"Do not let it rule you..."

I had two cases of elder abuse on my case load last week, and somewhere in my processing wrote this. The cycle of violence hurts and seems to keep on turning. Yet, I still rest in Hope. If we can all get out of our god complexes and ask for grace and help...There. Just. May. Be. Hope.





Dear ____,

Sometime last week you might have hit your mother as she lay there dying, illness claiming her body, sightless in both eyes and demanding, SO demanding. Her imperious voice echoed through the house as she ordered you to pull her up in bed, to adjust her pillow, to change her diaper.

I say "might have" because she could be lying too, a lying and manipulating mother, who seems to be clutching on to that last bit of control she has over life and over you.

She has been dying for a long time, perhaps too long, perhaps just long enough.

You threatened her for reasons unknown to me, but I can speculate. You threatened her because she and your father hit you, because aggression is an expression of feelings and because the moment, the grief and the anger were too much.

I've seen you with your kids. You want the best for them. Man, I can see the struggle between your past and your future. You're trying to tame the inner anger for them.

And I'm sorry that we had to call APS and the Police, but WE DID. We don't get to play God, not now or ever. 

But, she's still with you there, at your house, the woman who nurtured you and terrified you, the one who took the worst beatings from your dad. Her loyalty to you ran deeper than her fear. Some form of deep, abiding, motherly love rests inside her heart that pulses at 46 beats a min. And as her flesh melts away, what is left of the vestiges of power? Her fear, dependency and love rise up.

Today I want to say this to you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that no one spoke up for YOU. I'm sorry that violence was an acknowledged secret in your family. I'm sorry that it hurt and took so much. I'm sorry that your gentleness was fractured and inhabited be a deep and glowing anger. I'm sorry that no one stopped them from the hurt that kept happening. And I'm sorry that we all take turns at playing God, instead of saying that justice and safety are what we each deserve.

And now you are the powerful one, but in each of us power fades. We will all pass into our weakness soon enough.

"Do not let it rule you," I whisper pray about my own "strength." Now, sitting here, with tears streaming down my face. May God be the light. May justice and mercy win, and may my heart continually be pulled off it's pedestal of strength to see the used, abused and hurting, to see YOU. 

Take off your shoes

Holy ground, sometimes we get to walk on Holy ground. I love the passage in Exodus 3 where God tells Moses to take off his shoes before he comes any closer. God is asking for an outward symbol of an inward attitude. Hey Moses, make yourself vulnerable and humble, you are about witness how Big. I. Am. Once Moses realizes what this means he hides his face as well.

I feel like that a lot these days.

I walk into a patient’s home, into the circumstances that surround their death and I feel like I’m walking into something sacred. Sometimes it is terrifying, sometimes there is so much emotional pain that you can feel it strangling you, and other times it is SO peaceful as you watch that person get ready for something enormous.

I have cried tears of happiness, sadness and overwhelming fullness at least once a week since I got this job. There have been days of insanity; a patients eye rupturing, cleaning gangrenous feet, and holding an inconsolable sister after the quick passing of her only living relative. But, never in all of my life have I felt so connected to Jesus.

It’s crazy, because it’s not like I hear His voice more clearly, and it’s not like I KNOW any more about the direction of my life than I did before. I still have questions. Big ones. But I feel like He’s asking me now to take off my shoes and walk with Him to a deeper place. I see these people in such an emotional stage of their lives and something in me reaches out simultaneously to them and Him. Am I willing to be vulnerable? Am I willing to go there with these families? Am I willing to be humble and see the areas where I have been wrong?

One of my favorite families was a young Hispanic family from Mexico. The husband was dying of leukemia, and it was taking him TOO fast. He was only 31 and had three young children. During my last visit his wife sat in the corner reading the Psalms and weeping. And that is when it hit me. We were not made to die. The Bible gives us a unique understanding of death. It says that death is the result of sin, not the natural order of things. Which is why, no matter what, it always hurts when you lose someone. It hurts because you were made to be in community with them forever. This truth was highlighted in that moment of vulnerability.

