PS... We have delivered 118 babies since we got here. God is faithful.

This week was nothing less than amazing. Sunday morning we had church in our bedroom, listening to a teaching a speaker did back in Perth last year. It was on the “love and grace of God”. It was when he said- “He enjoys you even when your hair is rumpled in the morning,” that I broke. I sometimes by into the lie that how well I do directly effects how much I am loved. It is this lie that has broken hearts, my own and those of people around me. It just so happened that I was going through a bit of a valley at the time and that revelation was life changing. You see just recently I have realized that God apparently does not reveal all of your faults and short comings as soon as you make the beautiful decision to enter His kingdom. No, He takes His time to work on each one individually, giving them all the time they need to grow, to change, and to heal. The good news is that whatever He was working on last seems to be doing well enough for Him to move on to the next, because I have realized this week that I am angry and unforgiving. (And seemingly prideful as it hurts my stomach to confess such qualities.) But alas, He never reveals then retreats; he reveals then begins His beautiful work of restoration. I have pondered on enduring love this week, as I have felt a great need for it. From my journal…

“Enduring Love. I find that I struggle to understand what that means. And yet, it’s as familiar to me as the sound of my dad’s sneeze, or the smell of my best friend. It’s the type of love that has healed me, heard me, taken hold of me and made me whole. It’s the love that has taken me in my brokenness, picked up my shattered pieces, and carefully put them back together. The pieces don’t fit as they did prior to my brokenness, but the grace in which I was put back together some how makes me more beautiful. I know this because the healer has told me so. He has told me my scars are beautiful. They tell a story. A story of Enduring Love. Not just my own, but one that goes back thousands of years, and effects the whole of man kind. A universal story. My story. Your story. A story of Enduring Love. A story of hope and peace, a tale of courage and passion. A story of Enduring Love. A story that says my scars are beautiful, and worthy. A story of a Father, a Lover, a Brother, a Bride. A story that says your scars are beautiful and worthy too.”

I saw enduring love come to life this week. I saw it save my life. I began in the labour room again this week. I delivered my sixth baby. Joshua Caleb, one of faithfulness, willingness, and trust.
“Thus the Lord used to speak to Moses face to face, as a man speaks to his friend. When Moses turned again into the camp, his assistant Joshua the son of Nun, a young man, would not depart from the tent.” Exodus 33:11.
And I sutured. I decided that I sweat more suturing than I do running eight miles.

Tuesday was spent on the prayer team, and was quite a healing day. I confessed to my dear friends my struggle in realizing that I have no good apart from this God. I am angry, and unforgiving. We prayed, we wept, and the healing began. Teegan said, “He believes in you.” Yes. I believe He does.

Wednesday I was in antenatal, where I did 107 blood pressures; admissions where I inserted an unsuccessful cannula; and the neonatal intensive care unit where I changed miconium covered nappies and held screaming babies.

Thursday, I was back to the labour room. The day began assisting in a delivery. However, the stress level was high as the woman was not progressing. It increased greatly when one of the chiefs of the hospital entered the ward and began yelling at every one saying that we were not allowed to do deliveries, and demanded our letter of approval. It was then that a prayer came to my mind, given to me by a friend of mine. He prayed that I would be “steadfast in the face of adversity.” I thought on that, and I found that the more she yelled, the more tuned in I was to the woman. “The joy of the Lord will be my strength.” The more she yelled, the more joyful I became. She said we could do no more deliveries until she saw the letter. So, I went on to assist the doctors in five more deliveries, with a smile that I simply cannot explain. And I enjoyed myself. I have grown to love the doctors and interns deeply. Slowly but surly they are warming up to us. Watching them soften is almost as amazing as watching a baby be born. It’s actually quite a similar miracle.

After lunch, despite the restrictions put on us, I delivered my seventh baby. Phillip Aaron. I was monitoring a woman who, the doctor told me was in her third pregnancy, at 3 cm, and her water had just been ruptured. Because it was her third pregnancy, I knew she would deliver before 4:00, but I did not imagine that one set of vitals and a few contractions later I would be running for gloves, a birth kit and a staff. I called to Darcy, our school leader, asking for a birth kit and assistance. She tried to find a doctor as well to let them know we would be doing a delivery. There were surprisingly no doctors found in the ward. Which is impossible. I delivered the head with out a guarding pad, or Darcy, both of which came to deliver the rest of the body. But only after we clamped and cut the cord which was tightly around the neck. She didn’t tear. He was beautiful. I was steadfast in the face of adversity, the joy of the Lord was my strength, and I got to deliver my seventh baby, on a day when it was forbidden. This God is good.

