i have arrived back to tanzania.

and this land greets me with its warm breeze, magnificent palm trees and deep sandy footpaths.

the staff have crossed over in a hurry, my skin has become accustomed to sweaty situations and a huge pile of washing awaits me.

adjustments have been made and i am back in my element of high intensity situations that occur on a daily basis at the hospital, i love it, absolutely. my Swahili is weak but finding its superiority to english. and my desire to shave my head grows daily...its just so...practical.

one day this week, there were two deliveries with cord twice around the neck and one more with cord three times around the neck...all screamed shortly after delivery.

this week, two deliveries where the babies were born with no heartbeat but were screaming within 15 minutes.

i give you glory G*d because my human hands are not powerful. it is the power of Ch*ist in us.

christmas came early

tonight we leave for tanzania. i probably don't have time to be blogging, but i am. i want to thank the L*rd for what happened last week. we need gloves every outreach and every year we ask and ask and ask...we don't always get donations but we always scrape by...see below for what happened last week...


ansell donated a BUNCH, I mean thousands upon thousands of sterile and non-sterile, both are needs of ours...


christmas came early this year for us :) thanks you j*sus.

next post i will be in east africa. (unless i have something to say before then.)

part 6...debrief

and so we were prepared to leave the stan...

i left with new knowledge about the needs of a nation. my heart having been opened to how oppressed women can be in an Islamic nation, and what happens when we say yes to G*d-things change, his kingdom comes...in small ways but little bursts...

the whole time, emily and i felt as if we were merely representatives of the people of the nations that cared for the flood victims and passed on your love and care to the people there.

i don't know that all the lessons of the trip have been absorbed yet to the point where that can be expressed in words, and that's okay, i still have time to mull over it. but i think part 6 is the end of my stani posts. thanks for sticking with me through it...it took me a while...but we made it.

part 5....

not really knowing what to expect, except that G*od had spoken for us to offer ourselves, we landed and exited the plane, dressed appropriately for the culture, but still receiving countless stares. i was adjusting to emily taking the lead and remaining quiet when we were interacting with someone older than us. this usually involved me staring at the floor and occupying my thoughts with the thought that "women just get used to this".

not too long after we'd arrived we were met by our hosts who guided us to the car. with them were three lovely ladies-stella, enum and priya, each of them was enrolled in their d school. the hosts-an american and a british-stani, shared their heart for the land and introduced us to the music of the land. the american-an ethnomusicologist, had come to the stan to study the music and essentially left his heart there and kept returning and now spends about half the year there. The british-stani started a lot of the work and continues to be the voice that directs the happenings. both incredibly welcoming and encouraged by the visit.

the days began at 6am-quiet time, 7am-team prayer, 8am-breakfast....that worked one day only. We quickly realized that these people were night crawlers...in bed by 2 or 3 or 4am, not up until 10-11ish...The first couple days we saw that we were missing a lot of what was going on, and we needed to adjust! I specifically had a hard time and felt like I should stop wearing my watch so that I could adjust to the people, not the time.

Our days were filled with...
inter-sesh times that are remembered fondly, times of an open heaven, a land thirsting for focused pr*yer...
getting a heart for a nation (that I knew next to nothing about) through conversation, reading news articles and listening to more music...
eating lots of excellent food, plenty of tea, learning to cook and serve the tea as the women do...
preparing clothing and food to distribute to the families affected by the flood whom we would eventually meet...
and doing health care teachings for the those who were d-school students...these were some of the best moments...these students had a long term commitment to reaching the victims of the flood. so even if we weren't able to love on these people, care for them, give health care to them, we were able to extend our knowledge to the people who would be with them. and they were so excited about learning, they were great students and recited the songs and teachings for the days following the teachings.

our last three-four days were spent journeying to go and meet the flood victims. i guess in my head i'd had this idea of how a government, or the leaders of a nation, get together and make these plans in case of natural disasters/bombings/no resources... so when things like a flood happen, they get together and say "Okay boys, just like we practiced, plan 242C (pull down chart from the wall, all gathered in matching uniforms sigh and agree), places everyone!" and then the officials go for it and take care of all the people... well it doesn't happen like this as i found, no organized vehichles to take people to camps, no designated resources for those who lost everything...

