Safe and Sound. So, I am offically freezing in Australia's fall season. And loving it. I arrived yesterday morning after a long, but enjoyable journey. Last night I was so tired I felt dizzy. I went for long walk by the river today. It was amazing. I miss my family in India. I feel as though a part of me is missing, but it feels really nice to be back. Really nice...

At last I am in Thailand, which I thought would never happen. The long, drawn out, disappointing, heart wrenching departure proved to be well worth it after all. It all began at a birthday party for Darcy on Tuesday, the day I was scheduled to leave. I had to say goodbye to most of my friends/classmates/sisters there, as they were leaving for a bush clinic in some village with the doctors from the hospital. I was fine until about the third hug, then I lost it. In the middle of a nice restaurant I began to weep. Whether it was because of deep sadness over loosing these friends, or great thankfulness for what had just ended, excitement for what was to come, or all of the above, I'll never quite know, as my head was thinking 100 different things. Either way I balled like a small child while the waiters looked on awkwardly, how Indians do. Michaela sang me our theme song through sobs, which proved to be the highlight of my day. (That and the two old men... which comes a bit later.)

After the heart breaking goodbyes I went home and took what I thought was my last bucket shower. I got my bags, said my final goodbyes and took my "last" rickshaw ride to the airport. After saying goodbye to my rickshaw partners, I walked into a rather empty airport to find my airline's desk deserted. The security guard told me to wait. So I waited. And I waited. And I waited. It was getting later, so I checked back. He told me to wait. I did. Finally I decided that this didn't make any sense, so I went investigating. A long story short, my flight had been "re-scheduled". I obviously didn't know anything of the matter. So alas, I was at the airport by myself, no phone number, no money, alone for the first time in 9 months. Tears slowly began to fill my eyes when I realized, "I've delivered 32 babies, I can do this." It was then that a dear security man offered me a ride home. I kindly accepted, seeing it as my only option. My mind jumped from thoughts of gratitude to thoughts of, well, the worst... then, thankfully, back to trust and belief in the goodness of man. As I waited for him to finish his shift I read the book I was supposed to read on the plane, looked down at my watch and realized I should have already been in the air, high over that "frustrating nation."

On the way home, as I drove back seat to to old Indian men, both lecturing me about not having a phone number or money, I began to laugh. India is so beautifully, consistently, difficult. It's amazing actually, how hard everything is. I was actually glad she had proven herself even to the very end. I laughed all the way home, then as I greeted my friends, then as I fell asleep, then again as I woke up to catch my new flight. I ceased however when my paper work I had was not enough for the airline to work with. I needed to have the old ticket, the original, even though the dates were wrong. So, Lisa had to get another rickshaw, after she had just dropped me off, and bring me my old ticket.

After a long, drawn out morning full of surprises, and small difficulties, I finally boarded my 2 hour flight to Sri Lanka. But not before the security guards searched my bags, found my vitamins and told me I need them because I am "looking weak". I didn't fly out of Sri Lanka till the next morning, so I got on a shuttle bus and rode to a hotel that the airport provided for me. I got the front seat in the packed shuttle bus, right by the air conditioning. It was then that I realized, things were really looking up for me. Then, I saw it... the ocean. I hadn't seen it in 6 months. I cried. Then I cried again when I arrived at my hotel to find it on the beach, over looking the ocean. Then I cried again as the waves crashed around my newly "sun kissed" legs. It felt strange to know that these same waters took so many lives a few years ago. The cause of so much pain, and yet so healing to me then. I just sat there, for hours, looking at it. So beautiful, so vast, so refreshing.

