Dirty cards and a bit of cleaning...

Ha.  There is nothing like opening up a blank blog page and picking up the cuppa of tea only to take a sip and realize that there is more in the cup than tea, milk, and sugar.  Yes, I just managed to take a gulp of tea and bug.  Thankfully, I realized it quickly and spit it all out.

I no longer have a cup of tea to my left... but I do have a commitment to fill this blog page.  

I wrote out a near complete blog post on Saturday night.  My fingers were cracking and I was having fun putting it together.  But, I sorta of got distracted by a late night trip to the hospital.  

And I figure that that post needs a bit tweaking before I will hit publish in the right upper corner of the screen.  

And I can't wait for the tweaking of that post to unfold.  I have left you all in the dark LONG enough.  

The last weeks have run.  I still can't wrap my brain around the fact that it is September.  September?

But alas, it is September and I feel like the rest of the year is only going to run that much faster.  

On Friday afternoon, I met up with one of the young ladies that I have the privilege of walking life with.  It was report card day and after picking up her report card, I met her down the road in Kiwoko for a quick bite to eat.  We each ate traditional Ugandan food and chatted through her grades.  It was a rather simple discussion, but the fruit of having spent time together over the last months was evident.  As I was taking my last bites of steamed bananas, we had identified a very likely reason for her low grades and had somehow agreed on a plan of going forward. Shortly thereafter, we stopped by the local police station.  We had bumped into one of the local detectives at the restaurant and he told me I needed to stop by.  The reason?  Because my driving permits and credit/debit cards that had been stolen from my house months ago.. had been found out in the bush.  While most of my cards had been replaced, I was very thankful to find that my Indiana Driver's License, while very dirty, had been among the cards found.  

And so with dirty cards....but cards nonetheless in my wallet, I dropped off the young lady and returned back to New Hope.  I was just ahead of the rain and made it home to find my friend at my house bringing my laundry off the line.  The rain was coming and my clothes and bed linens were nearly dry.    Shortly after bringing them in and sitting down in the chairs in my living room, my friend and I sat and shared.  I'm thankful for opportunities to pour into and am equally thankful for those who pour into me.  Often it happens simultaneously.  

I think there is so much I can share.  I met up with little Ayeko a few weeks back.  He had a pretty important test... the last one before his final surgery would be scheduled.  I picked him, his dad, and grandpa up early on a Monday morning.  Almost as soon as the car door was shut, his dad let me know he was sick.  And he was!  Bless His precious heart.  I was so thankful that we were able to get the important medical test finished.  As soon as he was done with that, we hopped in the car and drove to the hospital.  There, blood work confirmed what was suspected.  His body had a very high malaria count.  The doctor in Kampala wanted to admit him right then and there.  But knowing,  I needed to get back to New Hope for work the following day and also that there is a good hospital a handful of kilometers away, we had the doctor document his needs and ensured that the first dose of malaria treatment and IV antibiotics were in and then hopped back int he car for the ride out to Kiwoko.  It is absolutely amazing what ONE day of medication and a whole lot of prayer can do for a little man.  

Prayerfully, his surgery will happen in the near future.  

It's been near full force back in the clinic.  Malaria seems to be in a quiet stretch right now... AMEN to that!  We've been seeing lots of coughs, colds, and body-aches.  There have been a few near broken bones and one young girl who SERIOUSLY and quite impressively BROKE her bone.  Her teacher brought her into the clinic and I wasn't sure if I was looking at her elbow dislocated or a bone in the wrong place.  Painful.  And broken.  In the end, she needed surgery to repair the badly broken bone.  A tough cookie  I don't think I would have been that brave... or strong.  

One of the things that I have been doing over the last handful of weeks is DEEP cleaning the clinic.  There are boxes of things from years past.  Old medical books, magazines, medical supplies long past their time, and a variety of medications.  Most of the medications and supplies are too old to be used.  And it is a process to sort through the stuff.  Mixed into a lot of that stuff are treasures.  Gauze pads can be resterilized. Things with one purpose can just as easily be used in a different way.   For example, I found multiple packs of laparotomy sponges.  Yes, at one time, they were graciously donated to the clinic.  The only problem is.... laparotomy sponges are used by a surgeon to soak up blood in huge operations.  Not so practical in our clinic.  BUT.... they are EXCELLENT dusting towels.  

