I officially made it through a full week without delivering a baby, or even being in the same room with a labouring woman. I survived. I was surprisingly okay with not having that energy, that rush; but I found that I missed it a bit. I spent the week behind the Admissions nursing station, doing a task that had nothing to do with midwifery, with people who didn’t know the first thing about delivering a baby. I had days full of conversations that had nothing to do with “all things woman”. We painted a mural. Refreshing, different. It’s strange to spend so much time with the same people, with the same goal, same heart, same vision as you; experiencing the same things, doing the same tasks. I found that when needing to speak to a man, I didn’t know how. I’ve spent the last year surrounded by strong women; the last eight months avoiding single men like the plague. A dear sweet friend of Lisa’s came from Pune for a visit and helped us out with the mural. It took me a good two to three days to know how to look him in the eyes, and casually converse with him. The only time I talk to men these days is at home to Heather’s husband, Darcy’s husband, Consuelo’s son, or doctors and only about “all things woman”. So finding myself thrown into the company of this strange, very different gender for the first time in 9 months was somewhat alarming. I fear I will be a mess when I return home. Perhaps it will be comical. I’m looking forward to it. Please forgive me in advance.

The mural proved to be a wonderful experience. I was first put in charge of it over a month ago, and I was intimidated to say the least. I have never done a mural, nor was I confident in my skills to successfully complete one. Whenever I thought about it I became frustrated and prayed that God would somehow work it out, as I had no idea how. Then last week I found out that I had the help of two very talented, very kind and generous artists; one from Holland, one from Tonga. Together, we teamed up and were able to paint a tree that surpassed my expectation. In the end I looked at it and felt that we had been used to create something that will touch and stir the hearts of many. Before we started my prayer was that our tree really would speak the promise of Revelation 22. That it’s leaves would really be those of the tree of life--- “the healing of the nations”. As the steady stream of people that pass it daily see it, they would feel something stir in them, the promise of a returning King. I prayed that it would be light in the darkness, colour in the grey, life in the midst of death. Though the walls around it may crumble, the promise of the Lord stands forever. I kept singing, “Use my hands to use my heart…”

It was refreshing to spend a week painting. It’s funny how we live in “seasons”. I am so much more than a “midwife”, but it seems this year was set apart for simply that. There are times when all I want to do is spent a week by myself singing and writing, painting, and making… and here I am, in 24/7 community, delivering babies; a different kind of art I suppose. Just as beautiful, just different.

It is getting hotter as the days continue. The other night it was 95 degrees inside my bedroom. I wake up daily with soaking hair and pillow. Even sleeping is an art, as you must find positions where no part of your body touches the other. It’s hell really, but I feel somehow that I enjoy it. Maybe because I know I only have two more weeks, and everything seems more comical than bothersome these days. Or so I try to make it that way. I got a package from my step mom, full of all things girly. Everyone in my room surrounded the box, “oooooed,” and “ahhhed”, and giggled. I enjoyed it thoroughly. We’ve been wearing dirty Punjabis to long. Or maybe just long enough.

If I have seen anything in the last year it’s the faithfulness of God. I have seen him fulfill a promise spoken to me almost four years ago now about the Birth Attendant School, I have seen Him meet me in my brokenness time and time again, and I have seen Him meet others in theirs. I have watched as He takes seemingly impossible situations and makes them possible, as He molds disasters into victories. I have wept as He breaks me, molds me and makes me more and more like Him, and I have laughed as He tells me I’m alright. He’s provided, He’s forgiven, and He’s made a way. I love that in two weeks when I’m in Australia, three weeks when I’m in Philly, and five weeks when I’m in California, He will be the same.

"…Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty,
who was and is and is to come!"