Another of my patients lived at an assisted living facility. She was at an advanced stage of Alzheimer’s and no longer spoke. She would screech and cry to communicate. Her family rarely visited, and then they stopped paying for the room. It was virtually impossible to get a hold of them and communicate about their mother’s care. One of the nurses at that facility told me that she was pretty sure the family had good reason to abandon her in that way. Something along the lines of, “What goes around comes around.” The nurse suspected that this lady had been very unpleasant, perhaps abusive to her children. And I left wondering if I would wish that on the people in my past who were users and abusers, the ones who left the deepest wounds. Where I had been frustrated and angry at the family, I suddenly saw myself clearly reflected. Humility. Seeing oneself rightly and sometimes painfully.

God asks us to be vulnerable. He asks us to be humble. Mostly, He invites us to walk with Him on Holy ground. It’s an overwhelming privilege. It might be the scariest thing we’ve ever done. But, He ALWAYS gives us the grace we need as we Go There.

God does stuff

I don't know about you guys but I sometimes struggle with a lot of skepticism. But I have a working theory; God does stuff.

Christians talk about Faith, we talk about God, and we talk about God having a plan for our lives. However, oftentimes, if we're honest, we will admit that we have a hard time believing in God's plan for our lives. Even more frustrating is the fact that we often cannot see God's plan for our lives. So, how are we supposed to follow along with whatever that plan is?

These are the kinds of things I ask myself, and maybe you have asked yourself the same.

I really felt like the time I spent in Peru was put in front of me in a really obvious way. People talk about feeling "called" to do something, but for me it was more like there were no options here in California and as soon as I started to think about moving to Peru a world of possibilities exploded. Call it what you like. I felt like God DID something to take me to Peru where I was challenged and changed and hopefully grew further into the person I was made to be.

Now I am back in California, home on a sick day from my job.

Wait, what? Yes. You heard it. I have a job.

When I got back from Peru everything was fuzzy. It was overwhelming. I didn't have the energy to make important decisions. People kept asking me, "So, what's next?" "Are you going to be a missionary forever?" "How long are you going to be sticking around?" As much as I loved that people were taking an interest in my life, I just felt panicky. 

I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING! I DON'T HAVE ANY PLANS! I DON'T KNOW WHAT MY OPTIONS ARE! Internally, I was yelling. 

Externally, I smiled and said, "At this point I'm just spending time with my family and trying to readjust to normal life."

Because I did not know what to do, I asked God to make the next step really obvious. I asked Him to put something in front of me. Was I meant to work with another NGO for a longer period of time? Was I going to get a job here? Could it be that I needed to do something outside of nursing for a while? So many questions.

Here's the rundown on how I got THE JOB:

A friend called me and said, "Hey, the hospice company my mom works for is hiring. They really need Spanish speaking nurses. It could be a good fit for you. Think about it."

I called the hospice place and said, "I heard you guys are looking for nurses who speak Spanish." And sent them my resume.

They called me and wanted an interview.

During the interview I realized that I wanted this job, and that I would probably love working there. I hoped that they wanted me to work there too.

I waited a week.

They called me and offered me the job.

This brief and tidy synopsis does not include any of the inner freak outs, the fact that I was still taking the bus everywhere when I got this job, and how I almost missed my interview. Ask me about it sometime. It's a good story.

Hospice. What???? I never thought that I would end up working in hospice (hospice is set up to care for people who are dying). So, let's take a quick look at how this fits pretty well with who I am. 

I love being in people's homes rather than the hospital. 

I love it when I actually get to talk with people about their lives rather than just checking vitals, pushing buttons on machines, and giving medications. 

I love it when I get to pray with people. 

I love speaking Spanish. 

Hospice is relational. It is holistic care that focuses on the emotional, physical and spiritual needs of a person. And the people I work with are wonderful. It is a lot of responsibility, and at times will be a heavy burden. But the last year of my life has been good preparation for all of that.

I look at this and I say, "God did something." I may not always see what He is doing. I may spend some of my days asking "Why?" I may take a little longer to have the answers than people expect. But, that is ok. God does stuff in my life, and sometimes He lets me take a sneak peak at what it is. As for the rest of the time when I don't know what He's doing? Well, I'm trying to be ok with that.

As Mother Theresa once said to a successful Western businessman who asked her to pray for clarity in his life, "Clarity is the last thing you are clinging to and must let go of. I never had clarity. What I have always had is trust. So, I will pray that you trust God."