Sri Lanka was so lush, so quiet, so spacious. So "not India". I felt like screaming, or dancing, or both. I watched the sunset over the ocean, then walked to my room bare foot, discovered my pale "weak" body sun burnt, and then took a real shower. A real life shower, no bucket or scoop involved. With warm water! And since my room was air conditioned, I actually loved that the water was warm. I just stood there, under this beautiful gift to man kind and let the warm water run down my head and to my feet. Then when I finally felt bad for wasting too much water, I turned around and let it run down my face. I could never tell you how long I was in there, but by the end I had prunes for fingers. At last my conscious got the best of me and I turned off the water. Then I went downstairs, ate a beautiful meal surrounded by white people! I couldn't stop from staring. It has been so long. After my plate was finished and I no longer had an excuse to gawk, I went upstairs and fell asleep under blankets on a real bed. My wake up call was for 5 o'clock this morning. I had yet another hot shower, then went down stairs just in time for sun rise and real coffee, possibly the best two cups I've ever had.
And now I am here. In Thailand. In a place that is flooded with white people, and I feel as though I can not stop staring at all of them. I'm going home... I really am going home. I can hardly believe it...

I feel as though this little trip has been a beautiful illustration of how God turns ashes into beauty, and turns our mourning into dancing. I felt as if I couldn't make it through the difficulties at the airport in Hyderabad. I felt as if I was just too tired, I was done, my grace for the people and for the county had simply run out. I was done. I told Him that. I said I didn't understand. And then He gave me a good laugh about vitamins and Sri Lanka- a gift that blessed me more than words could possibly share with you. He never ceases to amaze me. He is good. He is so good. And I, I my friends, am coming home. Oh my gosh... I am coming home.

(We wore saris to a dinner at one of the doctor's houses... )

Sunday night I worked my first and last night shift. It was also my last shift in the labour room and in fact, my last time at the hospital. It was surreal to think that every baby I delivered could very well be my last. It was a beautiful peaceful night, calm enough to actually breathe, but busy enough keep my mind off the fact that it was a ridiculous hour, and that I should indeed be sleeping. As I remember that night, and realize that it was my last, I feel tears begin to creep over my eyes. Can this truly be over? Sunday night I felt as if I could not possibly take in enough. It was as if I wanted to remember every inch of that ward, that ward that had broken and captured my heart. That ward where I experienced things I could never again retell. I saw life, I saw death, I saw pain, anguish, victory, and miracles. The place where I learned what it was to truly be a midwife, to “be with women”. I have five stories for every metal slab they call beds. The smells once poignant and unbearable have become familiar, hardly noticeable, and maybe even a bit nostalgic. My legs that once shook and wandered aimlessly around “uncharted territory”, now stand strong, walk confidently (most of the time), and feel at “home”. The doctors so intimidating just months ago have become friends. I like to make them smile. I used to be afraid to address them. There I was, Sunday night, my last night, and I was mourning.

It was around 2 am when I walked over to Post natal ward to try to get some paper work. The “coolness” of the night brought relief to my ever so sweaty body. For the first time in 5 months I found myself completely alone. There were no families to step over, no passing doctors, no giggling student nurses, no scheming diamas, I was alone. For a moment I felt my heart begin to creep into my throat, then I heard them… the bats. There are hundreds of bats living in the trees surrounding the hospital. Usually I see them hanging from there homes in the branches, sleeping upside down, but this time they were flying, and talking. To whom, I can not be sure, but I found comfort in the company. I watched them as I wound around the corners, through the court yard and over the cracked and uneven pathways. I remembered once being so confused by these hall ways, terrified of where they would lead and what I would see if I followed them. Now there I was, navigating myself alone, in the dark, under a bat filled sky. I noticed much more in the dark. As I walked past the Septic ward I looked into a dimly lit window to find a woman sitting, with a tiny baby lying across her crossed legs as she carefully spoon fed him milk. I imagined she had HIV, and was protecting the wee one from the virus by giving him formula. I felt for her as spoon feeding a baby is no easy task. I saw another woman, baby in hand, fanning herself and the tiny new addition. “They are real people, they continue on, even after my shift ends…” I made it to Postnatal after quite a refreshing little journey, only to find the old, rickety doors chained together and locked. I peered through the bars and saw the nurses sleeping on the station benches, women sprawled out on beds and the floor alike, each with a small, breathing bundle in hand. I was disappointed I could not obtain my paper work, but experiencing this peaceful little scene was worth it.