what we came upon was groups of men and women, camped out on high places, scrounging together all that they had to care for their family...quilts as their roof, a hammock attached to a wooden frame for the family bed, and a pot and a pan. the conditions were meager at best...they had lost nearly everything...the crops, the clothing, the food. most of the people we met it had been their first time to receive anything, this was 6 weeks post flood. I don't know what they had been living off of. they were completely isolated as well, no where near the city, these are people that survive off of an agricultural income and all their fields were submerged in water.

at one place we tried to distribute the goods to people and it ended in a riot, people fighting each other, ripping food and clothing out of each others' hands. there is an unbuilt fear that there just isn't enough, only the strongest will survive...this is the fruit of poverty-it leaves people without choices.

some of the most memorable moments for me was the eagerness of the pregnant mothers to see how their babies were doing. what a confession of hope in a devastating situation-pregnancy...new life is coming...

one mother was in labour with a baby that could not be delivered normally, we were able to encourage her family and we ensured that there was transport coming for here.
one baby with a cleft lip had not been fed in days. the women were telling the mother it was impossible for her to feed the baby, so she had stopped trying. the wee baby was so flaccid, and had all the markings of dehydrated. we were able to have a little time of helping the mom attach, with all the nay-saying women around, and they saw that the baby could in fact attach and feed...beautifully. that was to me such a miracle, a baby who had been without milk for around 3-4 days, that he had the strength to nurse, and do it well. the mother smiled as we left her with a suckling baby.
another couple of mothers, absolutely anaemic, but pregnant, and so joyful. a couple of babies who had not moved for days and we could not detect a heartbeat-i continue to wonder what happened in these cases.
in each of these cases-we had a government official's wife with us (she visited often she said and was able to help with translation)! her eyes were opened to the need of the pregnant women and you could see her heart for the people was massive. she was our advocate when we saw a need that we simply couldn't meet, she was onto it.

this has been the longest silence...

i know our life has waves of busyness and chaos, but this has been the longest silence my blog has ever seen...i don't know that any pattern of life makes this excusable...

hmm...i need to finish about the stan and so much more.

sorry rachel. :( it has been on my mind a lot lately to work on this, but right now is not the time.

part four...scroll down for part one!

the weekend was full of brazilian friends, hillsong and delectable home made feasts...emily and i rocked up at the consulate. over the weekend we had learned that because of my youth and emily's years of experience beyond mine, she should be the one to do the talking. i should not even make eye contact or anything close...leave it to emily. we had received a letter from a goverment official in the stan endorsing not only the foundation we were working with but emily and i...we'd put the final touches on some paperwork, saw more finance come in, and really pressed in through inter-sesh.

over and over emily practiced our new government "friend's" name, so when she needed to reference the letter, his name could roll trippingly off her tongue. we entered the consulate as soon as it opened-although the desk we needed was not open for another hour and a half. we stared off into space, occasionally getting the urge to make the other laugh...i thought about having a quiet time, reading the word, and then realized that most likely the worst thing i could do. the time was passed by a little boy and his father, waiting for visa. the little boy did not listen to his father at all, rather his inner spider man, which made for much entertainment. at the stroke of eleven, our friend who had told us "NO!" and then given us the stipulations rocked up (emily and i accidently looked at him and smiled) and without even making eye contact with us said-"your letter has come through, your visas will be issued today". and so we held the building excitement until we organized our passports,etc. and then let it all out in the elevator ride-"AHHHHHHHH!".

thus began our frantic ticket booking, inter-sesh, final finance collaboration and insurance purchasing. we saw each dollar needed for the tickets, visas and insurance come through...how phenominal is our G*od.

that night we were on the plane through dubai and to our final destination.

this is the story all about how...part three...this is getting longer than expected...