All this cleaning has been good.  I have enjoyed organizing and sorting through things.  

This morning in church, I found myself paralleling the cleaning of the clinic to my own life.  This season, God has been opening the door of areas of my heart that I thought had already been sorted... and in some ways,  had already been organized.  But, what I've realized is that there is still plenty of stuff that needs to be cleared out.... and while it's not exactly what I would have put on my agenda, I'm realizing that there are pockets of treasures.  I've been able to sit and pour out my heart to Jesus more so in the last month of my life than I have in a LONG time.  Maybe that is why I've been a bit quiet on this blog.  My heart and soul have been writing novels to my Jesus.  Together we have looked at the things of old... the things I sorta of thought had been discarded ages ago.... and yet am realizing that bits have remained. 

And so, I'll keep cleaning that clinic.  I'll celebrate the treasures found and keep burning the things no longer usable.  And soon enough, the clinic will be that much more organized.  There will be that much more space for other things along the way.  The cleaning takes time.  It's a bit of work.  But it is good.  The end result is good.  And even the process in between is good.  

I have several pictures to make this blog a bit more interesting...BUT the internet is acting a fool and I can't seem to get my pictures from my phone to my computer.... let alone uploaded to this blog.  My temptation would be to wait... but instead, I'm going to hit send.  

I love you all.... am so thankful for you all... and am so blessed to have you along on the journey God has me here.  It is a gift to be where He has me. And it is a gift to know you all.  

Not a mistake....

I am on a mission.  

I've just written nearly a million emails...  ( :  

I'm making my list of things to do.  

I'm feeling VERY productive.  

The power has gone on and off several times.  

But as of right now, the power is on.  

The generator has since become quiet.  

I am wide awake.  Though, I best be heading to sleep sometime soon.  

I just wanted to hop on and let you all know that the 2 months time at the hospital are nearly finished.  

The 40 required days.... are now down to 2.  

I have been stretched in huge ways.  And my heart has been led.  

When the council told me that they were requiring me to complete 8 weeks in a hospital.... my heart was not so happy.  To be brutally honest, my pride took a hit.  And I just wasn't up for what I was being asked to do.  Some of it was practical.  Nursing training is so different here than there.  And I wasn't up for any more dying.  I felt like I was maxed out on it.  I  told God I couldn't do it. 

And after my heart calmed down, I heard His whisper.... His assurance that this was not a mistake.  

I let His whisper trickle VERY slowly down through my ears and into my soul.  

I am thankful for His patience.  

And I am smiling as I write.  It hasn't been all easy.  

I've held many hands.  Prayed with some.   Laughed with others.  And swallowed the lump in my throat on a good handful of others.  

Made strong connections with nurses and had to submit my ways of doing things to how things are done here.  There has been bending and there has been a few times where I have politely declined to bend.  

I've compressed the chest of a man a few years my junior and just recently compressed the chest of girl younger than my niece.  Neither survived.  

I held the hand of a man only known as unknown, unknown. I remember telling  him... God knows exactly who you are.  

God whispered to my heart that this was the way to go.  

And in His whisper, there was no guarantee that it would be easy.  

I felt maxed out on death... but I think that God knew I wasn't as maxed out as I thought I was.  

Maybe my recent journey's on the path of mourning allowed me to walk with others just beginning.  

As my time comes to an end, I can honestly say that I am thankful of the time. I know with a confidence that only comes from Him that these days were not a mistake... and honestly have been used by Him on a much larger scale.  

He is leading.  And I am following.  

And in less than 48 hours, I will wrap up my last day at the hospital and treat myself to a chocolate croissant.  

and I will Smile, not because it has all been peachy rosy dandy..... (quite the contrare)... but because I can truly say that my time wasn't a mistake.  

