I was in Victoria this last week, and one morning run took me down a cement barge and down to the lighthouse. The wind was strong that day, and waves crashed into the barrier and sent spray up and over the edge. One one side the sea raged, on the other the harbour was calm. Few of us made it to the end, and those who did arrived soaking wet.
The next day, my mom and I tried it again. But that day, the winds were even stronger. The waves were even higher. The danger was even greater. We were saturated by the waves, and battered by the winds. We did not make it all the way to the lighthouse. In consideration of safety, we had to turn back. I saw no one make it to the lighthouse that day.
It struck me, as we were heading back into the howling wind, fighting to stay on course, that sometimes, the only way to stay upright and on course is to walk into the storm. Thus far, it is a literal observation, but I am filing it away for when I will need it figuratively.
Monday, 27 December 2010
Saturday, 11 December 2010
Painkillers
Painkillers are standard fare when a person becomes a palliative care patient. The number one priority in end of life care is to keep that person free of physical pain. Around the clock, the medicine does its job; though it doesn't stop the pain from actually occurring, it does stop the brain's ability to recognize that pain. There are other benefits that the drugs provide. In post-operative care, providing pain control theoretically helps a body to recover more quickly. And, for any paitient, being pain free helps to improve a person's sense of their quality of life and in doing so can provide people with mental strength as well. In some cases, a dying person regains resolve and a will to live.
With all the benefits, there are also risks. Pain killers slow down metabolisms, making it difficult for the body to rid itself of waste, and also allowing the medication to build itself up in the body. This means that blood levels must be monitored, as too much can lead to overdose and death. "What does that matter to a dying person?", you may ask. Well, a lot of dying people don't want to die, they just want to be pain free, and to live in that state as long as they can. Painkillers also slow down the Central Nervous System, which slows heart rate and breathing rates, cause fatigue, may cause hallucinations, and can also slow down thought processing. Emotions become numb. So though the benefits can be great, so can be the risks.
But, as we know, there are different kinds of pain. Pain of the heart and mind does not find relief from painkillers**, though addictions to them may mask the symptoms. Many painkillers of this kind are not pharmaceutical at all, but are behaviours and habits one has acquired to block out pain. Examples of such are getting submerged in work and other obligations; countless hours of television, video games, reading, or internet; withdrawing from life; over-participating in life; food addictions; emotional numbness; emotional walls; and an overemphasis of trying to just be "normal". Dealing with it and moving on, but skipping the deal with it part.
Sometimes these mechanisms are used to pass a little time. Then, when the wound isn't so fresh, we can go back and attend to it. But often this is not the intent. Often we kill pain with the hope that it will go away permanently and we will never have to experience it again. The problem is that no matter how many pretty flowers and new sod we put on top of that churned up dirt, roots of old will poke through somewhere, sometime, somehow.
There are too many kinds of pain, and too many kinds of possibilities of what that pain can do to go into things. I am not a pain expert, though I have great experience in certain kinds. But it really struck me how it is such a goal of our culture to be "pain free". Is there such a thing? Is it a healthy thing if it is? And is pain really the worst thing in the world, when in its terrible way it is a direct side effect of love lost? I am going to be bold enough to suggest that happiness is not just an absence of pain, as I'm sure joy is not. It bubbles from a different place. But in choosing to feel at all, in wanting to feel all the good that we sometimes so desperately must, it is impossible to block out the sorrow that rushes from underground.
In summary, if I choose to experience life, I must let myself feel. Painkillers are not meant to be permanent for someone who has a lot of living left to do. If I let myself feel, I can't control what I get to feel. There are some deep rivers of sorrow under the same ground that the springs of delight bubble up from. If I numb myself from the pain, I numb myself from all of that too. Part of healing is hurting. Sometimes a deeper hurt that I would have ever thought was possible a few months ago. I would give or do anything I can think of if it was possible to return what I have lost. But since I can't, I must learn to love life without him. And so I must feel, and so I must hurt. And so I must heal.
**(Please note some illnesses, like depression and bipolar disorder for example, can respond to anti-depressant medications enough to evert crisis and give an individual a chance at wellness. If you may have one of these illnesses, please give it a shot. You've got a lot to lose).
