I am currently in Hong Kong, spending a week away from my home in China to process my visa for the next year. It is hard to believe that my first year is coming to a close and a new one is about to begin.
I am spending this week at a retreat center and looking forward to a time of rest as well as a time of processing and reflection over the past year (which explains the multiple blogs I have written today and will hopefully write throughout the week...I am making up for the lack of writing over the past two months!).
It has been a very full year to say the least. Full of "really high highs and really low lows" as Abby says (Abby is one of our summer interns and has become a very dear friend over the past few months). It has been a year full of laughter and life, intermingled with loss and sadness. Full of hugs, kisses, love, and surprises. Full of support, encouragement, and moments of being simply overwhelmed by God's faithfulness.
It has been a year of discovering parts of me that I didn't know existed, both beautiful and ugly, and parts that I've tried to keep hidden but are crying to come out. I have seen the best of me come out along with the worst of me. I have seen how giving I can be one minute, and how selfish I can be the next. I have seen a confident and strong side of myself along with a very fearful and anxious side of me. Essentially, I have seen my best hand-in-hand with my worst.
In showing me more of myself, God has also shown me more of Himself. He has shown me just how weak I am and how desperate I am for His grace to come through for me daily. He has shown me how much He values life. He has shown Himself to be faithful in abundant ways, not only providing for my basic needs, but giving me so many extra joys along the way.
I hope you will be encouraged as you read. I know that healing comes with reflection as we take a look back and are able to see in hindsight the things that we could not see or understand in the moment. I trust that the journey will continue and there is still much for me to see and learn, and countless ways in which God still desires to shape and mold me into the image of His son.
Thank you for following in the journey with me.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Learning to say goodbye
I am not a huge fan of goodbyes.
Living here, I have had to learn how to say goodbye from time to time. Sometimes given weeks or months to process how to say goodbye; at other times quite suddenly. I am not sure which I dread most.
I have grown quite fond of this group of little people on our 2nd floor. It took months for them to warm up to me, but one day one finally warmed up, and eventually the others followed suit. Since then, rarely a day goes by that I don't stop in to see them. I have watched them go from crawling babies to running toddlers, full of life, laughter, and spunky personalities.
The first to warm up was Jillian, my sweet "Ji Ji"... we bonded over Cinderella. Each night, right around 7:15, her ayis would put in the movie and she out of all the kids seemed the most captivated by it. Cinderella is my favorite Disney movie, so I started sitting with her to watch, and soon sitting by her turned to her warmly snuggling up in my lap each evening. Sometimes we'd sing along (well, it was more like me humming and her laughing) and other times we'd dance. My favorite times though were when she would just snuggle up with me and let me hold her as we watched.
Slowly the others warmed up and night after night they would try to squeeze as many of their little bodies on my lap as possible. Going in to see them each night became a bit of a safe-haven for me. I knew that no matter what kind of day I'd had, I could always go see my little friends and even if just for a few moments forget the troubles of that day. They helped me remember why I was there.
This group of babies all came to MBH last spring with cleft lip and palate. Their lips had been fixed last summer, and they were all able to have their palates closed this summer. I knew eventually their time would come to return to their original orphanage. But in the meantime, I wanted to continue to soak in as much time with them as possible.
Over the past few months, we've enjoyed quite a few evening dance parties...
Living here, I have had to learn how to say goodbye from time to time. Sometimes given weeks or months to process how to say goodbye; at other times quite suddenly. I am not sure which I dread most.
I have grown quite fond of this group of little people on our 2nd floor. It took months for them to warm up to me, but one day one finally warmed up, and eventually the others followed suit. Since then, rarely a day goes by that I don't stop in to see them. I have watched them go from crawling babies to running toddlers, full of life, laughter, and spunky personalities.
The first to warm up was Jillian, my sweet "Ji Ji"... we bonded over Cinderella. Each night, right around 7:15, her ayis would put in the movie and she out of all the kids seemed the most captivated by it. Cinderella is my favorite Disney movie, so I started sitting with her to watch, and soon sitting by her turned to her warmly snuggling up in my lap each evening. Sometimes we'd sing along (well, it was more like me humming and her laughing) and other times we'd dance. My favorite times though were when she would just snuggle up with me and let me hold her as we watched.