And Friday morning, we arrived on the other side. We had exactly 1 1/2 hours to get to the embassy, plead our case and get our visas, hoping to fly out that day.

After hopping off the plane, we jumped on the train and briskly walked to St. Martin's Place in Sydney. Home of the consulates, and the fountain from the Matrix.

We took the elevator to floor seven, whipped out our official paperwork and invitation from an NGO and they looked at the paperwork and said "No, we cannot issue your visas, you are not Australian citizens. You need to apply from your countries." Not having come all that way to hear that, we said "Is there someone else we can talk to?" We arranged our meeting with the Consular General for two hours later.

We went to Hyde Park, chilled out, finished our airplane snacks, spent time with J*sus and then stormed the heavens together. Before we knew it, we were back in the office of the only person who stood between us and the flood relief victims. He was clothed in a suit that would have paid for both of our airfare, had the physique of a cricketer and had adorned his coffee table with a photo of him shaking hands with George Bush. He seemed important. And as we pleaded our case...without any warm fuzzies, he gave us some new info..."No one wants to be responsible for your ladies' lives. If I stamp your passports and something happens to you, I am in trouble." (This was the first of many insights into the instability of the nation. Everyone is afraid to mess up, no one wants to be responsible and actually it is quite unsafe for westerners, especially Americans--because we threaten to burn qur'ans, etc.) And then we basically asked, "what can we do to make this happen?" and he said "Get me a letter that endorses your NGO and takes responsibility for you from a government official and as soon as I receive that, I will give them to you. I will be here until 5 pm, and if it comes in before then, no problem, I will give them to you."

We made some more phone calls, found out that there had been a stabbing of a political figure who had taken political assylum in London and that things were potentially moving towards a declared 10 days mourning. This also meant that we would be delayed in getting our letter. Our contact in the UK was confident that it was possible though, we knew what we needed and now all we needed was time and we would get our visa.

And me? I was discouraged, tired and wanted to crawl under the lounge in the waiting room and fall into a deep sleep of hybernation. But Emily was right there, speaking truth, telling me that we knew what needed to happen, but we needed time and hey, we get the weekend in Sydney. A little bit earlier she had gone to the store while I had made some phone calls and in that time she had bought some sustenance. That was the best time ever to be surprised with a roll of sushi and a mini fish full of soy sauce. We toasted for what was to come. We remained in the lobby of this large commercial building there for the next couple hours, decompressing, downing hummus and listening to a man snore who was on the couch next to us. At one point the consular general walked past us and with a hint of soft heartedness said "Hey, if your letter comes this weekend, give me a ring." We smiled at each other, hopeful for this kind glimmer, even though we didn't have his number.

So a little more settled, Emily and I started to consider the fact that it was approaching 7pm and we had no place to stay and we were going to be in Sydney until Monday.

Alas, we live in a massive community where everyone seems to know someone, we were connected to some very kind people, now dear friends, that allowed us to stay at their flats, fed us to no end, showed us around and sent us out from Sydney after making us a priority all weekend. We love you Marcia and Jacob! Did you know there is a large Japanese population in Brazil? I never knew...

Onto part four...

this is the story all about how...part two

Wednesday night was spent talking with my family, pr*ying-getting a word to stand on as I was sure that we were heading into a battle, making phone calls and writing emails to specific people to see if they wanted to partner financially. Thursday morning came much quicker than expected.

Thursday I rushed to prepare for family chores and also rearrange my schedule for the day. (Each morning I get to prepare all the cleaning supplies for one area of our base so that we can blitz clean together as a family for about 30 minutes first thing in the morning.) I was supposed to be on chocolate selling, a fundraiser that happens all year, every year, taking turns selling chocolate to businesses to raise funds for our building costs. I ran around looking for a swap and found a gracious beautiful friend who said "yes!".

I was in the clear, the day was Emily and I's to work on visa stuff.
I had no idea what an adventure we were embarking onto.

