. yay! It's always good to be around them. They make us laugh; they love each other well.
Those are the highlights but even in the middle of all of that there have been more sparkles of good.
Wishing you the same!
we decided this is a turkey bulge not a baby bulge...nonetheless, it's a preview of coming attractions!
Ava! (Marcia is the pro on the other side of the camera) 
Marcia and Ava
With a room full of eyes upon me, I took my turn twirling around the cafeteria of the assisted living center. The man who had me by the arm was doing his best to chorale me in a graceful fashion. I was bumbling around; it was obvious he knew what he was doing and, hopelessly, I did not. 5 minutes prior to our impromptu rendezvous, he proposed to me over pureed turkey, mashed potatoes and ensure. I held up my hand and flashed the bling. With a shrug of his shoulders and a smile that would break your heart he decided to settle for a dance instead. With the record player crackling out a tune from long before my era, he tilted his head to the side and extended his aged hand with eyebrows raised. "Oh, Lord, please no" was the silent cry that raced through my head. I tried to laugh his request off. I looked around the room for support-or better yet, for another victim to sic him on. He was not deterred. And then, to my horror, the whole room started cheering us on. He was suddenly on his feet and standing before me. As color crept into my cheeks I knew I wasn't going to get away without a spin around the floor. And so, there we went. Hand in hand. This 20 something year old girl with cheeks ablaze and this 80 something year old man reveling in the spotlight. He led without skipping a beat-I’m not kidding, this guy was smokin. Our knees knocked together a time or two as I tried to go one way and he tried to go the other. It was quite a spectacle. All around me were men and women in wheelchairs, smiling big unrestrained smiles-they'd be dancing if they could. They unpacked their pride a long time ago. Everyone clapped; everyone cheered. And this is just a guess but I don’t think they were cheering on my lightness of foot. As the last notes of our dance melted into the noise of the crowd, I got one of those cheek kisses that older people are always a bit overzealous to give away. And then he smiled a big genuine smile that managed to make up for all of the embarrassment I had just endured on his behalf. I went back to my seat and attempted to resume the process of feeding the woman whom I was sitting with. I had one of those moments that occasionally creep up in perplexing situations when I can't help but wonder "what. just. happened?" Marriage proposition over a denture friendly diet, dancing my heart out in the cafeteria to a man with tan, leathered skin and a toupee. If only my friends could see me now. :)
I have a promise coming.
In the daily routine of living, the getting up and lying down, the individual rhythm to which I move about my day; I have a promise coming. In the days or weeks or seasons of life when nothing feels easy or rehearsed; I have a promise coming.
How can there be peace, joy and hope in the middle of darkness? Because on the other side of 'it' is a piece of our promised land. Faith fights. God conquers. We have to press the thing through in order to reap and savor the benefits. I serve a God who is mighty and able to deliver us from any and all pain but He desires to turn our weakness into strength. He desires to see us through. Why? Because we have a promise coming. And there is nothing small about His promises.
The Master Builder
It's hard to see things grow old. The town in which I grew up is growing old....Some of the buildings are boarded up. Some of the houses are torn down....The old movie house where I took my dates has "For Sale" on the marquee....
I wish I could make it all new again. I wish I could blow the dust off the streets...but I can't.
I can't. But God can. "He restores my soul", wrote the shepherd. He doesn't reform; he restores. He doesn't camouflage the old; he restores the new. The Master Builder will pull out the original plan and restore it. He will restore the vigor. He will restore the energy. He will restore the hope. He will restore the soul.
-The Applause of Heaven
Romans 15:13 :)
"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
I'm afraid pictures of fall never seem to do 'fall' justice. Nonetheless, here's a couple shots off the porch. The color's not quite as bright here as it was in NC but no complaints, as it's still so beautiful!
Also, here's a couple pictures of some of our new friends from Ghana. They are at ETSU getting their masters in Chemistry...so brilliant! We are trying to help them find a car--so if you're local, and know of anything, please let us know. They want to find a car for under $2,000. 
It's been a good weekend. Kyle made it home safe and sound from CA with plenty of stories to tell. I will try to write and update more later when I have a few more minutes. A big shout out of 'Congratulations' to Kelli and Andy. 16 hours of labor and one cesarean section later, we have another baby to love! :)