With all the benefits, there are also risks. Pain killers slow down metabolisms, making it difficult for the body to rid itself of waste, and also allowing the medication to build itself up in the body. This means that blood levels must be monitored, as too much can lead to overdose and death. "What does that matter to a dying person?", you may ask. Well, a lot of dying people don't want to die, they just want to be pain free, and to live in that state as long as they can. Painkillers also slow down the Central Nervous System, which slows heart rate and breathing rates, cause fatigue, may cause hallucinations, and can also slow down thought processing. Emotions become numb. So though the benefits can be great, so can be the risks.
But, as we know, there are different kinds of pain. Pain of the heart and mind does not find relief from painkillers**, though addictions to them may mask the symptoms. Many painkillers of this kind are not pharmaceutical at all, but are behaviours and habits one has acquired to block out pain. Examples of such are getting submerged in work and other obligations; countless hours of television, video games, reading, or internet; withdrawing from life; over-participating in life; food addictions; emotional numbness; emotional walls; and an overemphasis of trying to just be "normal". Dealing with it and moving on, but skipping the deal with it part.
Sometimes these mechanisms are used to pass a little time. Then, when the wound isn't so fresh, we can go back and attend to it. But often this is not the intent. Often we kill pain with the hope that it will go away permanently and we will never have to experience it again. The problem is that no matter how many pretty flowers and new sod we put on top of that churned up dirt, roots of old will poke through somewhere, sometime, somehow.
There are too many kinds of pain, and too many kinds of possibilities of what that pain can do to go into things. I am not a pain expert, though I have great experience in certain kinds. But it really struck me how it is such a goal of our culture to be "pain free". Is there such a thing? Is it a healthy thing if it is? And is pain really the worst thing in the world, when in its terrible way it is a direct side effect of love lost? I am going to be bold enough to suggest that happiness is not just an absence of pain, as I'm sure joy is not. It bubbles from a different place. But in choosing to feel at all, in wanting to feel all the good that we sometimes so desperately must, it is impossible to block out the sorrow that rushes from underground.
In summary, if I choose to experience life, I must let myself feel. Painkillers are not meant to be permanent for someone who has a lot of living left to do. If I let myself feel, I can't control what I get to feel. There are some deep rivers of sorrow under the same ground that the springs of delight bubble up from. If I numb myself from the pain, I numb myself from all of that too. Part of healing is hurting. Sometimes a deeper hurt that I would have ever thought was possible a few months ago. I would give or do anything I can think of if it was possible to return what I have lost. But since I can't, I must learn to love life without him. And so I must feel, and so I must hurt. And so I must heal.
**(Please note some illnesses, like depression and bipolar disorder for example, can respond to anti-depressant medications enough to evert crisis and give an individual a chance at wellness. If you may have one of these illnesses, please give it a shot. You've got a lot to lose).
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
Some highlights of the days
Though I've been out of Doroji 6 weeks and out of Africa over a month, tonight - as I often do - I'm thinking about it. So here are some of the memories that are surfacing. By no means is it a complete list.
Laughter:
- Watching our adult male students act out the part of the mother during the childbirth classes - complete with sound effects! Oh the days I wish my camera was in class :) This is only one of many reasons that I loved being in class every day.
- Ridiculous laughter over language and culture with a friend while on vacation in Kurmuk. Good for the soul :)
Wildest missions:
- Being a part of a rescue effort when one of our team members lost their phone... in the latrine. Check out Amelia Jane's "crap phone" post for more details.
- Shoveling dirt and gravel and being a wheelbarrow mama. Being complemented for my efforts like this "you're like a man". Ummm... thanks?
Favourite Journeys:
- Heading out to Gasmala with Kata. Hanging out with the women there and reuniting with old friends. Even sleeping in the goat pee bed.
- Going on outreach with the guys. Love the conversations we could have while walking together. Love the adventure of trekking through the bush. Love watching them grow with each time we went out.
- Vacationing in Kurmuk to reunite with friends I hadn't seen for 11 years, and the love and fellowship we shared that week.
Favourite TV show
- Definitely the "Scottish Hour" over lunch for those few weeks in June/July. It could be prime time programming. Can I just say that 6 Scots in one place is really fun to watch. Witty banter galore.