A few toy cars, a pounding chest, and walking.

Today has been a day of writing.
And chilling.
And writing.
And washing clothes.
And writing.

I think you get the point.

I can't believe that it has been nearly a month since I brought my fingers to the keyboard and written you all.  I am 3/4 of the way complete with my required time of working in a hospital in Kampala.

These last weeks have been an adventure... to say the least.

In the privacy of my heart, I am processing.

Tomorrow, I will start working on the pediatric ward.
I'll work one week in outpatient and one week on the inpatient ward.

And then my time at the hospital will officially be over.

My main focus these past 6 plus weeks has been my time at the hospital.

But separate from my time at the hospital I've had a few other things on my agenda.

One of those things has been this little lad.

Ayeko had an appointment with his surgeon a few weeks back.
Initially, he was a bit hesitant when I saw him.
I had brought along a few toy cars and before long he was playing with them.
When it came time to see the doctor, he burst into tears.
But, even as the tears rolled down his sweet face, he offered the doctor one of his toy cars.

A peace offering of sorts.

I believe that deep down within, Ayeko knows that he is being helped.

Ayeko will have one more test in the beginning of August and then God-willing will have his final surgery.  The intestines that are hanging out on the outside of his body will be tucked back within.  And God-willing this little lad will be able to go to the toilet without any problems.  

God-willing, this little one will have surgery in August.  

Separate from my time at the hospital I did a little drug shopping.  Drug shopping here is an adventure.  It's actually pretty simple.  Usually, I hop on the back of a motorcycle and head into the heart of Kampala.  I give a list of the meds I want and a short while later I walk out with the medications that I have ordered.  On this particular day, I ordered the drugs one day and they were delivered to me the following day.... in the parking lot of a gas station.  I just happened to bump into a friend just as the drug deal was about to go down.... so she snapped a picture.   The clinic is now well supplied.  

I had a week off halfway between my 8 weeks of time at the hospital.  It was planned before I knew I had to do it.  It was God's sweet grace.  What I didn't know... He did.  That week off was a breath of fresh air and time to just be.  Time to laugh. Time to be.  Time to absorb the beauty of creation.  

 And all I got to say is God is truly an artist.

After a week off, it was back to Kampala.  My next rotation was the Emergency Department.  I witnessed a lot during those two weeks.  There were many hands to hold, people to pray over, and IV's to start. I have decided that I would rather be shot than hit with a panga (Big knife) and I've seen both the fragility of life as well as the strength of the human body.  High blood pressures and low ones... and even a few with no palpable blood pressures.  Bloody wounds and wounds that had stopped bleeding.  I found myself wondering why I had never found my way down to working in an ER before.  I have to say that there was a part of my heart that really loved working in this area.  

You have to be quick on your toes and quick on your mind.  

taken from the internet

One of the significant moments during my time in the ER was when a young woman came into the ER.  She was struggling to breathe.   Really struggling.  We talked back and forth a bit.  Though she was mainly focusing on breathing.  Her vitals told us she was struggling.  Really struggling.  And she was.  The doctor stepped out of the room to talk with someone.  I remained.  And then I saw her head turn and a glazed look come over her face.  Her breathing changed.  And I knew.  She was leaving.  She was dying.  I called her name.  Ever so slowly she turned her head.  Our eyes locked... for just a brief moment.  I told her to stay with me.  But she didn't.  Within seconds, I was pounding her chest.  A rhythmic pounding.  We all worked her.  And yet she was gone.  Here one minute.  And gone the next.  

I've pounded a chest before.  But, somehow in light of my sister's recent passing.  I found my own heart pounding in a different sort of way.  I found myself thinking of  the young man who pounded my sister's chest.  Her dear friends who were by her side.  Did they call her name?  Did she look at them?  I have no doubt they called her name.  I would be even gutsy to say they probably yelled her name.  The family of the patient was there as we pounded their loved one's chest.  They watched on.  They too, weren't expecting this outcome.  But this outcome had come and where a young woman had been alive minutes earlier, she now lay lifeless.  We gave the family the time that they needed.  And then, we prepared the body.  