Go There: The California, Twenty-Thirteen, Defensive edition

Wintertime in S. California. The few weeks out of the year when Southern Californians marvel at the layer of frost (which they we call ice) that has formed on our windshields. The kids in the streets breathe enthusiastically on each exhale as their breath freezes around their faces. And we bundle up in layers of cotton, because wool is too scratchy (not to mention practical).

On my hands and knees in my front yard "weeding" my flower beds, I felt the cold soak into my hands and numb my toes and fingertips. People say you are supposed to talk to plants and play them classical music in order to foster the proper growing environment. Does swearing at weeds when they break off in your hand count? I heard my next door neighbors yelling at each other inside of their house, and my body tensed up. A visceral response.

I've been having a lot of those lately, quick and sudden responses as if my body just reacts to whatever is happening and I have to quickly moderate/check my facial expression to make sure it is socially acceptable. Or maybe, I have always had that kind of response, I'm just more in tune with it now.

Here's the thing. In Peru, whenever I was in a tense or emotional situation there was the language/cultural barrier. My comprehension of what was happening around me had a time lag of a few split seconds (on a good day) which gave me time to mirror the people around me, which  meant that I was, in some way, protected from my own emotional response. At least, that's my theory, because now, when I feel myself reacting to something as it's happening, I think, "Woah!" and I want to defend myself.

In the case of my yelling neighbors, I had to mentally talk to myself into looking up at them as they exited the house, raising one grubby, frozen hand at them and saying, "Hey! Happy New Year." My gut response was to keep my head down, avoid eye contact, and pretend I was focused on my task of ripping weeds from the dirt.

The thing about defensiveness is that when it takes over you are only thinking of yourself. You spend your energy on staying safe. You stop thinking about people who are not connected to you by DNA. There is a place for this. In a life or death situation you can bet that I'm going to defend myself and my family, and rightly so. But, when I feel defensive because someone just said something that made me feel uncomfortable, and decide that I'm going to protect myself by avoiding that person, there is a problem.

I came to a similar realization in Peru when I realized that because I was so perfectionistic about my work in the local hospital I was actually missing out on Loving people.

Side note: The Church does this too. We see things that scare us and decide we need to defend ourselves from them. Remember Harry Potter? Remember all the concerned parents who were convinced that reading Harry Potter was going to make their children turn to witchcraft and become rebellious? That doesn't even get into all the other people/things that The Church has decided we need to keep out in order to be safe. Here's the thing about Jesus. He didn't keep people out, ever. There were things He didn't do. Yes. But there were no people He didn't love. You don't see Jesus being defensive. You see angry Jesus, you see compassionate Jesus, you see Jesus weeping over separation from God in the garden. But He doesn't do defensive. I'm not saying that to my church. I'm saying that to The Church, to all of us followers of Jesus. Because I do it too, and I wish I didn't.

Life comes full circle, and I am again feeling like I need to buckle down, man up (woman up?), and try to push back the things that keep me self focused. Isn't it weird that I feel more defensive HERE in my own culture?

So, here's the thing. It's a new year. I'm back home. I still pick my boogers. I'm still going to try to "Go There" in terms of growing, changing, and letting Jesus make me more loving and less defensive just like He was.

Fuzzy or Feeling: What it's like to be home

I have been getting a lot of questions lately.

Number one is, "So... How was Peru?"

And Number two is, "So, what's it like being home?"

Well, I don't really know how to answer question number one. I think that my memories, the things that I learned, the Spanish and the stories are just going to come out as I live here. I will be talking about Peru for a while, and I'm okay with that. Question number two is also pretty hard to answer, and here's why.

It seems like I go through my days here either feeling a LOT or just in a haze. When I'm really overwhelmed, everything starts to get fuzzy. It's like I'm listening to people talk from underwater. I have no idea what my face looks like, or how I come across in these moments. It's kind of like being stuck in puberty, when you just didn't understand anything but thought that you knew everything.