Today was Indian Republic day. We were invited to a celebration. We were yelled at yesterday, but today, we were honored, in front of the whole hospital. Yesterday after our small scare, we spoke to a professor that said just that morning she told the students and interns to watch how we interacted with the patients. To watch how we loved deliveries, to watched how we loved the patients. “That’s how you learn, from a passion for what you are doing, not from having your head in a book all day.” The moment we face opposition, we are met with an equally strong sense of acceptance and appreciation. We may do an unsuccessful cannula, we may succumb to a bad attitude when we are too weak to fight it, but- “He enjoys us even when our hair is rumpled in the morning.” I saw that this week. His enduring love. I was saved this week by his unfailing, enduring love.

The joy of the Lord is my strength. It makes me to lie down in green pastures, and leads me beside still waters. It causes me to be steadfast in the face of adversity, and rise up to realize that I am beautiful, capable, loved. I am beautiful despite my scars. I am beautiful because of my scars. I am rotten, unforgiving, and beautiful. And you Beloved, are beautiful too.

This week began with a kite festival that changed my life. I have never seen so many kites, and it made my tattoo more than worth wearing for the rest of my life. I thought of the idea last year while I was here as I heard “Kite Song” by Patty Griffen. I remember driving home from this brothel one day, devastated, and a bit hopeless for the lives of these beautiful women. Just as I was about to cave into my hopelessness, we passed a slum. I looked up to see around ten kites flying high about the dirt, grime, and poverty of the slum. I was changed. “How the little dreams we dream are all we can really do…” I was reminded of that time earlier this week as the sky was filled with hundreds and hundreds of colorful kites. There were kites in the air, kites on the ground, kites in trees around poles, around wires, kites everywhere. I remembered that no matter how bad it may seem there is always hope. The festival was nice, and reminded me of The Fourth of July. We had corn on the cob, chai, and sat by the lake. I smiled, and thanked God.

I started the week off in the labour room. I’ve really grown to love the labour room. I think it may even be my favorite station to work in. When we first arrived in the morning I was able to labour with a woman, seven months pregnant, in premature labour with twins. I saw the first one be born, a tiny little boy. The second did not come for quite sometime, and unfortunately didn’t live longer than a few days. I delivered my third baby, a little boy to a first time mother. Because the hospital has so many women delivering there, they usually do an episiotomy on “primis” (first time mothers). So, I was able to do my first episiotomy. This, with dull scissors is no easy task. But it did the job, and a beautiful little boy entered into the world. Someone took him to the new born room, as I delivered the placenta, and it wasn’t until I came into check on him about 15 minutes later that I found him having a hard time breathing. He was grunting a lot, and his extremities were white. I picked him up, got the oxygen, and prayed. I prayed with all of my heart for breath and for life. I named him Paul. I thought of Saul on the road to Damascus. God intervened, and his life was changed forever. I prayed that God would intervene as he did on the road to Damascus. That this Paul would breathe and breathe deeply. That this baby in my arms would be one that used the life he was given to change the world; to change his nation. I checked on him later that day, he was breathing easy and pink. Praise the Lord.

The next day I woke up feeling excited to go to the hospital for the first time. I spent the day on the “prayer team”. This is a newly constructed group that spends the day praying for the hospital, and doing practical things to bless others. It was a powerful day and I felt my passion for the hospital growing as I fought for it in my prayers.

Wednesday I was in antenatal, where I was bombarded by over one hundred women seeking the measurement of their blood pressure. I had to lay down the law a bit, as Indians do not go by, nor understand the rules of a “line”, or “queue”. It’s wonderful, however, to lay your hands on so many women. They are so beautiful, so valuable. The afternoon was spent in the nursery. When we arrived I was concerned about one of the babies who I could not see breathing. I checked her heart beat, and it was good. My friend said she could see her breathing, so we went on to console the many other screaming babies. However and hour or so later I went back to check on the little girl, and there was no heart beat. I felt her little chest and she was cold. It’s strange, I see dead babies more often than not in a day, and there is nothing that can ever prepare you for the next. They expected her to die, and were not surprised when I told them I could not find a heart beat. I, on the other hand, took a second to breathe again. I can not begin to look at them as statistics or numbers; I want to feel the loss. I can not become numb to the many we see weekly. Every day when we go to the labour room, we pray there will not be a tray in the new born room holding a baby that lost the battle. However, so often there are, and you have to deal with the feelings that come as you bathe a screaming little one, full of life, and look down to see one so still.