I don't believe it was an accident that I was on this side of things.  In some crazy way, working on this woman, was somehow healing for my own heart.  I can't explain it but only to say that it was somehow healing.  To stand by the momma and hold her.  To look at the older brother and extend my empathy.  To ever so gently and carefully wrap the body of a woman whose life had so many more miles to walk.  And yet, the harsh reality was that.... she didn't.  

So hard.  And yet somehow special.  Is that the word to use?!?  I have no idea.  

The phrase that comes to mind is beauty from ashes.  

And so, I'll keep holding the hands of patients, calling their name, and looking em in the eye.  

And tomorrow morning, I'll don my blue scrubs, hop on the back of a motorcycle, and begin the last two weeks of my working at a hospital.  

I'll keep trusting Him.  He knows the significance of these days.  And He knows the purpose.  

And I will keep resting in that.  

And I will keep walking where He leads me.  

And leaning into Him more and more.  

He truly is LIFE and for that I am so thankful.

Surely....

This week, it was bed seven.  I saw his vitals before I saw him.  A student nurse had taken the vitals earlier in the morning and what initially caught my attention was that his oxygen levels were a mere 77%.  77%.  That's barely passing.... but passing none the less in most academic worlds.  But in the medical world a 77% blood saturation is guaranteed to get you the attention of a lot of medical professionals.  And chances are really high that that attention will come rather quickly.  If you happen to be in the hospital, things will probably start moving fast.   If you aren't.... you will probably be helped to a hospital so that you can receive the urgent care that you need.  

A 77% blood oxygenation level tells the professional that the red blood cells in your body aren't carrying the oxygen as they should to the cells.  A normal level for the "normal" person is in the mid to high 90's..... and most are in the high 90's.  

And so when I saw that bed number 7's oxygen level the morning had been a mere 77%.... my radar went up. I grabbed the portable oximeter and found my way to his bed.  He was young.  Early to mid 20's.  What caught my attention was that his eyes were swollen shut.  Both of them.  And he was short of breath.  His levels were a bit more encouraging, but not by much.  

I could sit here and tell you the things that did happen.  

The scrambling to find a non-rebreather.... and an oxygen tank that could handle the amount of oxygen that he needed.  

How the power went out and for a short while there were two oxygen tanks with 3 patients needing active oxygen.  (I'm not sure what inactive oxygen is...)

I could tell you how desperately I wanted there to be an option of initiating a rapid response.  

I so wanted to get things moving.  In the way that I was taught.   

And how he continued to struggle in varying degrees throughout the day. 

And how shortly before my day on the ward was finished, his oxygen level dipped even lower.  He was now in the 60's.  His pulse into the 150's.  

My training and experience told me that this man was critically ill.  

And truth be told.... He was. 

All these details are part of his story.  

There are a lot of emotions that I felt.  

Frustration was one of them. 

A bit after 4, I was standing near him.  I started to pray for him.  I asked him if He knew Jesus.  He said He did.  I told him I was asking Jesus to heal him.  

And he responded to my words. "You are asking Jesus to heal me?" It was a mixture of a statement and a question.   "Yes, I looked him in the eyes.  I am"  The vulnerability is what has stayed with me.  His vulnerability.  

I have a strong feeling that He knew that He was dying.  

There were so many things that I wanted to do.  

But this is exactly where I am stuck.  

Because, I can't fully believe that the nurses on that ward wanted any different.  

Nurses, by nature, want to help.  

The responses were so different than what I wanted.  So different than what I expected.  

Surely, we could call the doctor. 

Surely, we could initiate a stronger medical response to this man who was actively dying.  

Surely... 

Surely... 

And yet, there didn't seem to be much surely going on.  

There didn't seem to be much of a response.  

And that is where my heart is digesting.  Thinking through.  Processing.  

Earlier this year when My sister's heart stopped beating.  There was a quick response.  A young man jumped into action and initiated CPR before the paramedics came.  First responders continued and doctor's took over at the hospital.   They worked hard on her... and for a long time.  