The most awkward thing is that I used to live here, and I feel like I used to be a lot better at it. But, I guess that's just a part of this whole thing. It's like the first few months in Peru all over again. I have to think twice as hard to do things. So, I just try to do the things that helped me adjust when I first got to Peru. I make a plan for my day and then I try to do as much of it as I can. When I feel overwhelmed (or "fuzzy") I just try to take a minute out to breath and focus on something outside of myself. Then, every once in a while I get hit by a rush of emotion, sometimes sadness and sometimes an overwhelming love for the people around me. It's so weird. It's like I either feel really distant from my emotions, or I'm that girl saying, "I just LOVE you guys SO much," and then crying.

Here are somethings that have been helping me;
- Small groups of people. I knew a lot less people in Peru, so small groups of people are a little more manageable for me. When there are too many people around I feel like a dear caught in headlights.

- Hugging babies. My friend's baby butt dialed me the other day. It made my day to hear her squawking on the other line.

- Tea and praying. Right now I basically pray with a tea mug glued to one hand. What I pray is this, "Oh help!!!" and "No really, HELP."

- Running. Running doesn't make my emotions go away, it just helps to put them in perspective. I'm trying to remember one of the biggest lessons that I learned in Peru, that selfishness takes many forms, one of which is being absorbed in your own feelings and failures. Running helps me with that.

I know that readjustment is normal, and that some people get resentful in this time, but I also know that some people do it without bitterness and that is my goal. If this whole time leaves me with less love in my heart rather than more, then what good did it do me? If I'm more entitled after living in a "developing" country, then I probably need a face slapping.

So, here are the things that I know and am holding onto right now. I love my home, I love my family, and I love MORE people than I did six months ago. But, I'm also a little overwhelmed.

The other day at church, somebody asked me how I was doing. Because I was a church, and it's not kosher to lie, I said, "I'm overwhelmed." He was walking the other direction and must have misheard me because he responded, "It's so great to be IN LOVE." Hmmmmm... Nope. Not exactly what I said.


So, there you go. That's what it's like to be home. If I was a zombie while I was talking to you, it was probably one of my fuzzy days and the next time you see me I will probably be crying all over the place. Don't worry, it will pass, and thanks for still being brave enough to share your babies with me. Did I mention that Christmas is everywhere? I guess that means it's ok, because I'm not the only one who is nuts right now.

:)

Brazil and the Time Space Continuum

I feel so proud of myself that I still remember how to spell continuum. Yes. Really.

Have I mentioned that I like things to flow smoothly? Or that I like closure? I think I have.

Well, it's true, and if I had my way life would make sense like a movie with a really bomb soundtrack. You would be able to predict the next general plot point, the cinematography would be epic, and everyone would be happy at the end.

But, as much as we try Life continues to refuse our efforts to make it conform to the standards of others. So, even though I would have loved for my time in Brazil to have strung along the same continuum as that of Peru, it did not. It continued to amaze and confuse me. It broke my heart again. It showed me that when people are placed in your heart, they are there for good. 

I haven't been to Brazil for four years, and I was so happy for a chance to get back there and reconnect with some people who are really important to me. I met the kids in Piratininga over 7 years ago, and they have stayed in my heart this whole time. Surprise! Now they are huge. A few years ago they were still kiddos, and now the youngest is 10. In their world being a teenager comes with a lot of isht. They have a mother who struggles with addiction, empty bottles all over the house, a ready availability of things that come in little baggies, and big void where a lot of love should have been. It is both terrifying and hopeful to watch them struggle in their daily life. Some are trying SO hard to cope and others are just looking for whatever makes them feel loved. Oh how I love them. Four years ago loving them meant lots of hugs, drawing things in sidewalk chalk and epic water fights. Now, loving them means sitting around playing cards, taking pictures on each others cell phones, and asking them about their boyfriends and girlfriends. Boyfriends and girlfriends!!! How is that for scary?

When I wasn't catching up with someone I was with my dear friend Flavinha. We are living proof that a language barrier does not exist. While I struggled through my portunol (a mixture of Spanish and Portuguese), she spoke very slowly and expressively. Speaking slowly is a real challenge for her, but we made it work. We used a lot of hand motions, and a lot of sound effects to have REAL conversations about what is going on inside of our lives. It is amazing to have a friend like her.

