at least it's not malaria (/sarcasm)

It's early monday morning...February 3 and I'm still in Malawi.  A week ago, I was scheduled to start work in Mbale, Uganda today.  However, I have no flight plans to leave Malawi.  Just one goal in the coming days - RECOVER.  As I down a couple pain pills and sit down to write this, I can't help but to smile.  If there's one major lesson that I've learned during my time in Malawi - life is unpredictable.  I've learned to relax.  I've felt peace here - in the most daunting situations.  An incredible lesson and one that will always be useful - in every season of this fragile life.

On wednesday morning, I felt pain in the abdomen but it wasn't alarming.  I had only been back in the country for 4 days and the iron stomach that took me 16 months to develop was still acclimated to U.S. cuisine (read pork BBQ and mom's brownie trifle).  So I carried on with my work day at CURE and attempted to ignore it.  I had no appetite and at 1pm, I needed to sit down and take a long breather.  The pain increased.  At 3pm, I fell across an exam table in an empty consultation room and tried to sleep.  The pain increased.  At 5pm, I was checked out by a CURE doctor and rushed over to a private hospital across town with a proper diagnosis - appendicitis.  The pain increased.  

After an exam in the emergency room and an ultrasound, I was scheduled for surgery that night.  I couldn't wait.  Every minute sucked.  I wasn't sedated until I reached the operating theater.  I had to wait on a gurney as an emergency C-Section moved ahead of me.  I fell asleep with total peace of mind and a massive pain in my side.

Fast forward a few days and I will spare you the recovery details.  I will never complain if admitted to a hospital in the states again - I can tell you that much for free.  I couldn't be more thankful for the events over the last few days.  The people that surrounded me.  The people that prayed for me.  All over the world.  The emails, FB messages, viber texts and calls.  The chocolate.  The home visits.  Everyone makes me feel so loved.  Too loved.  I don't deserve the amazing people that God has put all around me.  But I couldn't be more grateful.

The timing - my boss, Jenny was in town.  She made sure that I got checked out properly at CURE.  Being a dude, I like to downplay pain and pretend I'm stronger than I am.   She rode with me to the hospital.  She filled out all admission forms in the ER - I was doubled over in a fetal position with my eyes closed.  She called my parents and handed the phone to me before I was wheeled into the operating theater.  She paced the halls while I was in surgery.  She slept on a couple footstools that she pushed together beside my bed.  I was set to be on a plane bound for Uganda 48 hours after being admitted to the hospital.  The thought of the pain happening during transit and transition to Uganda is scary.  Thanks be to God.

The peace - there was no freakout, no panic.  Just concern to stop the pain.  I didn't worry about the possibilities.  I've been told that the surgeon that performed the appendectomy doesn't have the best success rate even though it's a relatively simple procedure.  I was told post-surgery but I'm not sure that it would have shook me if I had known beforehand.  It's crazy.  I was praying and my thoughts went to my parents & family for their comfort.  I didn't want them to worry.  I'm not saying this to sound bold or courageous - because it definitely wasn't me.  Worry and anxiety have consumed most of my existence.  That's why this experience and the last year are so encouraging to me.  If God used this to show me that he's changing me, I couldn't be more ok with it.  In fact, I love it.  It's part of my story.  Not like I can forget with a 6 inch scar - right?  

For anyone reading this that can relate to peace during a hurricane season in their life, I hope you're encouraged.  If I believe in a sovereign and all-powerful God of the Universe, I have to believe that my life is no exception to his control.  Reading through the short book of James right now and it's instantly applicable and completely appropriate.  

ESV translation
James 4:14 yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.

KJ translation
Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.

Saying Goodbye....again

Leaving.  The goodbyes.  The hugs.  The promises of keeping in touch.  The promises of staying safe.  The last smile.  The "I love you's."

It's difficult.  I won't lie.  I love working for CURE, I love Malawi and I'm excited for Uganda.  But to say that I'm ready to go right now would not be entirely true.  I have accepted the fact that I'm leaving tomorrow but it's going to be harder this year.  I know what a year away feels and looks like.  I know I will miss family the minute they are out of sight.  I know I will miss friends before I even land in Uganda.

I don't care about restaurants or food here.  I don't care about the clothes, shoes or cars.  I don't care about the convenience of stores & shops being open past 6pm.  I don't care about not having things abroad that are available 24/7 here at every single gas station.  I care about my community that surrounds me with love at home.  I miss people.

 It's a difficult lesson that I'm gradually learning to grasp.  Learning to trust.  Letting go of the worry and anxiety.  Not worrying about what's next.  Learning to live in the moment.  Learning to love.  Learning to be content and not constantly looking forward.  Learning to be completely honest and bold in prayer.  We can't hide the deceit and darkness in our hearts.  Why do I even try?