Revelation 4:8

My last update was written during the recovery of a rather high fever, so please forgive me for any mistakes or nonsensical ramblings. Thankfully I recovered from the fever, with in two days, and was feeling well at the start of the week; just in time to be in the Labour Room. As I began my “four weeks till home journey” earlier this week, I faced all of the many emotions that come with such a journey. I began to think about my friends and family in the States, and being just weeks from seeing their faces. A year is a long time to be gone. And yet, here I am. I delivered four babies this week, each one a gift I will never fully understand. I love and hate this never ending battle between present, past and future. Daily I find myself lost in memories of “yesterday”, or dreams of “tomorrow”. Seldom do I ever allow myself to be fully consumed in “today”. Just this morning during a lovely phone call I was reminded of how amazing my “today” actually is; I was given the beautiful gift of perspective. Perspective is something I am desperate for as of late. The other day I was driving down the overwhelmingly busy and crowded street, and saw a beautiful young woman hobbling around with two horribly deformed legs. She used two worn down wooden sticks for make shift crutches, and suddenly my “unbearable” blemishes didn’t seem to matter as much. Perspective.

I have three weeks left now, three weeks of a season filled with experiences many have never even dreamed of, and a season I will never again be able to relive. Lately I have been thinking about how important it is to fill my voids with the breathtaking presence of God and not with my present circumstances. I long for home, but when I am home, I will long for here, or for somewhere else. It is not in situations or seasons that we find ourselves, but in the promises and presence of God. If I leave here unsatisfied, I will only return home unsatisfied, and continue to live a life of dissatisfaction. However, if I find myself as I look into the face of God, and allow myself be filled, made whole, renewed by His abundance, then I will be filled, made whole, renewed everywhere I am, no matter the circumstance. Whether it be babies, hospitals and all things “woman”, or coffee houses, conversation, and inner city, I am filled. Well, I can be. Whether I am or not simply depends on my willingness to abandon my “rights”, humble myself and draw from the well of life; the well that, over the last year, I have discovered to be far deeper than I ever imagined. So this week I delivered four babies, I did washing with the dying and destitute, I laughed with the dymas, enjoyed the rain, saw an incredible lightning storm, and leaned better how to love. I was humbled, convicted, stretched, grown, and made stronger. Next week I will begin to paint a huge tree on one of the walls of the hospital; a feat seemingly impossible, and something I feel I am not capable of doing. With humility, and the help of others we will paint a promise on the wall that speaks of a tree whose leaves are the “healing of the nations”. It’s the promise of a new world, a renewed world, where women do not labour in vain.

“Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be any curse. The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light. And they will reign for ever and ever. The angel said to me, "These words are trustworthy and true. The Lord, the God of the spirits of the prophets, sent his angel to show his servants the things that must soon take place."

Revelation 22:1-6

Here I am, in India. There you are, wherever you are. And here He is, all around us. It matters not what we are doing, but how we are doing it, and who we are doing it for. I assure you that if we are doing what we do for ourselves, we are only left wanting, empty, unfulfilled. It is only when we do what we do for Love that we are filled, and our actions actually make a difference. I could spend the next three weeks counting down the days, longing for something more. However, when the three weeks end, and I move on to the “more” I will only find that I fill my voids with things that do not last, and it will only be a matter of time until I am empty yet again. So, I will draw from the well. Perhaps I will just jump in…

“Only by living completely in the world can one learn to believe. One must abandon every attempt to make something on oneself--- even to make oneself a righteous person” Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Babies... Oliver Ted, Carmela Sharon, Jordan Jeremiah, Aslan Wesley, they make 25, 26, 27 and 28 babies delivered.

This week it rained, and as it rained, I felt as if I was being washed clean, being refreshed, being filled. The last three weeks have been difficult ones, but with each difficulty, I have found that the grace and mercy of God is enough to not only pull you through any situation, but make you stronger, more beautiful in the process. Sunday was Easter we had a "sunrise survice" on our roof. I thought a lot about the resurrection. Some how, this year I felt it deeper than years past, as if a piece of me could identify with it. I felt as though bits and pieces of me have died during the last year, with each lifeless baby, each dying woman, I feel as though I have lost pieces of myself. But then, at the end of the day, I realize that whatever I loose is only replaced with new life. I am given beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning. Each place of my heart that has "died" has not only been brought back to life, but been given a deeper understanding of what life is. It's beautiful. He is beautiful.

