We often spend our late afternoons at the Mother Theresa orphanage in our neighborhood. Up until this week, I had only spent time with the babies and infants. When I was asked to visit the handicap children, my heart leapt. I walked into this room, its walls lined with disabled children. Some were crying, some were laughing, and some were speaking as best they could. I walked around this small room, examining each child, holding them, talking to them, and watching them smile. I picked up a beautiful little girl, around three years old. Despite her age, she didn’t have much muscle control, and was unable to hold her head up. I held her carefully as I would a baby, and we went outside for some fresh air. As we were out there, I just looked at her beautiful, little face for a long while. I thought to myself, “This is where my King would be. This is where my King would come.” Then I heard Him say, “I am here. I’ve come through you.” I am amazed, as I realize the depth of what it means to be the hands and feet of the Father to the broken, to the orphan, to the widow… I am amazed, and I am honored.

This week we were able to do some postnatal home visits with the midwife from the Sudanese refugee clinic. It is really a privilege to enter not only the homes of these beautiful people, but by entering in their homes, I feel as though I’ve entered into their lives. Without a desk between us, I feel as though the boundaries are broken; she is in her own element, her guards are lowered if not down completely, and her house, her family can tell a story that language barriers cannot hinder. And of course, Sudanese babies are beautiful.


We were able to do the TB clinic again this week with the Sudanese. It’s been really interesting to learn a little about this disease, and about the treatment. Our time in the community was really good as well this week. It’s amazing to realize that we’ve actually built some beautiful friendships in the last 8 weeks. It’s wild to see the babies I’ve seen delivered, grow and change. I’ve grown to really treasure the community I live in here.


I’ve had such a good opportunity working at the Sudanese refugee antenatal clinic. I’ve really learned so much. It’s been so wonderful to be entrusted with my own patients week after week. All of the women need two doses of Anti-Tetanus during pregnancy, and if they’ve already had it in a previous pregnancy, depending on the circumstance, they may need a booster. I’ve been observing for the last few weeks, those who are capable of giving injections, give them. Then on Thursday, the time had finally come for me to give one. My stomach churned with in me, my hands grew moist and shaky. I nervously opened my needle package, I drew up the medicine, I flicked out the bubbles, and I began to pray with all my heart. For an intramuscular injection, you need to make sure you do not have the needle in a vein. If you accidentally entered a vein, and pushed the medicine into the circulatory system they could have heart failure and die. So you can only imagine my extreme nervousness. I had a staff member coaching me the whole time… which only slightly calmed my nerves… she walked me through the steps. Draw the medicine, find the muscle, use a swab of cotton soaked in alcohol to clean the area, find a land mark so you know where you’ve cleaned, let it dry… pinch a good bit of the muscle, and STAB! I held the needle back, like a dart, my arm descended toward this poor innocent victim’s arm, I approach the skin, I hesitate, I stab, and I’m in.

“Now what?” I think, as my shaky hands attempt to hold the needle steady. “Draw the needle back, make sure you have not hit a vein,” I respond to myself. I draw back… no blood. “But what if I haven’t drawn back enough to see the blood, and I’m in a vein?” “Ahhh… the women is wincing, its okay, inject the medicine. Slowly, slowly, shoot that’s not slowly, I said slowly… There you go, it’s almost gone, it’s almost over. Hum-dil-alah (thank God.).” I pull the needle from her arm, and quickly put cotton over the puncture. "She's not collapsing with heart failure, that's a good sign." (Sigh.) “Mesh, mesh. Helos. Mafish-mooshkala. Mesh, (It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s finished. No problem. It’s okay,)” I say out loud, half to the woman, half to myself. I laugh with her, pretending I’ve done hundreds of injections. I proceed with my next patient, still shaking, almost afraid to look at her papers to see if she needs an injection as well. She doesn’t. Hum-dil-alah

Oh how I have grown to love this beautiful place. How I will miss it. I can hardly believe I only have 3 more weeks here. Then, back to India. It will be my third time there. As much as I hate to leave this place, I am anxious to return to India. It's funny how no matter where you are, you always dream of what's next. "The grass is always greener on the other side." But you'll never quite reach the other side. When I am home, I dream of far and distant lands, when I am in far and distant lands, I dream of home. I imagine it's because we're always dreaming of "home".
"For we know that if the tent, which is our earthly home, is destroyed, we have a building from G.od, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, if indeed by putting it on we may not be found naked. For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened--not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee. So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please him." 2 Corinthians 5: 1-9


I pray you find yourself blessed this week. Just because you are not in India, or the Middle East, or China, or Africa, or Mexico, doesn't mean you can care for the sick, the poor, the broken. There are broken people all around us. In our work place, downtown, our friends and neighbors, our family. If we are always looking to the greener pasture on the other side, we will never be able to see the beauty of the wild flowers we are standing in now. Or the way the stream beside us bubbles. Or how the trees bend and sway in the breeze. Or how the newness of the morning brings refreshment. How the warmth of the sun brings joy. I imagine if we only gave a glance to the "other side", and spent the rest of the time discovering the beauty of our present surroundings, we'd find life much more enjoyable. "Next year will be better. Tomorrow is a new day. When I finish school... When I get married... When I have children... When I retire... When I get a good job... When I travel... When I get home..." Today is a gift. Let us live it like it is. Blessings.