Thursday I was in the labour room again. First off, I began to labour with the sweetest woman, who would not let my hand go even if I pulled. She kissed it, held it to her forehead, and squashed it between her neck and chin… She was amazing. She would not even let me go to get gloves, as the head was beginning to come. Michaela graciously got me gloves. The doctor had told me earlier that she was twin gestation, so I thought I would not be able to conduct the deliver. But the first one was coming, and made her way into my “fourth baby delivered” slot. My first girl. I named her Amy Bella. She will mother this nation, stand for justice, and kindness. Her brother was breech. I knew at that point I was not able to finish the rest of the delivery, but I did get to do a vaginal exam and feel his little feet. It was so strange to feel feet instead of a head. I laughed out loud. My instructor pulled him out, which was amazing to watch. He thankfully came out with ease. The two were rushed off to the new born room, and I was left to deliver the placenta, which ended up being amazing. It was one huge placenta, fused together in the middle. So it appeared to be one, but couldn’t have been since it was a boy and a girl. It was really amazing. The boy, Jonathon David, had to be transferred to another hospital, as his stomach was really distended. But Miss Amy Bella is beautiful and doing well. It was also my first delivery where the woman did not tear. It was one of the best experiences of my life.

The day went on and just as we were about to leave I saw some colleges over with a woman trying to draw blood. It was near impossible to find a vein, so I was trying to help. In the meantime, the baby’s head was showing with every contraction. The doctor said, “She is only 5 cm, it will take time.” I said, “It should not look like that if she is only 5 cm.” Eve and I got gloves and the doctor continued to search for the vein. Eve kindly handed over the delivery to me, and I delivered my fifth baby, another girl. Hazel Danielle. This woman did not tear either. Praise God. So, one week- three babies. God is good. It was my first full week at the hospital, and I found that as the days went on, I fell more and more in love with it. We’ve been there just over three weeks now, and have delivered over 80 babies between us all. The doctors and nurses are amazing, and I have enjoyed getting to know them. I am daily thankful for this amazing opportunity. This week, I grieve when I think of the four months left. This week, it seems so short. Oh, anchor, be my strength. Abundance. That is my desire for the next four months. This last week felt abundant.

I decided the other day that I have been doing the bear minimum here. I’d like to give more to street people and beggars. No matter the circumstance, I’d like to give. As I was praying about that, I thought I’d ask if anyone wanted to be a part of my new adventure. Anything from a dollar to a thousand can help. With one dollar I can buy three packs of biscuits, with a thousand… well, I could buy the whole of India a pack of biscuits. I see dozens of people everyday that I walk right on past, and I’d really like them to feel as if they are remembered. If you’d like to be apart of this as well, let me know, and I’ll get back to you on how you can help. God bless you. I pray blessings upon blessings on your upcoming week. Pray for me.

Fun at the Zoo.

This Beloved, is Moses Marie (A boy, despite the beautiful middle name).
And this is Melvin. My little kings.

Hello Dear Ones. Well, this week I do not have much to report, as I was only at the hospital for two days. The other three I spent at home, sick. I’d like to thank all of you who have been praying for my health however, because I have really only been sick twice in seven months, in four countries. So that’s really good. The fist time I was in India I was sick as a dog. The second, only once did I get sick. Now, I’ve been here for over a month, and just experienced my first bout. So thank you for you’re prayers. I have truly seen them at work. The first day I was sick I slept all day, due to nausea, and perhaps the built up tiredness of the last seven months. Then the next day was a bit better, I read a lot, and slept. The third day was feeling better, but still weak and thought it wise not to be carrying tiny, brand new little humans to and fro with shaky arms. So I stayed home and read. I began and finished Angela’s Ashes this week. It was good; however, I probably could have left it half way through. Now I have begun reading Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamont. There are parts where you laugh out loud, and parts that are so profound you have to stop and think for a moment, as she says things so “matter-of-factly”. It was a nice three days at home, however I found this morning as I left my house for the first time in three days, I had almost forgotten where I was. Then as soon as I was confronted with the harsh sun, mass amounts of people, rickshaws honking and “zipping” everywhere, I remembered just where I was. Yes. I am in India.