I am so thankful for the responses.  It would have been so much more difficult had my sister collapsed and that was it.  But I know that on a human level everything was done.  

And that made a difference in my heart.  

A huge difference.  

The surely's happened.  

And, yet my sister still died.  

The response was very different for the man in bed seven.  

And he also passed away.  Void of many of surely's.  

I wonder what it was like for his family.  

But maybe... and this is where it gets tricky... 

surely's did happen for him.  Just not my surely's...or what my training would say are surely's.  

Maybe just being in a hospital was a surely.  

Having the comfort of some oxygen was a surely.... 

Having doctor's look at him and come up with a plan.... 

Receiving medications...

Surely his family is devastated by the loss of their loved one... but maybe they are also thankful for the surely's that DID happen.  Just as I have been so broken by my sister's passing... I am thankful for the surely's that DID happen.  

I don't know.... but my thinking is being challenged.  

Some surely's I would politely argue should always be there.  I would be gutsy and say that not all the surely's that bed 7 deserved were there.  

There are a lot of subjective surely's in the world.  Some surely's are constant.

Constants that I am resting on today.  

God is in control.  He is the author of life.  He knows my frame.  And He remains good.

Tonight, I ask God to comfort the family of the patient that was in bed 7.

I ask Jesus to continue to comfort my sister's husband and children.

I ask Him to continue to comfort my own heart.

And I rest... because out of all the wavering surely's.... He remains surely.

And in His surely"ness" I rest.  All else is "un" surely"ness".  

He knows...

I don't know what the man in bed 5 was thinking.  For most of the day, he just lay there.  Still.  Calm. Not moving much.  I think most of the movement was from his eyes as they quietly took in the ebb and flow of life on a medical ward.  There was the near constant rumble of the the oxygen machine nearby.  For some unknown reason, it would alarm.  A cue to a passing nurse that the machine needed to be restarted.  There was the sliding of the medication box.  The crackle of the dispensing envelopes.  And not far away came the moaning of a man whose body was shutting down. 

And he lay.  

The doctors eventually made their way to his bed.  He was calm and quiet.  

But despite his wide eyes, his body slipped the secret.  

He had no palpable blood pressure.

The order came.  Give Normal Saline until a palpable blood pressure.  

He wasn't my patient.  I've been sorta of a gopher the last handful of days.  

Start an IV here.  Give this medication.  Draw blood on this patient.  

I heard about him.  And to be honest, I was a bit intrigued.  A non-detectable blood pressure?  And he was awake?

As I passed by his beds a good handful of times. I saw him.  Open eyed for the most part.  Simply observing.  Quiet.  

Shortly before 4 PM, I looked over and saw him trying to get up.  I went over to help him.  

Beads of sweat were gathered on his brow.  His arms were both clammy and cold.  His nail beds a dusky shade.  

None of those were good.  I asked a student nurse to get the blood sugar machine.  I grabbed the blood pressure cuff and oxygen tester.   

And has had been reported, I could not obtain a blood pressure.  I could neither hear nor see a fluctuation on the mercury as it slithered down from numbers over a hundred to ninety... to seventy... to sixty... to fifty.  There was a slight jump on the mercury near the forties.  That I could see... but I couldn't hear the sound to confirm what the mercury was showing me.  

The pulse ox machine didn't provide much more hope.  Due to his clammy skin and dusky nail beds, the machine struggled to pick up an oxygen level.  

His abdomen was both hard and swollen.  

And he wanted to get out of bed.

And I didn't want him to get out of bed.

And so in my very broken Luganda... I told him no.

Not enough oxygen, no palpable blood pressure, and a hard abdomen.... are all variables that can result in a catastrophe.

There were so many things that my training wanted me to do in that moment.

Drop a foley.
Put in another IV.
Hook him up the heart monitor.
Call a rapid response.
Get blood work STAT.
Put him on oxygen. Keep him in bed.
Put a tube down into his stomach.
Get the doctor bedside STAT.

