Fresh Perspective

My phone rings.  It’s the midwife.  My heart always skips a beat when she calls, because GENERALLY speaking in Papua, we don’t call, we text.  She tells me that there has been an urgent case with an expatriate woman and O negative blood is needed.  Midwife and school nurse are rummaging through all the charts trying to figure out who in the mission community is O negative.   They discovered 7 of us.  I happen to be one of them.  Meaning we are universal blood donors and anyone can receive our blood.   The next morning, 3 of us meet Dr. Di at the hospital right behind our home.  The O negative Party was on!  There is strength in numbers and it really was comforting to do this “first” donation (for me in Papua), amongst friends.  Also a great way for me to learn the system.       Natalie had a donor card.  She had already donated here in Indonesia.  Dave and I were envious of her pink card status and...

Negative reaction first?  Or Positive?  AUGH!  I dislike being negative, so let’s just get it out of the way.  I HATE being away from family at Christmas.  This is our 5th Christmas overseas and “time ( IS NOT ) makes ( making ) it easier”.  Sorry.  Christmas in my mind equals being with extended family.  I also strongly dislike a Papuan tradition, and that is many places throughout towns and villages build little decorative bamboo huts.  From them comes BLARING Christmas music.  Usually starting around 4:30 ish a.m. somewhere in the bustle of the morning it usually fades off, maybe 6:30ish……this can vary greatly.  Often the music can restart at random times throughout the day and often in the evenings again.  The music can be as random as Ava Maria to I want to Wish you a Merry Christmas . Despising the rude loud music one morning, Darron went off running to see where it was coming from.  ONE MILE from our house was the...

Hair.  That’s the topic.  Thick. Thin. Short. Medium. Long. Curly. Straight.  Everything in between.  Most of us disillusioned with our own.  Longing for someone else’s hair.  Yet, let’s be honest.  If you have a “good” hairstylist it really doesn’t matter what kind of hair you have.  They will make you look and feel great.  I have been privy to sit under the talent of “good” hands with scissors (thanks Mom and Lea and Laurie).  Since moving to Asia I have also fallen victim to sit under the hands of many “not so good” with scissors.  Fortunately “hair grows”.  HA!  Grow it does and where does the missionary woman “go” with growing hair and the desire to feel pampered and cared for?  Possible solution #1: HOME, to her passport country!  That is the simplest solution.  Not very practical for the hair budget and time constraints.  So throw that option out the window, except for furlough time.  Which ...

Imagine with me……my kitchen starting to bustle with veggies fresh from the market being washed, breakfast dishes being put away, ingredients and pans coming out for bread making.  The bulging familiar bag is packed and sitting by the door.  This bag equals only one truth in my HEART, my husband the HEAD of our family, is leaving again.  Hubby is sitting on the bar stool.  I’m standing opposite him, fussing with something in the kitchen……maybe peeling dozens of ripe bananas to be thrown in the freezer for smoothies later.  And the HEAD starts talking to the HEART about her baking ministry.  5 minutes before we need to leave for the airport!!!! Before I tell you more about that conversation allow me to introduce you to HEART (me) and HEAD (Darron).  We have been married almost 20 years now and function quite well, HEART and HEAD together.  Darron and I both have a passion for wanting to empower and equip people who are in need.  Darron is alr...

Less then a mile away from our home here in Doyo Baru, Sentani, Indonesia there is a bridge made out of Palm Tree's.  It is getting rickety as it is used countless times a day.  I presume it is unsafe because it leans so much and it sags, but people still drive over it.  It made me think of the bridges in America and the safety inspections of them compared to here.  (This bridge is about 1.3 miles from our home and is much safer.  It is made out of steel.  Don’t let the misplaced planks fool you!) In America they have inspections of the bridges about every two years.  The things that they are inspecting are: lanes too narrow, no shoulder, peeling paint, and cracks or weaknesses in the key supports of the bridge.  In America bridges often have a second support system to keep the bridge from collapsing.  They have even thought of putting in sophisticated sensors to monitor the usage and safety of the bridge.  Here in comparison in Pap...

OK….so maybe it wasn’t a roach.  Maybe it was one of the dozens of Geckos that inhabit our home?  Maybe it was termites?  Regardless, imagine our surprise when I reached into the cupboard to pull out our token of decorations for Thanksgiving in Tropical hot wonderland (that feels nothing like fall or Thanksgiving) to discover this:   OH dear!  And then the childhood stories emerged.  These little salt and pepper figures had been with us since Jacob and Nathaniel were wee little lads.  They always graced out table in the fall.  Many a vegetable was swallowed under the magical distraction of Mr. and Mrs. Pilgrim coming to “life” and having little “conversations” and they would even “fight” and “kiss” and “run” all around the table.  It’s funny how something so small and silly can be so nostalgically important. We had a little burial service for Mrs. Pilgrim.  Where only the 2 younger boys, the dogs and the camera were present for....

I grocery shop here once a month, because I DISLIKE shopping here so much.  I can tell you almost to the kilo and wheelbarrow load full of how many kilos of flour, oats, oil, sugar, veggies and fruits that four double digit boys eat.  I do shop weekly at the market for fruits and veggies, but the other shopping is just one mass shopping spree. I’m always amused and befuddled at the tiny check out lanes.  Literally there is approximately 2 feet of room to place all your groceries or keep loading them as they are scanned.  No conveyor belt.  Such a tiny space.  I have to remind myself that the way I shop is very much the minority and most shoppers have just a small basket of goods, verses my 2 shopping carts brimming with food. So where does the anger come in? Surprisingly, my grocery shopping anger happened in America.  We were vacationing with my parents and brothers in the Outer Banks this past summer. There we were privileged to be less then 1 mi...

I was asked multiple times while I was on furlough if I still help out in the clinic.  Many of you know that this is my work area of passion.  I’m still there.  Growing.  Learning.  Just often it is not appropriate to write about what happens there.  “What happens in the clinic, stays in the clinic”. : )  Sometimes though, patient cases become public knowledge and sometimes we can all learn from the stories that emerge from there. Saturday afternoon, 4:00 p.m. we are leaving the international school after hosting one of the dorm boys for part of the weekend.  As we drive down the steep hill, my midwife friend, Fiona, is driving middle of the road up the hill.  Her driving seemed a bit erratic.  Yet I just brushed it off that she had taken the corner wide and was on her way to pick up her son.  We keep going to our new favorite spot.  The lake road.  There we drank in the ever REFRESHING scenes of the lake and rolling hil...