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Showing posts from October, 2012


"How do we understand God in this?"

This was a question that really struck home with me over the past two weeks, as I was translating for our MMI trip to Puno/Juliaca.

How do we understand God in this, when a woman grabs your hand with tears in her eyes and says "Help me," when you have to tell a woman with no insurance that she may have cancer of the spleen, when a mother of two deaf/mute girls tells you that she will sell her organs so that they can have cochlear implants?

How do we understand God in this?

When a patient comes in with a fungal growth the size of a cabbage on his foot. He says he has been cleaning it with urine and that it's "getting better." The team manages to convince him that he needs to be hospitalized, it is a potential emergency, and that he could contract sepsis. But, when he finally agrees to go to the hospital they tell him that all his paperwork has been transferred to Arequipa, where the health care workers are on strike.…

Sketchy Sketch part 2

I have a confession to make: I brush my teeth with the water here.

I also carry a rock with me whenever I run in a strange city. Thank you Steph for that advice.

It´s crazy how quickly you get used to things you never thought you could.

For example, I used to hate the fact that I had to speak Spanish to do everything. Now I love it.
I used to feel claustrophobic when it took a long time to make things happen. Now it´s a part of the adventure.
I don´t have to shower everyday to sleep well at night.
And whenever we drive anywhere I just fall asleep rather than freaking out.

One time I made this face and someone took a picture.

I know. It´s a little embarrassing. They call this face "the eye," and when we play cards I try to intimidate people so that I can win.
Note to self: Sportsmanship = a good thing to learn.

There is dog poop on the street, there are taxi drivers honking so close that your left eardrum ruptures, and there are bus drivers straight out of Hell, but my blood p…

Story Time

Where do stories start? Do they start on a dusty path in the silence of the wind? Or do they start with a 5 year old girl who hears the story of Dr. Livingstone for the first time and says, "I want to do that someday."? Either way, the stories inside of our hearts start somewhere.

This past week I found myself at a crossroad type feeling, even though, in the moment, there was only one way ahead. We were walking through the Colca Canyon, on an MMI trip that traveled from one rural pueblo to another, doing health clinics, and giving away toothbrushes. During those two weeks something deep was stirring in my heart, the opportunity "the call" (if you like) to surrender myself.

That morning my friend Vicente shared a devotional and I translated. He talked about how he, when he was a young Christian, had said "God I give you my life." And then proceeded to live his life exactly as he wanted. Five years later, on bed rest for a work related back injury, he reali…