The list could go on and on.

And yet the oxygen tank was in another room.  It was a massive tank... nearly as tall as myself.  There were no wheels and so it was brought over slowly slowly by a nurse.  The slowly slowly was mostly due to the huge size of the tank and the lack of wheels underneath it.

That tank didn't work.

Next a machine was brought over and plugged in.  I switched on the power and the tech switched on the machine.
Nothing.
The outlet wasn't working.

I mentioned to the nurse I was with that he hadn't urinated.

She told me they knew.

There was so much my training wanted to do... and yet, I didn't know how things were run here.

I asked if we could call the doctor.

I didn't get a response.

His family arrived.

The oxygen was finally connected.  The patient relaxed a bit.

The nurse I had been working with had gone downstairs to the other patients.

I found a lady wearing a doctor's coat at the nurses station.

I approached her and told her that the patient in bed five was not fine.

Gave her the information I had gathered.

She was gracious.  She was interested.  And she stood from where she was and walked over to bed five.

She took out her stethoscope.  She tapped his stomach.  And she assured me she would call the doctors who had worked on him earlier.  She would also find out what doctor was on call for the night.

I prayed with the man from bed five that night.  I put my hand on his clammy arm and prayed with him.  Over him.

And shortly after the lady in the white coat saw him, I left.

The man from bed five has been on my heart multiple times since.

And I've prayed.

And I've wondered.

Tomorrow, I'll hopefully find out what happened.

Was he taken to surgery?  to the ICU?  or did his body succumb to hours of no palpable blood pressure?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And tomorrow has come.   I returned back to the hospital that has my attention for the next near 8 weeks.  I had no sooner put my bag down when I was asked to help in the "last office" care of a patient.  Last office?  I had no idea what I was being asked to do.  Until someone clarified.  Someone had died and we needed to prepare the body.

And so I did.  I told the student nurse that I was working with that he was the chief.  He would tell me what to do.  Death is a universal reality, but the cultural realities surrounding death is super unique.

I asked what the "last office" stood for.  The student nurse I was working with had no idea.  He just smiled and giggled.  I was definitely curious, but didn't push it too much.  I just helped him with the "last office".  Delicate care of the an individual who has passed away preparing them for the morgue.  

And after the last office was complete, we put him on a trolley and prepared for his last ride.  The journey lasted about 5 minutes.  It was a somber journey that was slowed down both by respect and the bumps on the path.

We reached.  And we handed off this man to the gentlemen at the morgue.  The student nurse I was with signed the patient in.  And as he did, I saw the names of two different individuals that I had taken care of on Friday.

It was clear by his name entered into the morgue book that the man I had worked with from bed 5 on Friday had succumbed to the war raging on within his body.

I found myself staring at his name.

I didn't know him.  Only spoke broken Luganda with him.  Prayed over him.  Put my hand on his clammy arm.  Adjusted the oxygen on his face.  Asked the doctor at the nurses station to see him.

I talked with the nurse that was with him in the early hours of Saturday.

He had been well surrounded in his final moments.

I am thankful for that.

Did he know the presence of Jesus in those final moments?

I do not know.  But I can't help but rest in the character of my Jesus.

He knew this man.  To Him, he was not simply the man in bed 5.   He knew the things that brought this man joy.  He knew the pains of heart.  The things that he shard openly and the things that remained hidden in his heart.  He knew his family.  He knew the size of his feet and the exact number of hairs on his head.  He KNEW him.

He knew His frame.

He knows my frame.

And I'm clinging to that.  I'm clinging to that truth that God knows my frame as I interact with those around me.

As I hop on a motorcycle each day and head to a hospital and take care of patients.

As I get the privilege of doing things I didn't even know I missed.

Like bed baths, IV starts, and intense medical moments.

But God knows my frame.  And he knew I've been missing these things... even more than I did.

And as I see nursing done so differently than how I've been trained... He knows the struggles in my heart.

He knows my frame.

As I feel the stress of trusting Him with my needs after the recent break-in.