We spent the morning calling embassies in Australia. And the common consensus after 2 hours of phone calling was "No, we will not give you a visa."
The reasons:
-American and British citizens are not allowed to receive visas in any nations except their own.
-"And no, you cannot get a visa upon arrival."
-All visas take 6 weeks to process.

After hours of trying, we then stopped, took a breather and said to each other "Why did we think this would be easy? Of course the enemy doesn't want us to get in." So, we went into an AWESOME time of open heaven intersesh (my new fav version of "that word"). This was the beginning entering into a battle that has been raging for years in a country that separated itself to be an Islamic nation. Oh man the enemy has been a part of that from the beginning and does not want any land to be claimed back.

Around 1 pm, it seemed as if we received some breakthrough. Phone call after phone call led me to calling consulate after embassy after official person. I ended up on the phone with some man in S. Asia who said "Yes, we will grant you a visa upon arrival." We absolutely ELATED and double checked with our contacts in the UK and S. Asia, and they seemed to think it was a go. So at 7pm, it seemed as if, we were done, we could work on finances, flights and be on our merry way. We walked home 2 feet off the ground. I sighed when I arrived home, so satisfied to have seen G*d answer with his favour after we stormed the heavens, and asked, seeked and knocked.

It must have been 9pm, almost 24 hours after we first found out that we were going to be able to go, that Emily called and said "We can't enter without our visas." I fell to the ground...quite dramatically (and unnecessarily), exhausted, doubtful and afraid. I knew I was meant to go, but not being able to get our visas on arrival meant this battle was not done, it meant going to a consulate in Australia. So after a series of phone calls to the UK and Emily, we confirmed the only options were Canberra and Sydney. I didn't know what to do, with not much money in my bank account and the word of the L*rd to stand on, Emily and I went back to dad and asked him what to do. I took a shower and cried out. My housemates pr*yed for me and listened to me process the options.
And then G*d spoke "Go to the other side". This to me brought me to the story of J*sus and his disciples (Mk 4:35) when they were going across the lake and J*sus said "Let us go to the other side." And then the storm was a-brewin' and the disciples were frightened and woke him and asked him if he even cared about them. He then silenced the storm, as you do, and questioned their faith. The direction he gave to them was to go to the other side, he didn't say it would be without storms, but would not have told them to do something they were incapable of. And so I took this heart. "You orginally said to give myself as an offering, and though it is a battle to do so, I need to keep chugging along." I called Emily and shared this with her and she said "Hey, Sydney is on the other side of Australia!". It was also during this time of waiting on the L*rd that Emily received 1,000 pounds in her account, so we had enough money to buy our tickets to the other side.

The next 6 hours consisted of sending an email to my whole mailing list asking if people wanted to support this trip, {and this email was overwhelmingly responded to. It was each of you that made it possible for the whole trip to happen...okay, I know I am fast forwarding, but...so many times (more than I ever get asked) people wanted to know "WHY? are you here?" and I was able to respond on behalf of so many people from so many nations and say "the nations care for your people and I am here to tell you that."}, contacted individuals on the phone to see if they could give, organized details that you organize in order to travel and didn't pack my bag (because my amazing housemate/friend/fellow midwife Sarah packed it.

Before I knew it, I was riding my bike at 3:00am to pick Emily up from her house and then we were on our way to the base for our dear leader to drive us to the airport.

And it was all so surreal.

this is a story all about how...part one

Every Friday night, together as a community, we come together and hear a challenging message, apply it and then grow corporately. this is the idea at least. about a month ago, the challenge came before the message. one of our base leaders led us into a pr*yer time for flood relief victims right at the beginning of the meeting. My heart was broken for the devastation, the women and children in need and the lack of response to the collapsing nation. In conclusion of the time we went into a time of giving, where we ask G*d what we could give financially. I felt like I could give myself as an offering. Sitting through the meeting was tough that night as my mind stayed in South Asia the whole evening.