Slowly the others warmed up and night after night they would try to squeeze as many of their little bodies on my lap as possible. Going in to see them each night became a bit of a safe-haven for me. I knew that no matter what kind of day I'd had, I could always go see my little friends and even if just for a few moments forget the troubles of that day. They helped me remember why I was there.
This group of babies all came to MBH last spring with cleft lip and palate. Their lips had been fixed last summer, and they were all able to have their palates closed this summer. I knew eventually their time would come to return to their original orphanage. But in the meantime, I wanted to continue to soak in as much time with them as possible.
Over the past few months, we've enjoyed quite a few evening dance parties...
One day early this summer, Mikey graciously advised that I prepare myself for saying goodbye to them. Eventually, the email came that a couple of them would be leaving us to return to their original units. We had about a week's notice, so I was able to spend very intentional time with them. By this time, they had all grown so active and busy that Ji Ji would rarely stop to sit in my lap; we would play and dance and run, but rarely would we just sit. But something was different on her last night, almost as if she knew this was it. As 7:15 rolled around, her ayis put in a music video. She came and snuggled up in my lap as she had done months ago, and just let me hold her. She didn't seem to care about all the other kids dancing around her, she just sat and moved to the music in my lap. It was such a gift to have that time with her. I could think of no better way to have said goodbye.
I know that many more goodbyes will come during my time here. Each one will be unique and different. Some will be hard and others will be full of grace and peace. Some will come with hope, others will come with pain and unanswered questions. In whatever form they come, whether planned or unexpected, I want to know that I did all I could to love that child during the time that they were with us. I know I cannot do that for all of our children, but can do so for a few.
Thankfully, many of their leaves come with hope. A few months after their surgeries, we found out that many of them have been matched with families and will soon be adopted. It doesn't make saying goodbye easy, but it does give us great hope for their future.
How to save a life
We have had a really full month at MBHOH, ending with a student group this week. Their presence brought much life and laughter to our home this week.
In the presence of life and laughter, I was reminded on two occasions this week of the reality that is our life at Maria's. Yes, there is life. There is laughter. There is joy. But there is also pain. There is suffering. There is death.
I was in the office one day, which is a shared space with one of our nurses. As I sat at my desk, one of our babies was brought in and given oxygen. He had a heart condition and his little heart had begun to fail him. I watched as Jona, Mariah, and Lily stood over him, took his temperature, listened to his heart, and loving patted his back as he struggled to continue breathing. I walked over and held his little hand, which at this time was quite blue. As I continued to watch, I was amazed at the way the three of them lovingly cared for him in what were to be his last few hours. I became overwhelmed by the fact that this is what they do. They save lives. And at times, saving a life means not giving up, but allowing the babies to let go comfortably and in loving hands.
Another day this week, I woke up to an email from our nurses that another one of our babies had passed. This came unexpectedly and although our hearts were deeply heavy that day, I know without a doubt that she was loved and lovingly cared for during her last days with us.
I write this just as a way to help you understand (and to help me process) the reality of our life here. As I mentioned above, there is great life and laughter in our home; but there is also great sadness and pain that comes with human suffering and death. And not just death, but the death of a child. It is easy for us who are not part of the medical staff to shield ourselves at times from the reality of death in our home, but at other times, it is unescapable. And the truth is, as much as it hurts, I don't want to escape it, because it is real. It also helps me to understand and overwhelmingly appreciate the love and work that our doctors and nurses pour into our babies day in and day out. They are the ones who carry the heavy load of suffering, but somehow find a way to keep going, to keep loving, to keep caring, even through the pain of continued loss.
In the presence of life and laughter, I was reminded on two occasions this week of the reality that is our life at Maria's. Yes, there is life. There is laughter. There is joy. But there is also pain. There is suffering. There is death.
I was in the office one day, which is a shared space with one of our nurses. As I sat at my desk, one of our babies was brought in and given oxygen. He had a heart condition and his little heart had begun to fail him. I watched as Jona, Mariah, and Lily stood over him, took his temperature, listened to his heart, and loving patted his back as he struggled to continue breathing. I walked over and held his little hand, which at this time was quite blue. As I continued to watch, I was amazed at the way the three of them lovingly cared for him in what were to be his last few hours. I became overwhelmed by the fact that this is what they do. They save lives. And at times, saving a life means not giving up, but allowing the babies to let go comfortably and in loving hands.