I can choose to rest.

He knows my frame.

When my heart is light and I know His joy.  I can celebrate.

He knows my frame.


He knows your frame.

He knows....

11.  For nas high as the heavens are above the earth,

so great is his osteadfast love toward pthose who fear him;

12  as far as the east is from the west,

so far does he qremove our transgressions from us.

13  As ra father shows compassion to his children,

so the Lord shows compassion pto those who fear him.

14  For he knows our frame;1

he sremembers that we are dust.

15  As for man, his days are like tgrass;

he flourishes like ua flower of the field;

16  for vthe wind passes over it, and wit is gone,

and xits place knows it no more.

17  But ythe steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on pthose who fear him,

Psalm 103

He knows...

The battle is already WON.

It often takes a bit before my soul and my fingers match up...and the words begin to flow.

Today, my struggle is a bit different.  

I don't really want to blog... I don't really want to say much.... 

My heart is feeling stretched... bruised..... worn down.....

And just as I woke up from a headache this afternoon.  My head pounding from the last few days, I pulled up my twitter account.  And there was Beth Moore announcing a new blog post.  

I scanned facebook.  Looked over my twitter feed.  Got lost in the daze of the internet.  

Nothing bad... but it's crazy how much time can be lost surfing the net.  

I have high respect for Beth.   Truth be Told, I would love to sit and have coffee (or tea) with her.  There are so many questions I would love to ask.  And who knows... maybe one day God will orchestrate.  Maybe not.  I'll leave that to Him.  

Social Media.  It's not bad.  But so often for me... it's a time filler.

  

I love so much about social media.  But somehow for today turning on social media was like taking a vitamin when what I really needed were some serious spiritual antibiotics.  

I mean I love you all.  And social media is the very thing that keeps most of us connected.  

Like I said... it's not bad.  But I do think there is some not so great in there as well.  

I am thankful that in God's sweet sovereignty I clicked on Beth's new blog post.  

And I read.  A message to those in their 30's and 40's.   

That's me.  A woman in her 30's.  (amazing how in so many ways, I feel like I"m still in my early 20's)  

And I read.  

Truth be told, I first skimmed the blog post. 

A short while later.... I slowed myself down and I READ the words.  

And have gone back to it multiple times since.  

And I felt both encouraged and kicked.  And if there was such a thing as good kicking... this was.  

A read that  truth be told initially left me scrambling for excuses...but thankfully His whisper won out.  

God's not about condemning.  

And I can't go by just feelings.  That is the exact reason I AM bringing fingers to the keyboard.  

The reason that I am sharing from my heart.   

Everything in me wants to keep quiet. 

But there is danger in that quietness.  

Danger in letting the excuses of life outweigh the whisper of my Jesus.  

There is even danger for me in turning to social media first before turning to my Jesus.   

Real danger.  

Yesterday afternoon, I came back from church and a quick tea with a friend.  I had spent much of the weekend preparing for an 8 week journey to the capital.  My suitcase was packed and I had just a few randoms things to do before I left.  

As I was finishing the dishes, I noticed dirt on the window sill.  And so, I grabbed a rag and started wiping it down... only to notice that there was a dent in the screen.  And even in that split second an uneasiness came over me.  I reached up and touched the screen.  Instead of meeting resistance, I was met with a giving out of the screen. 

My screen had been cut.  Enough for someone to crawl through.  

I just sorta of stopped in my tracks.  

I texted for help.  And before I knew it I was surrounded by friends.  

A few hours later a dog was brought.  An attempt to track the thief.  

Didn't happen.  

There were a few trips to the police station.  Reports to be filled.  Knowing that someone has been in my house is quite unsettling.   Having things stolen... also unsettling.  

And yesterday, as I stepped away for a few minutes.... I found myself saying out loud.  The victory already belongs to Jesus.  The battle is ALREADY won.  My feelings leave me feeling vulnerable, unsettled, unsure... but I can't rest on feelings.  

