visas-check!
amazing. miracle. should have been impossible, but here we are, waiting for our flight.
an opportunity has presented itself for those who would like to give towards med supplies in the stan. there is a great need, meds are available, just not for those who most need it.
you can send me an email if you are interested and i can write you!
thanks for all the asking. we are off.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
sleepless in sydney
hey guys. we are running into barriers here in sydney as far as visas go. if you think of it, take this one to dad. to him be all the glory!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
pakistan. yes, i have responsibility.
i have read a very unsettling article. all i can ask is "where are those who fear the L*rd?" and then I realize, that I am here, in Australia, numb and separate from a disaster that the body of C*rist should be at the forefront at.
thank you bbc.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/8965711.stm
When covering disasters, reporters can face the ethical question of whether they should help, or remain detached. When is it right for a journalist to help a weak and possibly dying baby?
Sometimes the scale of a tragedy is so vast, it is hard to comprehend.
It was a difficult birth, by the roadside, with no-one to help
Eight million people in Pakistan are homeless and hungry. Sometimes it takes just one to make it all seem real.
That is how I felt in Sukkur 10 days ago. Overwhelmed.
People were flowing into the city at a ferocious pace, a ragged river of humanity, with shocked faces and frightened eyes.
They were fleeing on trucks, donkey carts, bicycles and on foot, clutching whatever was precious - electric fans, bedding, pots and pans, chickens and goats. Behind them, a great sinister mass of floodwater was pouring in.
Tiny scrap
Sukkur itself was overflowing with families, along the roadside, on river banks, on every patch of open ground.
The heat was unbearable but they had no shelter.
When our car pulled up, they ran to it, flattened their faces against the windows, begged for food, for water, for help.
When I got out and started to record interviews, people pressed round.
Then, in all the noise and heat and smell, someone told me about a baby, born by the roadside, and led me off to see.
She was a tiny scrap, silent and still amid the clamour.
She was lying motionless on her back, on a small mat under a tree. Flies were thick round her face. The passing traffic was just feet away.
I see my job as to bear witness in a tragedy and to report - but not to interfere
Her skin was almost translucent, her head smaller than my palm, balanced in a faded china saucer, propped up against a stone. Her eyes were closed and lifeless.
I thought at first that she was dead. Her young mother seemed vacant with shock. She had had a difficult birth, there on the road, with no-one to help.
Now she sat beside her baby, looking dazed. The baby was not feeding, she said. She had not seen a doctor. She did not know where to find one.
I went down the road to a chaotic emergency clinic and interviewed a doctor there who promised to go and help. Then I went back to the hotel to work on a different report.
Metaphor for suffering
The following day, I was busy chasing more stories, but on the way back to the hotel in the early evening, I stopped off at the roadside, with some trepidation.
It seemed very likely that the baby would not have survived. But she had.
She was weak, but whimpering now and trying to move.
As the flood crisis continues, millions face an uncertain future
The doctor had visited and whatever he had done seemed to have made all the difference. Her mother had just named her Samina. Suddenly she had a name and a hold on life.
That evening I was elated. In all that misery and heat and exhaustion, I felt boosted by the thought I had helped someone, perhaps even played a part in saving a life. It eased my sense of guilt and helplessness.
The report I filed on baby Samina met with a tremendous response. Suddenly she seemed to be a metaphor for the general suffering.
I was contacted by friends and colleagues and complete strangers.
An international agency got in touch, offering to help the family. Baby Samina was becoming, unwittingly, a poster girl for the floods.
In some ways, that is wonderful. But it also made me feel very uncomfortable.
I see my job as to bear witness in a tragedy and to report - but not to interfere. I had urged that doctor to treat baby Samina.
He may have saved her, but was it at the expense of another patient? Is it unethical to attract resources to one family, when millions of others may be equally deserving?
Hope and disappointment
This week I went back to Sukkur to do a second report on Samina.
Her family has a tent inside a camp now - tent number 59 - with a supply of food and clean water.
Samina seems stronger. She is lying on a pile of embroidered cushions, instead of the ground, wriggling and yawning.
Her mother's health, too, seems much better. The family's future is still uncertain, but the immediate crisis is past.
Maybe I should stop there, with a happy ending that makes us all feel hopeful, but as I walked away from Samina's family, someone tugged at my sleeve.
She led me to a tent nearby where another young woman had just given birth, a day or two earlier.
Her relatives lifted a cover to show a tiny, wrinkled newborn.
The women turned to me, eager and expectant, as if they were thinking now this foreigner will help our child too.
They looked disappointed when all I could do was to say thank you, congratulate them and then turn to leave.
so guys, now what? CBC world news predicts that 500,000 women are pregnant and in need of medical help.
thank you bbc.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/8965711.stm
When covering disasters, reporters can face the ethical question of whether they should help, or remain detached. When is it right for a journalist to help a weak and possibly dying baby?