I began to think about the hospital this morning during my time of reading, writing and praying. I felt an immense conviction fall on me. I had spent the last three days at home. True, I was sick. But, some of these women are sick as well, many much more dyer than I. Some on the verge of death, and some just in labour. “Just in labour”. I can say that because I’ve never experienced it. I began to think of how for the last three days I had been imagining being everywhere else but where I truly am. I was in Ireland for a good part of the day as I read through the pages of Angela’s Ashes, I was in California as I read through Traveling Mercies, and as I day dreamt of my family back home. I was in Philadelphia, counting down the days till I return there. “Just over four more months.” I was in England, thinking about the trip I will take with my beautiful mother, and step dad this upcoming summer. And I will admit that we watched “Pride and Prejudice” and I was taken off to the 1800’s with long hair and long dresses, and big breakfasts in the morning in the country. Sigh. And I awoke today to find that I am better, and am India. As I realized again the magnitude of my present reality, I began to realize how wrong I’ve been. I’ve been dreaming about everywhere else but here, and here I am. Here I am, after three years of hard work, devotion, fighting, both on my part, and by so many others in my support. It has taken the commitment of so many to get me here, and I am dreaming of other places more comfortable than this. This is the problem I so often face, and am sure you could find entry after entry of my revelations and repentances. Yet, here I am again. I was saddened this morning by my lack of understanding of the deep need at my finger tips. I was shocked by my numbness, and self absorption. There are woman and children in this hospital that are desperate for a love that I have been given so freely. And here I am dreaming of places where people are too distracted to see the love I have to offer; never mind the fact that I am thousands of miles, and four months away from these places any way.

These women are amazing. These babies are amazing. This life I live presently is amazing. I am asking for your prayers. I am so in love with these women, with the doctors and with the nurses, with the babies. You know, I held a 700 gram baby the other day. The girls named him Roger. He died yesterday. He was the smallest little baby I’ve ever seen, perfect. And I got to stroke his sweet little face, and hold this tiny little hand. This life is such a blessing. I want to “be here”. I want to truly, truly live these next four months and some odd days. It’s funny, when I begin to understand the beauty of what I’m doing here, I begin to panic at how short of a time four months really is. The human mind is a funny thing. So fleeting. What a gift, to have such a strong Anchor. I need my Anchor. The Anchor that tells me how to love. The Anchor that gives me eyes to see these princes and princess disguised in rags. The people I touch daily are children of an almighty king. I am unworthy of such an honor. Pray for me. That I will walk in an attitude of gratitude and humbleness this next week. I want to understand truly, the beauty and the worth of these people at my finger tips. I want to be a woman truly alive. I pray the same for you. To the dry bones, we say, “LIVE.”

Today was amazing. It was another long weekend, filled with thoughts and fears of a new week, but God is faithful. I was stationed in the labour room today. I started a day out with a beautiful woman, monitoring her contractions, taking her vitals, rubbing her back, belly, any place she needed rubbed. It wasn't long till she began to push, and with the help of one of my staff, I successfully delivered my second baby. He was honestly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. He was extra dark, beautiful round little head, and a face that made me just about cry. (Which isn't hard these days.) I named him Moses.

The mother had torn down an old episiotomy scar, and needed a few sutures. My staff asked the doctor to do the stitches, as we have not been trained yet in that area. The doctor came over, looked at me and said, "You will assist me this time, and then you will suture the next woman." I agreed sheepishly, praying to the dear Lord Jesus that the woman labouring in the bed next to us would not tear. The doctor was amazing and walked me through what she did for each layer of tissue. She was so instructive, and patient. Then when she got to the skin she said, "Okay, the skin is easy, you will do." I stared at her for a moment in shock, then I began to sweat, and sweat hard. "I will need much instruction." "Okay," she says and hands me the needle. "Ahhhhhhh, is she kidding me?" I thought to myself, as I watched my hand holding the needle shake. "Alright, here I go." The doctor was so kind and gracious, she walked me through the whole thing, and I can now say that I have sutured. It was really wild, and I was sweating and shaking the whole time. The doctor was probably thinking, "We let this girl deliver babies?"

After lunch I successfully inserted a cannula and IV line. I've tried before, on Hollie, for practice, but it was not as graceful. This woman had beautiful veins, (Thank you Lord) and it was really easy to find a good spot. It was really nice.

