This week it rained, and as it rained, I felt as if I was being washed clean, being refreshed, being filled. The last three weeks have been difficult ones, but with each difficulty, I have found that the grace and mercy of God is enough to not only pull you through any situation, but make you stronger, more beautiful in the process. Sunday was Easter we had a "sunrise survice" on our roof. I thought a lot about the resurrection. Some how, this year I felt it deeper than years past, as if a piece of me could identify with it. I felt as though bits and pieces of me have died during the last year, with each lifeless baby, each dying woman, I feel as though I have lost pieces of myself. But then, at the end of the day, I realize that whatever I loose is only replaced with new life. I am given beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning. Each place of my heart that has "died" has not only been brought back to life, but been given a deeper understanding of what life is. It's beautiful. He is beautiful.

Monday we were blessed with a gift from a newly wed couple at our base in Perth that allowed us to go to an Indian water park. I, loving water, was so excited. However, I have spent too much time in India to think that it would actually be "nice". When we arrived we found shotty old water slides that spit you out into green, murky water. I climbed the stairs to the first slide thinking about the many nails and bits of plastic that were surly going to tear my flesh as I flew innocently down the slide. I was relieved when I landed in the green, murky water at the bottom with out a single scratch. The slides were fun, but I ended up spending most of my time in the "wave pool". It was swarming...and I really mean swarming... with young Indian men, and I was thankful for the "Ladies only" section. I laid there in the green, debris filled water, pretending it was the ocean. There was a mural on the back wall of the pool that reminded me a lot of Pirate's Cove at home. If I closed my eyes, it almost felt as if I was home, in Shell Beach. I sat there for hours, detaching myself from India, from the many hormonal boys in the section to my left, and from the past year of my life. It was a nice break. I awoke from this dream world when the "waves" actually were turned on. All of a sudden they were crashing against my face, and I remembered exactly where I was... in Indian, in a sick, green pool surrounded my men. I laughed to myself, it was nice to be back. Later that afternoon it started to rain, it was all I could do not to explode with happiness.

Tuesday I went back to Mother Teresa's home for the dying and destitute. We helped do heaps and heaps of laundry. With each colorful garment I washed, I fell more and more in love with this life I've been blessed to live. I love watching "community"work. The women who could help with laundry did, so I was doing laundry with the dying and destitute. "Happiness" doesn't seem to do justice the emotions I was feeling in those moments. Its a beautiful thing when things like laundry can bring life.

Wednesday I went to a slum, a small community of homes made up of tents made out of blue tarps, cardboard, and dried palm branches. There were huge grey rain clouds over head that occasionally would drop a few raindrops on us. Somehow the darkness of the clouds gave the slum this beautifully romantic feel, as if we were far from the city, and the business of life. I imagined crawling into one of these little tents and drinking chai as we listened to the thunder and rain pelt down on the plastic tarp over head. It was such a beautiful day. We intended to do antenatal checks, but there were no pregnant women there that week. So, instead we played with children. By the end of the day my cheeks were coated in kisses, given by skinny, dirty, wild children dressed in rags. They fed me tamarinds and played thumb war. As we drove home that evening, the heavens opened and it began to rain. As I stared out of the rickshaw I beamed with excitement and joy. I remembered last week, and how faithful I have learned my God is. I felt as if He had made it rain just for me; as if He knew it's exactly what I needed. And it was...

Thursday I was in the labour room. I delivered baby number 23 and 24. Molly Colleen, and Elisha Nile, beautiful healthy little ones. Elisha Nile was born on the same bed as my hard delivery last week. As I began to pull him out, I shook a little and tried to remind myself, "This is a new day, a new delivery, a new baby..." I was relieved when he let out a healthy, lively cry, and the cold metal slab of a bed had been redeemed.


I have four more weeks here. Four more weeks. I can hardly believe that I waited three years to do the Birth Attendant School, and now I am four weeks from being finished. And what's even crazier... I am a midwife. He is good and faithful.

(You may notice throughout the next few weeks that I look more and more wasted in pictures of the labour room. That's because it's hotter than you can ever imagine, and when I take my coat off at the end of the day my clothes are just soaking wet. Praise the Lord.)