Sometimes the scale of a tragedy is so vast, it is hard to comprehend.
It was a difficult birth, by the roadside, with no-one to help
Eight million people in Pakistan are homeless and hungry. Sometimes it takes just one to make it all seem real.
That is how I felt in Sukkur 10 days ago. Overwhelmed.
People were flowing into the city at a ferocious pace, a ragged river of humanity, with shocked faces and frightened eyes.
They were fleeing on trucks, donkey carts, bicycles and on foot, clutching whatever was precious - electric fans, bedding, pots and pans, chickens and goats. Behind them, a great sinister mass of floodwater was pouring in.
Tiny scrap
Sukkur itself was overflowing with families, along the roadside, on river banks, on every patch of open ground.
The heat was unbearable but they had no shelter.
When our car pulled up, they ran to it, flattened their faces against the windows, begged for food, for water, for help.
When I got out and started to record interviews, people pressed round.
Then, in all the noise and heat and smell, someone told me about a baby, born by the roadside, and led me off to see.
She was a tiny scrap, silent and still amid the clamour.
She was lying motionless on her back, on a small mat under a tree. Flies were thick round her face. The passing traffic was just feet away.
I see my job as to bear witness in a tragedy and to report - but not to interfere
Her skin was almost translucent, her head smaller than my palm, balanced in a faded china saucer, propped up against a stone. Her eyes were closed and lifeless.
I thought at first that she was dead. Her young mother seemed vacant with shock. She had had a difficult birth, there on the road, with no-one to help.
Now she sat beside her baby, looking dazed. The baby was not feeding, she said. She had not seen a doctor. She did not know where to find one.
I went down the road to a chaotic emergency clinic and interviewed a doctor there who promised to go and help. Then I went back to the hotel to work on a different report.
Metaphor for suffering
The following day, I was busy chasing more stories, but on the way back to the hotel in the early evening, I stopped off at the roadside, with some trepidation.
It seemed very likely that the baby would not have survived. But she had.
She was weak, but whimpering now and trying to move.
As the flood crisis continues, millions face an uncertain future
The doctor had visited and whatever he had done seemed to have made all the difference. Her mother had just named her Samina. Suddenly she had a name and a hold on life.
That evening I was elated. In all that misery and heat and exhaustion, I felt boosted by the thought I had helped someone, perhaps even played a part in saving a life. It eased my sense of guilt and helplessness.
The report I filed on baby Samina met with a tremendous response. Suddenly she seemed to be a metaphor for the general suffering.
I was contacted by friends and colleagues and complete strangers.
An international agency got in touch, offering to help the family. Baby Samina was becoming, unwittingly, a poster girl for the floods.
In some ways, that is wonderful. But it also made me feel very uncomfortable.
I see my job as to bear witness in a tragedy and to report - but not to interfere. I had urged that doctor to treat baby Samina.
He may have saved her, but was it at the expense of another patient? Is it unethical to attract resources to one family, when millions of others may be equally deserving?
Hope and disappointment
This week I went back to Sukkur to do a second report on Samina.
Her family has a tent inside a camp now - tent number 59 - with a supply of food and clean water.
Samina seems stronger. She is lying on a pile of embroidered cushions, instead of the ground, wriggling and yawning.
Her mother's health, too, seems much better. The family's future is still uncertain, but the immediate crisis is past.
Maybe I should stop there, with a happy ending that makes us all feel hopeful, but as I walked away from Samina's family, someone tugged at my sleeve.
She led me to a tent nearby where another young woman had just given birth, a day or two earlier.
Her relatives lifted a cover to show a tiny, wrinkled newborn.
The women turned to me, eager and expectant, as if they were thinking now this foreigner will help our child too.
They looked disappointed when all I could do was to say thank you, congratulate them and then turn to leave.
so guys, now what? CBC world news predicts that 500,000 women are pregnant and in need of medical help.
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
garage sale-check
hey family! i just wanted to let you know that over 800 dollars was made in the garage sale. wowie, can you believe it??? has to be favour of the L*rd. thanks for the pr*yers and for all the donations. you made it happen.
i am almost there with my outreach finances. they are due tomorrow and i am pretty sure they will be in. woo hoo! Go G*d!
i am almost there with my outreach finances. they are due tomorrow and i am pretty sure they will be in. woo hoo! Go G*d!