Favourite Food
- Anything with K3. Can I just say - you guys are the bomb! Foundation and Development, Julie Cakes, P-31, and Kev (why didn't you get a nickname?). I'd eat dinner with you guys any day of the week. Hey wait - we did that! Inside and outside of the kitchen, I miss you loads. The atmosphere, the candles, the creativity, and even Sudan's greatest playlist on ipod. Sensational.
- And - I really like Sudanese food too. A lot. I especially like the fellowship and the unity that takes place around sharing a table. I miss sorghum. And coffee.
Remembering the deepest parts of mankind.
- Faith and love are deeper than culture. Take my word for it; they just are.
Favourite Sport to watch.
- CHW vs. Khawadjia football (soccer) match. Maybe my favourite sport to watch ever. Remind me, who won again? Oh, yeah ;) GO CHW's GO! From then until forever, I pray that you will play your best and work together and go strong. GO CHW's GO!
- And I really enjoyed watching World Cup Soccer in Bunj. I was going to tell someone about it today, but felt like it would be bragging. Seriously, how cool is that?
Favourite critter stories:
- The 4 scorpions in one night with Jo. We tag teamed that pretty good, I'd say.
- "Cake! Cake! Cake!"
- The narrow miss with the night adder.
- Finding wild... hedgehogs. One was stuck in a bag of coconut and his quills wouldn't let him pull himself back out. It got rescued.
Favourite Routine things I don't do here:
- Bucket shower under the stars. Sigh. It's fantastic.
- Floss my teeth outside under a multitude of stars.
- Take 3 hours to make dinner.
There's so much more, but it's time for bed now. It's good to remember; I don't want to forget.
Laughter:
- Watching our adult male students act out the part of the mother during the childbirth classes - complete with sound effects! Oh the days I wish my camera was in class :) This is only one of many reasons that I loved being in class every day.
- Ridiculous laughter over language and culture with a friend while on vacation in Kurmuk. Good for the soul :)
Wildest missions:
- Being a part of a rescue effort when one of our team members lost their phone... in the latrine. Check out Amelia Jane's "crap phone" post for more details.
- Shoveling dirt and gravel and being a wheelbarrow mama. Being complemented for my efforts like this "you're like a man". Ummm... thanks?
Favourite Journeys:
- Heading out to Gasmala with Kata. Hanging out with the women there and reuniting with old friends. Even sleeping in the goat pee bed.
- Going on outreach with the guys. Love the conversations we could have while walking together. Love the adventure of trekking through the bush. Love watching them grow with each time we went out.
- Vacationing in Kurmuk to reunite with friends I hadn't seen for 11 years, and the love and fellowship we shared that week.
Favourite TV show
- Definitely the "Scottish Hour" over lunch for those few weeks in June/July. It could be prime time programming. Can I just say that 6 Scots in one place is really fun to watch. Witty banter galore.
Favourite Food
- Anything with K3. Can I just say - you guys are the bomb! Foundation and Development, Julie Cakes, P-31, and Kev (why didn't you get a nickname?). I'd eat dinner with you guys any day of the week. Hey wait - we did that! Inside and outside of the kitchen, I miss you loads. The atmosphere, the candles, the creativity, and even Sudan's greatest playlist on ipod. Sensational.
- And - I really like Sudanese food too. A lot. I especially like the fellowship and the unity that takes place around sharing a table. I miss sorghum. And coffee.
Remembering the deepest parts of mankind.
- Faith and love are deeper than culture. Take my word for it; they just are.
Favourite Sport to watch.
- CHW vs. Khawadjia football (soccer) match. Maybe my favourite sport to watch ever. Remind me, who won again? Oh, yeah ;) GO CHW's GO! From then until forever, I pray that you will play your best and work together and go strong. GO CHW's GO!
- And I really enjoyed watching World Cup Soccer in Bunj. I was going to tell someone about it today, but felt like it would be bragging. Seriously, how cool is that?
Favourite critter stories:
- The 4 scorpions in one night with Jo. We tag teamed that pretty good, I'd say.
- "Cake! Cake! Cake!"