I continued to monitor that woman for the rest of the afternoon. We stayed over and hour past the end of our shift, and she was still only at 4 cm. So I didn't see her deliver, but it was so amazing to labour with her for so long. She was so cute. The beds are metal, so she was sliding herself from the end of the bed to the top during her contractions. She'd sing really frantically, then make noises like a cartoon. All I could think of was Roger Rabbit. At times I had to turn my head so I could smile, she was the cutest thing I've ever seen. She would grab at anything possible during contractions as well, so my hand, my neck, my bottom... anything she could give a firm sqeeze to relieve some of the tension. Because I was rubbing her belly and her legs, she'd take my hand and shove it to a place she wanted me to rub, then just hit her head, or shake her hands in the air. When her contractions would stop she'd hold my chin. Ahh, she was amazing. I had a fun afternoon with her, I sadly can't say the same for her, but I do hope I helped.

It's amazing what can happen in you when you realize that you have nothing to offer the world except the love of Christ. Everything changes. Life makes sense. You can do things you never thought possible. Like suture, or insert a cannula. Amen. He is so good.

This week has proved to be one of the most emotional weeks of my life. I have never experienced so many feelings in such a short time. It was really Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday that left me drained, and utterly overwhelmed. My week started in the antenatal ward. I, along with Shannon spent the morning doing somewhere around a hundred blood pressures, for the women coming in for their check ups. We sat at this desk and woman after woman came, sat down before us, we took their blood pressure, wished them a Happy New Year, and moved on to the next. It was really amazing to think back to Perth when I would get a stomach ach every weekend when I had to do my three blood pressures for practice. I hated them. They were so intimidating. It was really wonderful to see how much I’ve grown in the last six months. I of course, still have my questions, but I’m sure I’ll always have my questions.

After we were finished in the antenatal ward, we went to the admissions ward. Women come in labour, waiting to be admitted to the labour room, some come with difficulties, early labour, pre-eclampsia, eclampsia, or if they’ve been transferred from another hospital. It was pretty quiet in the ward when we arrived, so we took our lunch. When we returned there were two women lying on the beds. One was eclamptic, a condition that sometimes arises in pregnancy presenting it’s self with fits, high blood pressure, pitting swelling on the feet, hands, face, and belly, and protein in the urine. She was only 28 weeks along and had already had a few fits. It’s very dangerous when the women fit for the mother and also for the baby. We were all obviously keeping our eye on her. There was another woman who had just been transferred from another hospital on the other bed. I went over to her and held her hand, as she looked a bit distressed from the many cannula pokes she had in her arms. It looked as if the doctors were having a hard time finding a proper vein. I just held her hand, as I usually do, and gave my best “comforting” look. She looked at me for quite a long time and began to cry. She looked as if she was in a much better condition than her neighbor on the bed beside her. But since she was crying, I stayed by her side. I’m not sure if the doctors found a vein, or if they walked away from another reason, as at this point the story begins to blur, but it was just Lisa and I by the woman’s side. The woman looked at Lisa for a long while. All of a sudden, her eyes were no longer truly connected to Lisa’s and a strange noise was coming from her throat. Her arms tensed up a bit, and we began to be a bit concerned. We called the doctors over, thinking she had just entered into an eclampic fit. The doctors came over, asked me to try to find the fetal heart. I looked- nothing. I asked Lisa as I was not confident in my findings, hoping I was wrong. She could not find it either. Then the doctors searched for the pulse of the woman. They couldn’t find it. I was in a daze, just holding the woman’s hand, praying. All of a sudden the ‘big’ doctors came in, put in an air way and began to resuscitate the woman. They tried for a few minutes, and did a vaginal exam to check the baby. I watched half in shock, and confusion. After a few minutes, they removed the airway, and stepped back. I remained holding the woman’s hand. “If I step back, if I let go, it will be real. It’s can’t be real.” “She’s gone,” the doctor says, half to himself, half to us. I panic for a moment as they’ve not done anything for the baby. I finally let go of the woman’s hand and go to the doctor. I ask her if they will take the baby by operation. She tells me that by the V.E. they found the baby had been gone for a long time. I look at the woman on the table, her belly sticking up full term, I couldn’t breath. The doctors leave her, and go about other tasks. There is no time to grieve, there are other woman still very much alive, and in need of assistance. I go to the eclampic woman, we try to draw blood for testing, she’s pulling every which way. The other woman is still right there. An hour later the family comes in. I can’t bear to watch them, but can’t take my eyes off of them. We move the body. The woman. The body. I can’t think as I pick her up. I want to hold the teenage boy supporting her other leg. I wonder if it’s her son. I can’t hug him, or the husband. It’s not appropriate. But I want to so bad. I hug the sister in law instead. I’m so sorry. We still don’t know what really happened; I don’t know why she died. I can’t really believe it happened. They take the body. I go home. I couldn’t sleep that night. I stayed home from the hospital the next day. I needed to pray. Can I do this? Can I be a midwife? Why have so many died? I remember Blake, he died the same day the woman did, three years ago. Or is it four? How has so much time passed? I thought of Roseanne, and growing up. Disneyland, the lake, houseboats, and pomegranates. We had so much fun. I can’t believe she’s gone. Then Logan’s mom, I hate drugs. I thought of Jacob. This one is still fresh. Death is confusing. It hurts. I spend the morning praying, working through my thoughts, presenting them to God, along with questions, and fears. I don’t know if I can be a midwife. I’ve woken up every morning not wanting to go the hospital. I’m supposed to love this. I’ve waited for this for three years. This is supposed to be where I belong. It’s really hard. I don’t know if I can do it. Five more months. How will I make it? Make time go faster, Lord.