I delivered my last two babies that night. Acacia Michelle, and Marta Rehab. My last delivery was one of the most amazing I’ve ever conducted. Darcy, my staff, was with another student anticipating the delivery of a woman, when I noticed a G3 (third pregnancy) woman looking very close to delivering herself. The duty doctor came on her rounds, checked her, said “she will deliver”, and went on her way. I checked her as well, and before I could even brace myself a baby was coming. It was so peaceful. My 32^nd and last delivery on the Birth Attendant School. Despite the fact that I have nervously welcomed so many before this, I have fumbled, I’ve made mistakes, I have been utterly terrified, this delivery seemed so natural, as if I’d been doing this my whole life. It was so fluid, so graceful, I felt so connected to the movements, so comfortable with the “steps”. There wasn’t a single complication, nor a single comment or command from anxious on lookers. It was as if for one moment in time, one single moment, the entire world was right. And then I realized I didn’t have scissors. By this time Dacry had come over and was joyfully welcoming this new human into the world. As the student nurse ran off to find clean scissors which can be much harder than it sounds, I cleared out her little airways, and encouraged her to breath in the hot, sweet Indian air. Darcy struggled to get gloves on as I awkwardly tried to suction and hold the baby in place on the mother’s still very round stomach. The nurse ran back with the scissors in hand, as Darcy continued to struggle with her gloves. I put the bulb suction down in order to maneuver the clamps. How one does this while holding a slimy baby steady at the same time remains a mystery to me, and I called out to Darcy to support the baby. Somewhere in between clamping and cutting the very slippery baby slowly began to slip from her warm little nook on her mother’s belly. Darcy and I lunged at her in slow motion before she was able to slip too far. Once again safe and secure, we began to laugh. It was a beautiful end to a beautiful birth and a beautiful birth to end the Birth Attendant School.

I went to the slum on Wednesday; however there were no pregnant women. We ended up doing heaps of primary health care teachings, and praying for those in need. There was a ten year old little girl, thin as a rail recovering from Jaundice. The doctors said she would die a few weeks ago, but the man we work with in slum prayed for her, and she has slowly but surly made a come back. Though she is recovering, she was still shocking to look at. Tiny as can be, expressionless, and lethargic. We prayed for a young woman with a bad leg from polio. She was “unmarriable” because of this bad leg, despite her beautiful face and kind heart. She could not carry the water from the well, so there for she would not marry. The girl sitting beside her, no older than 23 was left by her husband three years back. Her husband (and cousin) was forced to marry her, but left her because she was too thin. She asked if we had any injections to make one “stout”. Both of these women are unable to marry in a society based around marriage. Both beautiful, young women.

I’ve found myself lost in a paradox lately, as I try to understand how this is all supposed to make sense. In a few short days I will return to the “west”. I will return to “normalcy”, to friends and family, and to a future. I know I am to return to the states, I have felt called to the “inner city” for years, but I struggle in leaving this behind. I have seen poverty, I have seen injustice, I have seen pain, and yet I return home. I have been trying to understand what it means to be the body of Christ; to truly be the body of Christ, the one they talk about in Romans 12. If this is honestly how it all works, then my leaving should be no problem. You see because if the body of Christ truly is a body, with separate members doing different things, then my problem is solved. I just can’t seem to wrap my head around being simply an “arm in America” when I know there needs to be “legs in India”. One of my greatest struggles in the last few years has been my desire to be all parts of the body, at all times, in all places. I’m finding that to simply be impossible. I’ve been an “Arm in America” in India for the last five months. I’ve learned so much, experienced so much, and wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world, but alas, I did not accomplish nearly as much as a leg would have, given my place. Why? Because I am an “arm in America”. So the question remains, can I leave here knowing what I am leaving behind? If we really are called to be the body of Christ, then I must because America is desperately in need of arms. Perhaps my problem lies more in mistrust and pride than in conviction and calling. Do I believe that I will save the world, or do I believe something far greater than I will? Do I want to live in India and have the influence of mother Teresa as well as the name, or do I want something greater to receive the glory? So, I will go back to America. Still, the images imbedded in my mind will remain forever. I think I will always have “the nations” pumping through my veins as I learn how to be an “arm in America”. This, I am beginning to think, can either be my greatest strength, or my largest downfall. I do believe I’m a bit nervous to find out.