After the meeting I found myself in my seat as the rest of the community stacked chairs up around me. Soon there were only a few people left and random people chatting around me. I waited for the base leader and found myself in the company of Emily, a British friend who just completed the birth attendant school, who too felt like she was supposed to go to Pakistan. It was late by the time we were able to speak to him, and once we had his attention, it was like "How do I put this...We want to go." He caught the curve ball and said he would get onto it, he had some connections and would see what he could do. Emily and I went to our leader after that, conveniently the same one, as we both work in health care. She said that would pray about it with our base leader and this other leader as well, for the weekend, we just needed to sit on it. As eager as I felt, I was grateful for her sound mind in it all. One of my house mates suggested that I paint "P stan" on the bum of my pants to show her I was taking that to heart.

Not much was mentioned on Monday and Tuesday I organized to speak with my leader and let her know what G*d had been saying over the weekend. She said she hadn't been able to pr*y but that she really wanted to see something happen and I felt like she was really going to all she could to make this happen. That day as well, the other base leader said he had gotten a response from inside the UK who is organizing the work in the country and that they would be happy to have two health care workers come...the door was opening.

I was so impressed with the support that we had. Wednesday afternoon Emily said that our leader was pr*ying...that didn't end up happening...she is busy. Really busy. Wendesday evening at about 10:00 pm, I was writing thank you cards for my BAS outreach finances...and Emily called and said "It's a go. We are going." And just like that, they had prayed and the base leadership was backing us to go into South Asia.

onto Part #2...

hi there.

hi friends. i just wanted to let you know that I am alive, doing well and have not had any time to procure blog posts about adventures to south asia yet.
this weekend i am babysitting two sweet children with a lovely friend called Sarah.
i will need to be posting soon.
see you all.
i think you are wonderful.

ready for take off.

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.

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!

saturday.

i am going to the stan. it is a miracle.

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.

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!

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.

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.

friday, what a day.

HI!
Keep pra*ing for dad.
also, all my flight money came in. Miracle... yeppers.

spiders and flights

hey guys, just wanted to rally some pr*yer for my dad. he has gotten a spider bite which has progressed to a staff infection and he is on antibiotics. as usual with staff infections, there is a risk that it is the strain which has a resistance of antibiotics, break this business off!

in other news, finances for my flight is due in 36 hours. woooo hooo! let's see a miracle, hey?

thanks for the pr*ayer.

cheers!! bekah

an excursion.

Hi family.

Well today was an exciting day.
I was able to go with some of my friends, who are a part of a group that redeems island dances of the south pacific, to share with some "troubled youth" at a local center. it turned out to be all boys, which I was feeling a bit nervous about.
i wasn't sure what it was going to look like, but I felt like G*d was laying on my heart that whoever we shared with needed to know that they were not under the law, but under grace-that nothing could separate them from his love. while my incredibly talented friends danced their feet off we inter*eded for all that G*d wanted to come be released.
after the cru*ifixion Haka (a dance done by the Maori people of New Zealand) we had the chance to disperse and talk to the boys. all of us "visitors" needed to stay within arms length of each other and in partners. my partner was my friend from South Africa.
we headed for these two boys we had met briefly at the beginning. they warmed up to us quickly when we asked them how to properly shake hands and confusing me to no end by introducing themselves with the wrong names. they asked "yous guys all churchies?"... "yous (aussie plural for "you") always been churchies?"...and without much more my partner launched into his personal testimony of laughing at chris*ian people all his life and then to being high out of his mind and confused as ever and G*d meeting him then and there. little did we know we were talking to two boys fully addicted to crack and pot. they shared how it is just "too hard" to give up, but they really didn't want to screw up their lives. they shared dreams of wanting to be a mechanic and basketball player. and said they wanted to help each other get to that point. it turns out they were cousins.

in the end they saw from my buddy's story that they wanted to meet this G*d for themselves, as we likened meeting G*d to a drug high, you can't describe it, you just have to try him for yourself.

and our two friends pra*ed a committment to keep following J*sus from this day on.

the guy who got us "in" to meet this guys will follow up with them.

doesn't get much better than that, hey?