Wednesday… the labour room. Am I ready to go back to the labour room? I wake up at 5:30 that morning. I need to prepare myself. I pray with all of my heart. I am humbled, I am weak. “Lord, be made strong in my weakness.” I am shaking as I enter the ward. I can already hear the screams. I breathe. Then something came over me, and I fall in love with each woman I see. I can do this. They are so worth it. They are so beautiful. The doctors are nice today. They don’t seem so hard and cold. Praise God. The morning was good. I watched a few births. There was a woman in obstructed labour, the baby was in an oblique lie (sideways). I see that her bladder is full, but Hollie says they’ll catheterize her in theater. The operating room is too full, and she has to stay in the labour room for another hour. She was screaming so loud, so often. Hollie asked if I wanted to catheterize her. It’s my first one. I’m nervous, but I do it. Her bladder is so full. It drains for a long time. We pray that the empty bladder allows more room for the head to engage. I feel the baby move under my hand. After a full bed pan, the baby’s head is engaged. He moved. She delivers naturally. Praise God. I do two more catheters that day. I really like doing them. They bring so much relief for these women. There is a woman in the middle bed, the madam did a V.E. She’s fully dilated, she’ll be ready soon. Hollie tells me to glove up, and stay by her side. Oh my goodness, the head is coming. I do a vaginal exam, “Oh my goodness, that’s a baby’s head!” I get the cotton, I guard the perineum. I do vaginal sweeps. The head is coming. Oh my goodness, the head is coming. Sweet Jesus. The head is coming. Here it is. The cord is around the neck. Clamp and cut. Done. The shoulders. A baby is born. A boy. He’s beautiful. I want to cry but can’t. She’s in third stage labour, a dangerous time. I deliver the placenta with the help of Hollie. Thank God for Hollie. The woman is okay. Thank you Jesus. She has a small tear. I hoped she wouldn’t tear. The house surgeon will stitch her up. I go see the baby. He’s the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen. I may be bias. I pray for him, and ask God for a name. As I get one, I cry. I name him Melvin, after my dad. As I pray, I feel like he will be an adventurer, an explorer, a seeker of truth, and a leader in justice. I can’t really believe I just delivered a baby. Monday is still so real, and it still hurts, but this life, this life. Life is so redeeming. Perhaps I can be a midwife. There is so much hope in life. There is nothing in the world like Life. Thank you Lord. You are faithful. I hold Melvin for a long time, I think I love him. For the first time in my life, I think I might really like to have one of these little gifts. But for now, I’ll love Melvin. I believe he’ll change the world. Like Gandhi. A little Indian hero. I get home to find the name Melvin means “steadfast chief”. It’s fitting.

This week was hard. This week was amazing. This week was challenging. This week was powerful. This week was humbling. This week was hopeful. This week was liberating. This week was broken. This week was real.

I believe in your goodness. I believe in your faithfulness. I believe in your life. I believe in your redemption. I believe in your truth. You are good. You are faithful. You are life. You are redemption. You are truth. To Jesus Christ must the glory be given. To the reigning King.

“How goes the world?”

“The world goes not well. But the kingdom comes.”

Amen.