So, my last “Indian update”. Tuesday, May 15^th will be the best and worst day of my life.

If you are a woman, I think you should do the Birth Attendant School. Every woman in the world should do this school. I am changed forever. I really am changed forever.

"You are worthy, our Lord and God,
to receive glory and honor and power…”

Last week was my last full week of “ministry”. Sunday I am doing night shift, Monday I’m recovering from night shift, Tuesday and Wednesday I will be going on my last house visit, and spending my last day at the hospital. Thursday and Friday I’ll be tying up loose ends, the weekend will come and go, and then Tuesday I board a plane heading “west”. I leave this place in ten days, after giving it 23 weeks of my life. Then I will head back to the states after being gone 11 months. I don’t think I will begin to understand all that has changed in me until I get home, or fully see how much I’ve experienced. I have been in 5 different nations, worked with heaps of different people from different cultures and backgrounds. I’ve learned from text books, I’ve learned from people, I’ve learned from experience, I’ve learned from mistakes. I have delivered 30 babies with my own hands and seen over 100 be delivered by the hands of others. I have seen victories and triumphant recoveries, and I have seen heart breaking defeats. I have been moved by poverty, and I have ignored it. I have loved, I have hated. I have been humbled time and time again. I have overwhelmed, and I’ve been given direction.

I think about the ocean often, of trees and fresh air. I think about being alone, and just sitting. I feel as though I could spend a year just walking, sitting, walking, sitting, alone, just thinking. At the same time I want to spend every waking moment with family and friends. I am excited to drive. It’s been along time.

I will miss these women that have been such a strong part of my life. I will miss the excitement of delivering a baby, and the sound of their first cry. Life

Alas, I’m two weeks from moving on… Moving on to a vision that came out of no where really, but one that makes as much sense as the Birth Attendant School did three years ago. I love that the seasons in my life seem to be so unrelated. But at the same time, I watch as they are taken and so intricately woven together to form something beautiful. I am nervous, I am excited, I am ready.

This week I was able to go to the slum again, do an antenatal check, and distribute food to the wee ones. They are so beautiful. We even got to prepare the food first. Tamarind Rice. I cut the chilies, and my hands burned for the rest of the night.

The news said that it was 48 degrees C, 118 degrees F on Monday. I began to pray for rain. I prayed hard.

In the labour room this week I delivered babies 29, and 30. Rachel Christine and Lola Lucille. As my days in the labour room are coming to an end, I find that I am beginning to treasure each one more than the last. My second delivery was a surprise. The student nurses came with that panicked look in their sweet little faces, “Madam! Madam!” I ran over to one of the metal beds to find a head out. I had run to the left side and a student doctor to the right. The “conductor” of the delivery always stands on the right, so I was expecting to just assist. However when the doctor hesitated to get her hands in there, I reached in and pulled the baby out from the left side. It was extremely awkward, but she was healthy as a horse, and after a few sutures the mother was as well. As we were finishing up our paper work at the end of the day, the heavens opened and it began to pour. I looked up at the beautifully dark, cool, storm clouds and I praised my God. I like India much better in the rain.

I don’t know if I really understand what it is that is about to end. I have a feeling I may be concluding one of the most amazing times of my life. Ten days left of one of the most amazing times of my life. Let it be dear Lord, let it be.