 Ephesians 6: 12

12 For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.

The truth is.  My God is with ME.  My God is personal.  He is actively involved and present both in the good and in the bad.  He is no less with me today than he was with me the day I found out my sister died.  Or the day that I held Ayeko after a life changing operation.  Or the moment I graduated nursing school.... or....... the list is endless.  

I want to keep walking.  And I will.  

Keep standing.  Keep leaning into Jesus. 

Truth be told, I need to be leaning into Jesus a WHOLE lot more than I am.  

I am encouraged by the words... and kicked in a good way with the areas of my heart that need to change.  

Because there are definitely areas of my heart that need to change.  

And areas of my heart that need to be encouraged by what I read today.  

There are new locks on my doors... and the windows have been screwed shut. 

And soon, I'll be drifting off to sleep. 

Tomorrow morning will be take two with the journey to the capital. 

Hopefully, I'll still feel the sting of the kick.  And the adrenaline of the encouragement.  

And I'll keep walking with Him and ALL that He has planned for me.  

He is good. SO SO good.  And I love Him.

PS.  Here is Beth's blog post if you would like to read her post.
 http://blog.lproof.org/2016/05/to-servants-of-jesus-in-your-30s-and-40s.html

Today.  

Well, it's currently the 6th of May. It's a few minutes past seven and I'm laying on my bed typing.  The power is out and there is only a faint bit of light crawling in from the other room.  Solar is set up in my main room... but hasn't quite been set up in my bedroom. I'm thankful for that light.  Without it, I would be fuffing with candles and flashlights.  Fuffing.  It's a new word I learned this week.  I am always up for a new word... but the problem is I don't always remember new words as I should.  This week I texted my friend thinking I was using the proper British word for something... only to realize I had totally messed it up.  Instead of communicating something nicely.... I was actually communicating it a bit rawly.  So thankful for grace, good laughs, and more grace....and more laughs.    But, one thing I am pretty sure about is the word Fuffing  Not fluffing or faffing... but fuffing.  Shoot, maybe it should be faffing.  Now, I am not so sure.  

And I've probably lost a few... literally.  

It has been a week.  I come to the end of this week feeling stretched and stretched some more.  

I feel like I could write a novel and yet, I keep deleting the words.  

Today, my friend and I went into Kampala.  The plan was to do a whole lot of "fuffing"... aka chilling.  Being.  

It's what I needed to today.  Exhaling, Inhaling, and just being.  

We had a fun breakfast... picked up a stroller for a friend who just welcomed a baby into her home... and did a little shopping.  

As we were coming out of one store, we saw 3 helicopters zooming around in the sky.  One turned on it's side.  It was odd.  People were looking up.  There wasn't fear in the air, but there was an awareness that people were observing... and wondering.  

Then as the helicopters were seen flying, police sirens further broke the air.  

Weird.  A bit unnerving.  

But just as quick as that happened, we continued on with our day.  

We went into the grocery store and started picking up things we needed (and truth be told a few goodies I didn't need...)     And then, without much warning there were loud noises heard.  Sounds of planes much too close.  And heard again.  And heard again.  

They were fighter jets.  

It was a moment where you stop.  And you suddenly feel small.  And a bit unsafe.  

And then it was over.  

The President is being sworn in next week and the military wants to show their power to the opposition.  Well, if they didn't succeed with the opposition, I must say that they did a good job showing their power to the general public.  

Yep, I think I will be staying in the bush next week.  

The moody power and internet is a welcomed thing.  As are the sound of the bugs greeting the night.  And the sound of children playing.  

Yes, I'll keep faffing.  

I'll keep being in what He has for me. 

My heart is feeling a bit discouraged.  A bit raw.  Feeling like I'm being stretched.  

So wanting to know the Power of my Jesus as He stands against my opposition.

I want to lean into Him and I want to faff with Him.  I want to chill.  To be.  To rest.  

With My Jesus.  

Ahhhh even in the stretching times... I love that there is so much in life to smile about.  

Like the creativity of words.  And the beauty of the sun peeking up over the horizon.  

And in the bumps of a road that is more bumps than dirt.