- The narrow miss with the night adder.
- Finding wild... hedgehogs. One was stuck in a bag of coconut and his quills wouldn't let him pull himself back out. It got rescued.
Favourite Routine things I don't do here:
- Bucket shower under the stars. Sigh. It's fantastic.
- Floss my teeth outside under a multitude of stars.
- Take 3 hours to make dinner.
There's so much more, but it's time for bed now. It's good to remember; I don't want to forget.
Monday, 6 September 2010
The big dipper
I saw you tonight for the first time in a while. Standing out in the sky, your tail pointing West and the stars of the spoon making a straight line to Polaris. For the first time in a while, I knew where I was for sure. You were familiar again, in that from-of-old sort of way. Familiar in the way that I don't need to think about you, I just know you. Like when you're reading something in your own language and you don't have to sound out the word, you just know what it says. I didn't have to piece together your stars, you just appeared in that familiar composition and I recognized you without effort. Did you know, that wherever in the world that I am, I always try to find you? You are a tangible piece of evidence that makes my present real.
Months ago I searched to find you, and there you were. Perched on the horizon, upside down, Polaris dropped somewhere off the edge of the cliff of that is the sky. I can easily recognize you in that state now too. I have for a while. I remember the first time I saw you upside down - for literally months you had been just in front of me and I had no idea. On the verge of returning to my home country, there you were... something that links different parts of my world together. You had been there the whole time. If I had saw you there first, I would have thought that you were upside down here, and not there. It's just perception, that's all.
I'm in the city now, and have lost you again. Most of the time, I don't even know that I miss you. I don't even know that I miss me; that part of me that grew up with you in a brilliant starry sky that had little competition from man-made lights, and other parts of me that aren't a part of life here these days. In the place I am now, I just need to believe that you exist. There is scarce evidence downtown. But I can picture you easily, both ways, upside right and upside down (either could be either), because I've seen you both ways. I know you both ways.
When I came to the city I knew I would be giving you up for a while, that my faith would have to be deeper than sight to remember you. And in Africa I knew that too, in subsequent visits to the continent - that I would be seeing you from a different point of view. Yet you bring me comfort and contentment in these places. In a world of change and places and whirlwinds, you make me feel like I'm home. You remind me of Someone I know. And I know that though you were not made just for me, that part of His plan in creating you was to remind me of Him in whose image I am made and whose beauty you reflect. Between clouds and city lights, I won't see you tonight, but someone will. And I will continue on believing that you are there.
Months ago I searched to find you, and there you were. Perched on the horizon, upside down, Polaris dropped somewhere off the edge of the cliff of that is the sky. I can easily recognize you in that state now too. I have for a while. I remember the first time I saw you upside down - for literally months you had been just in front of me and I had no idea. On the verge of returning to my home country, there you were... something that links different parts of my world together. You had been there the whole time. If I had saw you there first, I would have thought that you were upside down here, and not there. It's just perception, that's all.
I'm in the city now, and have lost you again. Most of the time, I don't even know that I miss you. I don't even know that I miss me; that part of me that grew up with you in a brilliant starry sky that had little competition from man-made lights, and other parts of me that aren't a part of life here these days. In the place I am now, I just need to believe that you exist. There is scarce evidence downtown. But I can picture you easily, both ways, upside right and upside down (either could be either), because I've seen you both ways. I know you both ways.
When I came to the city I knew I would be giving you up for a while, that my faith would have to be deeper than sight to remember you. And in Africa I knew that too, in subsequent visits to the continent - that I would be seeing you from a different point of view. Yet you bring me comfort and contentment in these places. In a world of change and places and whirlwinds, you make me feel like I'm home. You remind me of Someone I know. And I know that though you were not made just for me, that part of His plan in creating you was to remind me of Him in whose image I am made and whose beauty you reflect. Between clouds and city lights, I won't see you tonight, but someone will. And I will continue on believing that you are there.
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
Here Now
Tonight I write to you hearing the rain fall on the tin roofed building I am in. My time in the Sudan is coming rapidly to a close. There are things ahead that signal that the inevitable is impending. The last class to teach. A special dinner together. Visiting to do. Packing looms on the sidelines as the candle burns at both ends to try and buy time. Here. Now.
