I officially made it through a full week without delivering a baby, or even being in the same room with a labouring woman. I survived. I was surprisingly okay with not having that energy, that rush; but I found that I missed it a bit. I spent the week behind the Admissions nursing station, doing a task that had nothing to do with midwifery, with people who didn’t know the first thing about delivering a baby. I had days full of conversations that had nothing to do with “all things woman”. We painted a mural. Refreshing, different. It’s strange to spend so much time with the same people, with the same goal, same heart, same vision as you; experiencing the same things, doing the same tasks. I found that when needing to speak to a man, I didn’t know how. I’ve spent the last year surrounded by strong women; the last eight months avoiding single men like the plague. A dear sweet friend of Lisa’s came from Pune for a visit and helped us out with the mural. It took me a good two to three days to know how to look him in the eyes, and casually converse with him. The only time I talk to men these days is at home to Heather’s husband, Darcy’s husband, Consuelo’s son, or doctors and only about “all things woman”. So finding myself thrown into the company of this strange, very different gender for the first time in 9 months was somewhat alarming. I fear I will be a mess when I return home. Perhaps it will be comical. I’m looking forward to it. Please forgive me in advance.

The mural proved to be a wonderful experience. I was first put in charge of it over a month ago, and I was intimidated to say the least. I have never done a mural, nor was I confident in my skills to successfully complete one. Whenever I thought about it I became frustrated and prayed that God would somehow work it out, as I had no idea how. Then last week I found out that I had the help of two very talented, very kind and generous artists; one from Holland, one from Tonga. Together, we teamed up and were able to paint a tree that surpassed my expectation. In the end I looked at it and felt that we had been used to create something that will touch and stir the hearts of many. Before we started my prayer was that our tree really would speak the promise of Revelation 22. That it’s leaves would really be those of the tree of life--- “the healing of the nations”. As the steady stream of people that pass it daily see it, they would feel something stir in them, the promise of a returning King. I prayed that it would be light in the darkness, colour in the grey, life in the midst of death. Though the walls around it may crumble, the promise of the Lord stands forever. I kept singing, “Use my hands to use my heart…”

It was refreshing to spend a week painting. It’s funny how we live in “seasons”. I am so much more than a “midwife”, but it seems this year was set apart for simply that. There are times when all I want to do is spent a week by myself singing and writing, painting, and making… and here I am, in 24/7 community, delivering babies; a different kind of art I suppose. Just as beautiful, just different.

It is getting hotter as the days continue. The other night it was 95 degrees inside my bedroom. I wake up daily with soaking hair and pillow. Even sleeping is an art, as you must find positions where no part of your body touches the other. It’s hell really, but I feel somehow that I enjoy it. Maybe because I know I only have two more weeks, and everything seems more comical than bothersome these days. Or so I try to make it that way. I got a package from my step mom, full of all things girly. Everyone in my room surrounded the box, “oooooed,” and “ahhhed”, and giggled. I enjoyed it thoroughly. We’ve been wearing dirty Punjabis to long. Or maybe just long enough.

If I have seen anything in the last year it’s the faithfulness of God. I have seen him fulfill a promise spoken to me almost four years ago now about the Birth Attendant School, I have seen Him meet me in my brokenness time and time again, and I have seen Him meet others in theirs. I have watched as He takes seemingly impossible situations and makes them possible, as He molds disasters into victories. I have wept as He breaks me, molds me and makes me more and more like Him, and I have laughed as He tells me I’m alright. He’s provided, He’s forgiven, and He’s made a way. I love that in two weeks when I’m in Australia, three weeks when I’m in Philly, and five weeks when I’m in California, He will be the same.

"…Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty,
who was and is and is to come!"

Revelation 4:8