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Showing posts from October, 2015

Grocery Store Anger

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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 mile from a classy grocery store called, “…

Fractured Skull. Medevac. Stat.

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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 hills.  A feast for the eyes and soul.  The sun slipped over the hill…

I Just Thought Maybe He Was Stupid

When translated Indonesian materials were placed into my hands for an Indonesian Mothers in Prayer (MIP) group, I KNEW this was a ministry I wanted to pursue.  I have seen so many answers to prayer through our International MIP group over the last 4 years, that I thought…..what a gift this would be to share with my Indonesian friends. Any Mom can pray for her child. In any school.  In any language. In any city, town or village around the world.  Bottom line is:  ALL of our children need prayer.  Throw into the mix: drugs, alcohol, peer pressure, sex, internet, hand phones, bullying, and the list goes on and on of the things that need to be covered in prayer for our children.So ARMED with intentional and thoughtful Indonesian material I approached the local Pastor’s wife and my friend, Ibu Jeane to see about starting a prayer group at the Adventist school next door.  This school hosts over 300 students, from all denominations and backgrounds.  Some of them are day students, some are do…

Culture Clash at the Wedding

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Weddings.  A cross culture celebration.  This one was going to be done right and well and BIG.  And rightly so!The invitations were sent.  A beautiful trifold , no expense spared, invitation.  This was the last child to get married of the lady (single Mom) who graciously helps me to cook.  The food preparations for the wedding feast were extensive.  They anticipated over 300 guests.  Would I mind making banana bread for the reception?  Of course not!  All Sunday morning…..I labored over the many loaves of banana bread.  With the help of my kitchen aid and oven, which neither tool did the mother of the bride have.So I was invested. And I was looking forward to this wedding.  Early Sunday morning, Darron and I jogged by the church where the wedding feast would take place.  Large tents were already erected. An outside stage made and decorated.  Hundreds of chairs set up.  Ladies bustling about over fires and large kettles.  And already at 5:30 a.m. there were a few guests, dressed in wed…

Missing my Hippie Nurse Partner

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Kindred spirits?  Like minded?  Love nursing.  Love patient care and learning.  Love remote clinics in far flung places.  Love problem solving and challenges.  Love almost no dress codes and nursing in flip flops or bare feet on cool tile.  Love bringing babies to work.  Love time for tea and a chat. Love accurate diagnosing and patients getting well.  Love applying what we have been taught.  Love sharing family values and running our ancient sterilizer.   Love giving our patients natural treatments for annoying problems like fungal ear infections.  That’s when we decided we were hippie nurses.For almost 2 years, Michelle and I nursed together here in Papua.  I remember clearly one of the first times she walked into our little clinic and she voiced, “I LOVE THIS!”  She was my Sunday evening partner and together we problem solved, diagnosed and sometimes casted or did ultrasounds on our children.  “Just for practice.”Often it was simple stuff but in Michelle’s time here we stabilized t…

Mental Health Survival

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So for 3 years in a row I have not faired well during our last week of furlough.  My emotions are running rampant.  My thoughts are a mass of confused conflicting feelings. Dreading saying goodbye and yet anxious to return to a land I have come to love.  There is the daunting task of gathering all of our purchases and packing them up.  Every bag/box needing to weigh as close to 20 kilos as possible.  Saying goodbye.  Dealing with the families emotions and needs. Last minute shopping.  Preparing for 3 days of flying.  Lists of last minute “to do’s.”  I have really come to dislike the last week of furlough.Strategically this year I came up with a last week of furlough plan.  I called it my, ‘'”Mental Health Week.”  I did 3/4 of the packing at the beginning of the week and then hit the road for lots of time with family and friends, out and about.  One of my favorite parts of that week was meeting up with my parents at a bed and breakfast, called White Stone Inn.  Darron and I frequen…

Ohhh…… Darron’s Got a Gourd!

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Serving in Papua has been a perfect adventure for our family.  This week alone has highlighted to us God’s faithfulness.  Does He ask us to do hard things sometimes?  Definitely.  Yet through it can we see His hand at work?  Undoubtedly!  Last Saturday we followed Darron to one of the local churches.  There he shared of the recent inspiration to build a church out of pre cut metal verses iron wood.  The whole story was told, from going to the store in JayaPura to the students coming from America to the village people helping.  The members were literally on the edge of their seats straining to hear the whole story.  As drops of sweat (I almost counted them) rolled down my back, I was intrigued at how attentive everyone was.  They were captivated as Darron used their songs and dance and culture and idioms to share what God is doing in Papua.(So this boy was not sitting on the edge of his seat while Darron preached, he fell asleep in this position.  Amazing).  And if Dad’s not preaching …