Monday we were blessed with a gift from a newly wed couple at our base in Perth that allowed us to go to an Indian water park. I, loving water, was so excited. However, I have spent too much time in India to think that it would actually be "nice". When we arrived we found shotty old water slides that spit you out into green, murky water. I climbed the stairs to the first slide thinking about the many nails and bits of plastic that were surly going to tear my flesh as I flew innocently down the slide. I was relieved when I landed in the green, murky water at the bottom with out a single scratch. The slides were fun, but I ended up spending most of my time in the "wave pool". It was swarming...and I really mean swarming... with young Indian men, and I was thankful for the "Ladies only" section. I laid there in the green, debris filled water, pretending it was the ocean. There was a mural on the back wall of the pool that reminded me a lot of Pirate's Cove at home. If I closed my eyes, it almost felt as if I was home, in Shell Beach. I sat there for hours, detaching myself from India, from the many hormonal boys in the section to my left, and from the past year of my life. It was a nice break. I awoke from this dream world when the "waves" actually were turned on. All of a sudden they were crashing against my face, and I remembered exactly where I was... in Indian, in a sick, green pool surrounded my men. I laughed to myself, it was nice to be back. Later that afternoon it started to rain, it was all I could do not to explode with happiness.

Tuesday I went back to Mother Teresa's home for the dying and destitute. We helped do heaps and heaps of laundry. With each colorful garment I washed, I fell more and more in love with this life I've been blessed to live. I love watching "community"work. The women who could help with laundry did, so I was doing laundry with the dying and destitute. "Happiness" doesn't seem to do justice the emotions I was feeling in those moments. Its a beautiful thing when things like laundry can bring life.

Wednesday I went to a slum, a small community of homes made up of tents made out of blue tarps, cardboard, and dried palm branches. There were huge grey rain clouds over head that occasionally would drop a few raindrops on us. Somehow the darkness of the clouds gave the slum this beautifully romantic feel, as if we were far from the city, and the business of life. I imagined crawling into one of these little tents and drinking chai as we listened to the thunder and rain pelt down on the plastic tarp over head. It was such a beautiful day. We intended to do antenatal checks, but there were no pregnant women there that week. So, instead we played with children. By the end of the day my cheeks were coated in kisses, given by skinny, dirty, wild children dressed in rags. They fed me tamarinds and played thumb war. As we drove home that evening, the heavens opened and it began to rain. As I stared out of the rickshaw I beamed with excitement and joy. I remembered last week, and how faithful I have learned my God is. I felt as if He had made it rain just for me; as if He knew it's exactly what I needed. And it was...

Thursday I was in the labour room. I delivered baby number 23 and 24. Molly Colleen, and Elisha Nile, beautiful healthy little ones. Elisha Nile was born on the same bed as my hard delivery last week. As I began to pull him out, I shook a little and tried to remind myself, "This is a new day, a new delivery, a new baby..." I was relieved when he let out a healthy, lively cry, and the cold metal slab of a bed had been redeemed.


I have four more weeks here. Four more weeks. I can hardly believe that I waited three years to do the Birth Attendant School, and now I am four weeks from being finished. And what's even crazier... I am a midwife. He is good and faithful.

(You may notice throughout the next few weeks that I look more and more wasted in pictures of the labour room. That's because it's hotter than you can ever imagine, and when I take my coat off at the end of the day my clothes are just soaking wet. Praise the Lord.)