Another day this week, I woke up to an email from our nurses that another one of our babies had passed. This came unexpectedly and although our hearts were deeply heavy that day, I know without a doubt that she was loved and lovingly cared for during her last days with us.
I write this just as a way to help you understand (and to help me process) the reality of our life here. As I mentioned above, there is great life and laughter in our home; but there is also great sadness and pain that comes with human suffering and death. And not just death, but the death of a child. It is easy for us who are not part of the medical staff to shield ourselves at times from the reality of death in our home, but at other times, it is unescapable. And the truth is, as much as it hurts, I don't want to escape it, because it is real. It also helps me to understand and overwhelmingly appreciate the love and work that our doctors and nurses pour into our babies day in and day out. They are the ones who carry the heavy load of suffering, but somehow find a way to keep going, to keep loving, to keep caring, even through the pain of continued loss.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Sweeping dust off of dust
"For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust" Psalm 103: 14
This morning as I sat by the window reading, I noticed an interesting site on the road in front of our building. There has been a massive overhaul of the road over the past few months and to say it's been a mess would be a great understatement. As I watched the tractors and bulldozers, something caught my eye: there were a few men sweeping dust off of the dirt road. I think I chuckled inside as I thought of how seemingly pointless and absurd this was. One man was working his way down and as he swept, dust clouds formed and settled where the had previously swept. Being six stories up, maybe there was something I didn't see, but from where I sat it looked like they were trying to sweep dust off of dust.
As I continued to watch and think, I wondered if this is sometimes how I perceive God and His work in my life. I feel like I have been reminded a lot lately that we are but dust. I get so discouraged and disappointed with myself and assume that God feels the same way; but He knows that I am only dust. Not that He has no expectations from me, but He made me, He knows my frame. He knows that I will fail, He knows that I will sin, He knows that I will let others down and let myself down. He knows I will question His goodness and His love for me. He knows.
So often I wonder if it's not like sweeping dust off of dust; seemingly pointless and sometimes absurd. The dust often settles back right where it was lifted from.
But what I cannot see in this moment is that in that place where that man is sweeping, there will one day be a road. I cannot see it, but I know there will be. One day that road will be complete and in some way, his sweeping dust will be a part of that road being complete.
And so it is with me. One day I will be made complete, whole, in the perfect image of my Maker. I know it, even though I cannot see it. In the mean time, He must sweep dust off of dust in order to make me more and more like Himself. Some days it seems pointless and absurd, but I know that day will come, when all will be complete in Him.
I am grateful that He does not see as I see, that He knows purpose in continually sweeping...
"The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of all the earth. He never grows weak or weary. No one can measure the depths of his understanding." Isaiah 40: 28
This morning as I sat by the window reading, I noticed an interesting site on the road in front of our building. There has been a massive overhaul of the road over the past few months and to say it's been a mess would be a great understatement. As I watched the tractors and bulldozers, something caught my eye: there were a few men sweeping dust off of the dirt road. I think I chuckled inside as I thought of how seemingly pointless and absurd this was. One man was working his way down and as he swept, dust clouds formed and settled where the had previously swept. Being six stories up, maybe there was something I didn't see, but from where I sat it looked like they were trying to sweep dust off of dust.
As I continued to watch and think, I wondered if this is sometimes how I perceive God and His work in my life. I feel like I have been reminded a lot lately that we are but dust. I get so discouraged and disappointed with myself and assume that God feels the same way; but He knows that I am only dust. Not that He has no expectations from me, but He made me, He knows my frame. He knows that I will fail, He knows that I will sin, He knows that I will let others down and let myself down. He knows I will question His goodness and His love for me. He knows.
So often I wonder if it's not like sweeping dust off of dust; seemingly pointless and sometimes absurd. The dust often settles back right where it was lifted from.
But what I cannot see in this moment is that in that place where that man is sweeping, there will one day be a road. I cannot see it, but I know there will be. One day that road will be complete and in some way, his sweeping dust will be a part of that road being complete.
And so it is with me. One day I will be made complete, whole, in the perfect image of my Maker. I know it, even though I cannot see it. In the mean time, He must sweep dust off of dust in order to make me more and more like Himself. Some days it seems pointless and absurd, but I know that day will come, when all will be complete in Him.
I am grateful that He does not see as I see, that He knows purpose in continually sweeping...
"The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of all the earth. He never grows weak or weary. No one can measure the depths of his understanding." Isaiah 40: 28
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