Sunday, September 05, 2010
sunday nights.
i say out loud "i just want the clock to stop" and my housemate responds "it is never going to happen", and thwarts me back into reality.
there is something about each weekend that reminds me again of my desire, the very being i have been created as, longs for eternity, where time will never end.
friday morning greets me as i prepare morning chores, characterized specifically by auditorium mopping, and i think to myself, wow the week is almost over. friday afternoon reminds me of my love for learning as we talk about how chris*ian mission should be advancing the kingdom of G*d, friday evening comes with a sigh of relief that i now have a weekend of possibility awaiting me. nearly every friday night, i have the best intentions to get to bed early so that i can make the most of the weekend mornings, but the excitement of not having anything pressing the next morning gives me leeway to hang out, wo*ship till the wee hours or make skype phone calls.
saturday morning i once again feel the joy of a free weekend and realize i better get onto it at 3pm--because keeping up at this rate and nothing will happen.
sunday morning i grieve because another day has passed, joy comes in the afternoon when i realize that i do have more time then the fogginess of my morning mind was telling me, sunday evening i dip back into a grievous state because as i realized on friday afternoon, the week has spiraled to a close.
have i come to conclusions about the revelations you gave me this week g*d?
have i told everyone what i really think of them?
have i shared coffee with someone new this week?
did i make a card for grandma's birthday?
i want to seal it off before the newness of this next week comes. nearly every sunday evening i feel unprepared, i have not sucked this last week dry for what it was worth.
time is passing, and i am not ready for the next day. my nieces are growing, writing, evolving and i have missed point a to point b's journey.
so back to this age old cliche, i need to live in the moment.
and i am reminded that i was created for eternity.
there is something about each weekend that reminds me again of my desire, the very being i have been created as, longs for eternity, where time will never end.
friday morning greets me as i prepare morning chores, characterized specifically by auditorium mopping, and i think to myself, wow the week is almost over. friday afternoon reminds me of my love for learning as we talk about how chris*ian mission should be advancing the kingdom of G*d, friday evening comes with a sigh of relief that i now have a weekend of possibility awaiting me. nearly every friday night, i have the best intentions to get to bed early so that i can make the most of the weekend mornings, but the excitement of not having anything pressing the next morning gives me leeway to hang out, wo*ship till the wee hours or make skype phone calls.
saturday morning i once again feel the joy of a free weekend and realize i better get onto it at 3pm--because keeping up at this rate and nothing will happen.
sunday morning i grieve because another day has passed, joy comes in the afternoon when i realize that i do have more time then the fogginess of my morning mind was telling me, sunday evening i dip back into a grievous state because as i realized on friday afternoon, the week has spiraled to a close.
have i come to conclusions about the revelations you gave me this week g*d?
have i told everyone what i really think of them?
have i shared coffee with someone new this week?
did i make a card for grandma's birthday?
i want to seal it off before the newness of this next week comes. nearly every sunday evening i feel unprepared, i have not sucked this last week dry for what it was worth.
time is passing, and i am not ready for the next day. my nieces are growing, writing, evolving and i have missed point a to point b's journey.
so back to this age old cliche, i need to live in the moment.
and i am reminded that i was created for eternity.
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
scents and funnel cake
i have one friend with such a distinctive scent. i hugged her tonight and now my hand smells like her, so comforting. it reminds me of when my aunt terri would go out with mom in our cool 1990 aerostar, then, when mom would pick us up in the car and we would fasten our seatbelt, instantly you would know with one sniff, aunt terri has been here.
it is nearly nine pm and the day has been full on. something about when we are trusting, not knowing where provision can come from, only fixing our eyes on him. everything else wants to distract, but i can't, i just need to baptize my eyes, clean off the muck and refocus. there is no formula to provision, only obedience. just some musings for the evening...
we had a very successful market night this evening-all come together who want to sell their goodies-a celebration of everyone's talents, an exchange of finances and a tummy full of tasty samples. our own little carnival. ben the balloon man even made me a purple pony with a yellow mane.
while i am here, if anyone would like to donate some items to raise finance for my outreach fees, let me know. anything you could give of course would be appreciated! and any pr*yers you have to offer as well for the event. it is happening this saturday. holly "the amazing" sturm is putting it on. she rocks.
okay, nighty night guys.
it is nearly nine pm and the day has been full on. something about when we are trusting, not knowing where provision can come from, only fixing our eyes on him. everything else wants to distract, but i can't, i just need to baptize my eyes, clean off the muck and refocus. there is no formula to provision, only obedience. just some musings for the evening...
we had a very successful market night this evening-all come together who want to sell their goodies-a celebration of everyone's talents, an exchange of finances and a tummy full of tasty samples. our own little carnival. ben the balloon man even made me a purple pony with a yellow mane.
while i am here, if anyone would like to donate some items to raise finance for my outreach fees, let me know. anything you could give of course would be appreciated! and any pr*yers you have to offer as well for the event. it is happening this saturday. holly "the amazing" sturm is putting it on. she rocks.
okay, nighty night guys.
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