Brazil is red dirt and green lines of trees, the white cows that watch me on my run, the street graffiti, the tents and people sleeping in the dirt in Sao Paulo. It's the samba beat jumping through your body, hugging my gigantic children, and seeing the green, yellow and blue bandeira spread out in the wind. It turns out that Brazil has a part of my heart too. There is no continuum, only this feeling of "vale la pena"; which means that all of this is worth whatever pain comes along with it. Loving people is worth the pain of saying goodbye to them. Again. It is worth running through Bogota at 2 in the morning to make your connection. It is worth the mosquito bites and the new swear words coming out of their adolescent mouths. It is full of beautiful surprises like a day in the sun and a night at a Bossa Nova concert.

And on the Time Space Continuum, there were these great moments of being right there, 100% with it. Whatever was happening, whether it was happy or sad, I was there, not anywhere else in the world. 

Family

Love is the currency that keeps it's value, despite distance, time zones or experiences. I am so rich and blessed in love.

Lately I have been thinking a lot about family. Some of the members of my "real" blood family came to visit me for this last MMI project in Cuzco, I have been saying goodbye to all the people who have become my family here in Peru, and I have been hearing about how one of our patients is  struggling through prognosis of terminal cancer without a family, so "family" has been on the brain.

My "real" family arrived on the Saturday before the Cuzco project; my Mom, Dad, brother Michael and cousin Laura. I met them at the airport. We cried a little and hugged a lot. They got to meet all my MMIers and spend a week with us in the clinic.

Having my blood family and my MMI family together for one week was both really wonderful and really strange. I kept wishing for more time, for more meals, for a larger table so that we all could sit together, and for a magical Spanish/English translator so that they could all understand what the other was saying. I wanted more nights to play cards, more time in the clinic, and space to process all of my emotions.

I told all the MMI people how much I love them, because I do, I really do. They have become a part of my family. Together we have walked through tough cases, sickness, change, difficult relationships, long travel times, and together we have learned how to see Jesus in the faces of people who come to the clinic. My MMI family didn't have to call me "friend, sister, or niece" but they chose to anyway. They chose to love me when I was all alone. Yeah, I cried a lot when I said goodbye to all of them.

During the time while we were in Cuzco, Helen was back in Arequipa holding down the fort at the MMI office. She was helping one of our patients from the Puno project handle his medical appointments and paperwork. Remember the patient who came into the clinic with a growth the size of a cauliflower on his foot? The one who needed all of his paperwork pushed through insurance to get he treatment he needs? Well, his name is Juan, and now he is in Arequipa seeking treatment. We helped him to get there from Puno, and our social worker has been helping him contact his family and get to his doctor's appointments. Preliminary tests showed that his tumor was cancerous. Then the question remained if it was operable or not. If the cancer was isolated to his leg, it could be surgically removed, if it had spread to the rest of his body, there was no other option. Helen called me on the second to last night of the project to say that the test results were back, and his cancer was generalized. His cancer was terminal. He needed family members to help him with his pain management to the end. But, through a combination of the way that he has treated his family, and the smell coming from his leg, he is all alone. The only family Juan has is an estranged brother, and now he is dying.

Do me a favor, pray with me for Juan that he would be able to patch things up with his brother, and that he would know that he is a part of the MMI family.

 

 

 

 

We all need family, and sometimes that need is not met through our blood family, but also through the people we share life with, or even strangers we have just met. And because God is God, and He does what He does, He can give us a sense of family anywhere. Just look at what He's done for me.

I got to translate for my Dad while we were in the clinic. He made sure we offered to pray with each of our patients. Watching your Dad get down on his knees on a cement floor with  an old Quechua speaking lady is pretty awesome.

My mom got to reconnect with some of the families they treated
in PT last year. She is an example of compassion, so deeply moved
by the lives of her patients.

My brother spent time in the clinic hanging out with the kids, and washing old ladies feet. They were tickled to death to receive this kind of treatment. I think it was the first time many of them had ever experienced anything like this, much less from a young Caucasian male. In this culture you just don't see men kneeling down in the dirt in front of women.

Modesta's face while Michael washed her feet.



This is my cousin Laura, who came even though she got food
poisoning right before the trip, and kept coming back to the
clinic even after she got sick, AGAIN in Peru. Rock star.

 

My Peruvian family; the Cuzco team and Helen, Me, Tajel and Theresa in Arequipa

 

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