I am here now. That is the thought that penetrates all of the leaving. Here and thankful. Glad for this season. Doing my best to live fully in the midst of it. Not wanting to miss a thing of the goodness in this place; the students in the class; the people in the village; the friends on the base. Soon I will fast from all of these things, and so now I am feasting.
The only problem is that I’m not sure how it is possible to live fully in the present without somehow stealing anticipation from the future.
My sister is the greatest anticipator of the future that I have ever met. She is constantly looking ahead, delighting in what is going to unfold. Several times a year, life is like Christmas morning for her as she loses sleep going over and over in her mind the impending wonderful.
Me? I can't remember the last time I lost sleep from wonder. And objectively, looking both back on my life and ahead to what waits, there are a lot of reasons. The Bible also discusses these things with some clarity. Live fully in the present (Psalm 118:24). Anticipate heaven (1 Peter 1:3-5). What God has planned for my future is good (Jeremiah 29:11, Romans 8:28). I am not saying that an emotion of giddiness must accompany thoughts about the future. But I am asking you to consider - when you think about the future, do you let yourself anticipate what God is working out in your life? Do you have a hope for the future that you let yourself feel?
Time has passed and now I am finishing this post in Nairobi. Thankful for the days in Doroji that, by grace, were mostly well lived and well loved. In the last days of my time there, in the whirlwind of goodbyes and moving on, lack of sleep and a floods of both numbness and emotion, something happened. From no understanding of my own, leaving the land of my heart for a calculated choice of will, I felt it: a flicker of excitement for what lies ahead, whatever it is. Surprisingly this butterfly of anticipation did not rob from the present. It was enveloped in the peace of God assuring me that I was exactly where I need to be. Right here. Right now.
I am here now. That is the thought that penetrates all of the leaving. Here and thankful. Glad for this season. Doing my best to live fully in the midst of it. Not wanting to miss a thing of the goodness in this place; the students in the class; the people in the village; the friends on the base. Soon I will fast from all of these things, and so now I am feasting.
The only problem is that I’m not sure how it is possible to live fully in the present without somehow stealing anticipation from the future.
My sister is the greatest anticipator of the future that I have ever met. She is constantly looking ahead, delighting in what is going to unfold. Several times a year, life is like Christmas morning for her as she loses sleep going over and over in her mind the impending wonderful.
Me? I can't remember the last time I lost sleep from wonder. And objectively, looking both back on my life and ahead to what waits, there are a lot of reasons. The Bible also discusses these things with some clarity. Live fully in the present (Psalm 118:24). Anticipate heaven (1 Peter 1:3-5). What God has planned for my future is good (Jeremiah 29:11, Romans 8:28). I am not saying that an emotion of giddiness must accompany thoughts about the future. But I am asking you to consider - when you think about the future, do you let yourself anticipate what God is working out in your life? Do you have a hope for the future that you let yourself feel?
Time has passed and now I am finishing this post in Nairobi. Thankful for the days in Doroji that, by grace, were mostly well lived and well loved. In the last days of my time there, in the whirlwind of goodbyes and moving on, lack of sleep and a floods of both numbness and emotion, something happened. From no understanding of my own, leaving the land of my heart for a calculated choice of will, I felt it: a flicker of excitement for what lies ahead, whatever it is. Surprisingly this butterfly of anticipation did not rob from the present. It was enveloped in the peace of God assuring me that I was exactly where I need to be. Right here. Right now.
Friday, 6 August 2010
In Transition
Doroji is a place of change. Every couple of weeks, a plane lands. This plane carries goods and people into our isolated world here, and with each person that arrives, life here changes a little bit. Senses of humour arrive and make us smile more. Encouragers disembark and build us up. Servant-hearted people find their way into nooks and crannies that the rest of us didn’t even think about before. Life steps down off of the steps and reminds us to drink deep of the well that is around us. Every soul that comes brings us something new.