To be honest, I cannot really recall Monday or Tuesday, but Wednesday I was in the labour room. I wasn’t supposed to be in the labour room, I was supposed to be going to the slum to do an antenatal clinic. But the schedule changed. So I packed my hospital jacket, my “tools”, and got ready to deliver some babies. We got to the labour room, and it seemed to be filled with complicated cases. There seemed to be an abundance of “madams” (duty doctors), when usually there is only one or two. There were forceps deliveries, women being sent for cesarean sections, and IUD’s. I began to monitor a woman and after looking at her chart I discovered her baby was an “anomaly” baby. The scan showed that the baby had a cyst from his chest to his waist. This worried me, and I questioned if I should conduct this delivery, but she wouldn’t be delivering for a while, and there was no harm in monitoring her. Lunch came and went, and she still had not delivered. She lay there very quietly. The labour room had become a bit busier, and I was able to deliver the baby of a very malnourished woman who had had two other babies, and had lost them both; the first after one month, the second after three days. He was a small little boy, called Jeffery John. He wasn’t doing well, so they transferred him to the neonatal intensive care unit. I questioned if he had some sort of developmental disability, he looked a bit as if he had Down syndrome. He is a gift, and I have deep hope for his life. I had hardly finished taking the vital signs of the woman I had just delivered when Hollie called at me that my “anomaly” mother was delivering. I quickly got new gloves on and ran to her side. Sure enough the head was on its way. It’s at this point I find myself at a loss. How much do I say, how much do I share? As I continued to deliver the baby, I felt as if something was terribly wrong. I yelled at Hollie to get a “madam”. The madam came. Something was terribly wrong, and I proceeded to watch the most horrific scene I’ve ever seen. As the situation escalated, higher ranking doctor after higher ranking doctor came in to try to solve the problem To spare us both, I will not write what happened, but it was something most midwives will never see in their entire career. One of my classmates later described it as her worst nightmare. As I stood there, where I usually stand to receive a screaming little one, I couldn’t even fathom what I was seeing. There was nothing I could do anymore, so I focused on the mother. I just looked into those beautiful brown eyes begging her to focus on me, avoiding what was happening at her feet. Never in my life have I ever felt so connected to another human being. It was as if we knew each other. As if language and culture no longer existed. I held her head as she pushed, I held her gaze as she wept, I held her belly as I prayed desperately for the rest of the baby to be born. Eventually, after much work, the rest of the baby was born. I am not sure how long it had been, as time seemed to stand still. The baby quite obviously died in the process of this delivery.

I held the woman in my arms for a long while, trying to process what I just saw, trying to process what she was going through, and trying to understand how this happened. To be honest, I went away from the situation in shock. It was about 15 minutes later that another woman began to deliver. I stood there by her side. As my hands went through the motions of this delivery my mind was stuck on what has happened just moments before. I was terrified as I delivered the head, then the body, but the relief that overcame me when she let out a healthy little cry was overwhelming. My God is a God of redemption and restoration; a God of mercy and grace. I named her Mercy Joy Grace, for she was all of those to me. I didn’t cry until I got home. Then when Michaela asked me how my day was I sat on her bed and began to weep. She looked as shocked as I was as I explained the story, and just began to pray for me. Community is one of the best gifts I’ve ever been given. I don’t ever want to live without it.

Thursday I spent the morning in prayer; a day of “recovery”.

Friday- “Good Friday”. It seems as if the weeks have gotten progressively harder in this past month. But as they grow harder, and more painful, I seem to fall more desperately in love with this amazing Jesus. This Good Friday I somehow had a better understanding of the “suffering of Christ”. I’ve been thinking about Psalm 42, and the phrase “deeps calls to deep”. I can’t grasp the full meaning of these words; however, I don’t think I want to. There is a mystery in these words that stirs me. Some how, as I experience things I never dreamt possible, as I see things I never imagined I could see, as I begin to feel the depths of brokenness in this world, I feel as though my “deep” that calls out to “deep” grows deeper. As my need for strength grows stronger, as my need for comfort increases, I find them. It’s as if I have this well of life, and love, joy and peace at my side always, and it’s only when I am at the point of utter brokenness that I really begin to tap into the depth of what we’ve been given as children of God. In the past week I have felt feelings and seen things I cannot begin to understand. And in the past week I have felt the mighty hands of God take me up, hold me, and tell me I’ll never experience these things on my own. That’s what I was telling the woman as I looked so deeply into her brown eyes. “He’s never left you Love, and He will not leave you now.” And there he seemed to be, at her shoulders giving her the strength to push, and there he was behind me, giving me strength to stay by her side. I have never known a love like this. Easter means more to me this year than it has before. “It’s going to be worth it. It’s going to be worth it all.”

Psalm 42

Revelation 7:9-17

Happy Easter. He is worthy. He is so worthy.

Jeffery Jordon is wearing the first hat I've ever crocheted. I really enjoy crocheting.