The stories will be different in Uganda.  The people will be different.  The hospital will be different.  The doctors will be different.  The housing will be different.  The food and language will be different.  The traditions will be different.  The medical conditions will be different.  My co-worker and translator will be different.  Challenges will be different.  Struggles will be different.  There is only one constant in my life.  My faith.  Our savior.  Our Father.  Our provider.  Our Lord.    

Faces

Sarah

Words won't accurately convey her spirit or the joy that she brought to so many people from around the world.  But, I must attempt to remember and honor her life.  She was a friend.  An encourager.  A witness.  Sarah was special and made an impact every single day.  Thank you God for her life.  For her heart.  It's odd that I feel like I lost a family member when I had known her for a little more than a year.  But that speaks of the person that she was and how she will be remembered.  She cared about people.  She cared about lives.  Regardless of how messy or how different from her own.  

Tears rolled down my cheek as I looked into the eyes of the girls at the Samaritan Trust orphanage after they were told of the accident.  Sarah loved the girls there and poured her heart out weekly spending time with them.  It wasn't unnatural, forced or fake.  It was genuine and authentic.  

As we said goodbye last week after church, we laughed together because Sarah wasn't quite ready to leave for Zimbabwe for a week and the details about leaving from Lusayo were a bit vague.  But that didn't bother her - she was incredibly spontaneous and incredibly patient.  Both of them were so balanced and laid back...if only we all could roll with the punches like they did.  I laughed and told her it would be fine.  She laughed and agreed.  

If I could have those final moments back, I would tell her this:

Thank you...
for showing me what it looks like to love authentically.
for showing me how to display the gospel without words. 
for showing me what it looks like to truly care about people and live intentionally 24/7.
for being a perfect example of a changed heart. 
for caring about me.
for showing me how to trust God with your whole heart.
for pushing me out of my comfort zone with youth group.
for encouraging me to get involved with Samaritan's and sharing joy with me there.
for the coffee every sunday morning, even when you were running late (every week).
for showing me patience - with your relationships, car trouble, and other frustrations of living away from home.
for laying down your life for Christ.  You live on in my heart and will be shared with others for all long as I live.

Thank you Sarah.  I miss you.

CURE blog

Part of my job is doing a special interest piece each month.  Last month, I reflected on the past year in Malawi.  It's now up on the CURE blog.  Check it.  Love you guys!

Take me to the blog 

There will be leftovers....of my dish

I signed up for green bean casserole for Thanksgiving dinner.  I don't know what came over me.  Drinks or bread would have been a much better choice.  But no, I decided to be brave.  Even after being forced to start cooking for myself in Malawi, I still lack skills in the kitchen.  Even a simple dish like green bean casserole has great potential to be absolutely awful.  When my housemate asked what dish that I volunteered to prepare, he actually laughed when I responded.  If you wanted to torture someone, I could sing while cooking for them.  Wrists would be slit.  

In my freshman art studio class, we had to display our final projects on the wall during our last day of class.  I quietly walked into the classroom, hung my painting with the others and walked out of the classroom.  I didn't stick around for the final class or the critique.  I didn't want anyone to know the ownership of my horrendous cluster of an attempt at Pointillism.  I imagined the class pointing and laughing at my piece.  They probably set it on fire while the instructor poured gas on it.  

I'm going to the do the same for our potluck Thanksgiving dinner (for fat americans and their friends).  I am going to put my dish down and walk away hastily without making eye contact with anyone.  When anyone asks what I contributed, I will start to answer then pretend to swat a mosquito off my leg (foolproof, this is Africa).  After the diversion, I will quickly change the subject to the increased annoyance of mosquitoes during rainy season.  

I've done lots of things that I'm not proud of....most of which involve food.  If you think I'm exaggerating, you should see me chopping an onion.  Tears, confusion, anger.  I recently learned that a bread knife is a real thing.  I'm not ashamed.  I don't want anything to do with cooking.  Or the kitchen.  I only go there if I must walk through it to get to other rooms in the house.    

His feet

I bet Jesus's feet hurt too.  I imagine that after a long day of walking in the heat and constantly being misunderstood, Jesus needed to get away and pray with the Father.  

You know the feeling when you literally stop caring about anything?  It's a combination of frustration and anger.  It pops up when things go south.  When our plans fail.  When things don't line up with our timing.  But Jesus knew what was perfect.  Jesus knew what was truly good.  How much more frustrating and discouraging would that be?  We think we know, but the truth is, we really don't have a clue.  We are terrible predictors of our own happiness and we refuse to believe it.

When I think I'm alone.  When I think that the God of the universe has left me to sort this thing out on my own.  When I think I'm too insignificant for him to care.  When I have doubts and my world seems to teeter on destruction of anything and eternal peace, I just think.....Jesus's feet hurt too.  He knows exactly where I am.