Inevitably, the plane leaves again. It carries with it people whose attributes are dearly missed. The peaceful one who brought calmness with their presence. The organized one who made life smoother for everyone. The joyful ones who are always happy to see you, no matter what kind of day you had and no matter how you are feeling about yourself and the rest of the world. Friendship and kindness fly away to a new place that they need to be for a while. Though many of these people return at sometime, Doroji is transitional enough that it is unlikely that the group that sits here tonight as I write will gather together again in one place again this side of heaven after the next plane has come and gone.
I think this is a parody of life. This week, a figurative plane took off in the passing away of someone that I love. All of his attributes that I could list I will sum up by saying that I was always glad when he was there, and always sorry to see him go. When he was there, our family laughed more, relaxed more, enjoyed more. What I know for sure is that the only way it hurts when someone is gone is because we loved them, and as hard as it is to see that plane fly we are so glad that it landed in the first place.
Literally, my plane will take off from Doroji soon and transition me back to another world. Whatever it is that I have brought here for this season will return with me, and only memories of it will remain. I hope that the flower that I have planted in this place will offer blossoms and fruit long after my plane has landed somewhere new. And though the journey my uncle has taken now is not one he will return from, I am sure that this earth is richer because he walked among us for a while. Goodbye dear Uncle Bob. We will miss you because we loved you.
Inevitably, the plane leaves again. It carries with it people whose attributes are dearly missed. The peaceful one who brought calmness with their presence. The organized one who made life smoother for everyone. The joyful ones who are always happy to see you, no matter what kind of day you had and no matter how you are feeling about yourself and the rest of the world. Friendship and kindness fly away to a new place that they need to be for a while. Though many of these people return at sometime, Doroji is transitional enough that it is unlikely that the group that sits here tonight as I write will gather together again in one place again this side of heaven after the next plane has come and gone.
I think this is a parody of life. This week, a figurative plane took off in the passing away of someone that I love. All of his attributes that I could list I will sum up by saying that I was always glad when he was there, and always sorry to see him go. When he was there, our family laughed more, relaxed more, enjoyed more. What I know for sure is that the only way it hurts when someone is gone is because we loved them, and as hard as it is to see that plane fly we are so glad that it landed in the first place.
Literally, my plane will take off from Doroji soon and transition me back to another world. Whatever it is that I have brought here for this season will return with me, and only memories of it will remain. I hope that the flower that I have planted in this place will offer blossoms and fruit long after my plane has landed somewhere new. And though the journey my uncle has taken now is not one he will return from, I am sure that this earth is richer because he walked among us for a while. Goodbye dear Uncle Bob. We will miss you because we loved you.
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Things that rhyme
Snake protocol says that if you see a snake, you are to keep your eye on it, yell "SNAKE!", and somebody else is to come running with a stick and kill it.
So yesterday, in the middle of rainstorm, one of the missionaries had a night adder in her house (now confirmed to be the same kind of snake I saw on the June 7th post). Our houses are side by side, so I was the only one to hear her yell "SNAKE!". I ran out into the rainstorm towards the dining hall where I knew that 4 others were who I thought would be more adept at snake killing than I am.
"SNAKE!" No response. I ran closer.
"SNAKE!" Again, no response. My tone became more urgent.
"SNAKE! SNAKE! SNAKE!"
Finally they came running out of the dining hall, sticks in hand, and came into the tukl to kill the snake.
So nobody was hurt, the snake was killed, and life went back to normal.
But why the delay? One of the girls explained it to me.
"We thought you were yelling 'CAKE!'"
It's true... We do eat more cake here than we see snakes.
So yesterday, in the middle of rainstorm, one of the missionaries had a night adder in her house (now confirmed to be the same kind of snake I saw on the June 7th post). Our houses are side by side, so I was the only one to hear her yell "SNAKE!". I ran out into the rainstorm towards the dining hall where I knew that 4 others were who I thought would be more adept at snake killing than I am.
"SNAKE!" No response. I ran closer.
"SNAKE!" Again, no response. My tone became more urgent.
"SNAKE! SNAKE! SNAKE!"
Finally they came running out of the dining hall, sticks in hand, and came into the tukl to kill the snake.
So nobody was hurt, the snake was killed, and life went back to normal.
But why the delay? One of the girls explained it to me.
"We thought you were yelling 'CAKE!'"
It's true... We do eat more cake here than we see snakes.
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