August... The Transition Continues

The evolution to a more simple existence.

The apartment definitely looks more like a basement for storage then a garden level home these days. I fluctuate between grouchiness and energy. Yesterday was a grouchy day thanks to a mix of having to pay for car repairs and fatigue over the pack and move saga (pricing items for the garage sale phase now... ick). The evening improved when I took the dogs to the park to watch Patrick play tennis in his tennis league. The night was beautiful... the clouds rolled in and cooled the air. Sadie sat beside me on the park bench, and Duke at my feet with his little purple casted leg protruding out. Nice moment. One of those moments you want to have over and over again. Oh, and I had a chilled glass of wine with me at the park which also helped heal the packing annoyance.

Life as of late has been both simple and complex. The daily routine is mostly packing, sorting, pricing, putting things up for sale on Craig’s list and managing the e-mails it all generates. I'm working a lot at the psychiatric hospital. I'm greatfull for the income, but feel a little claustrophobic as I'd rather be somewhere else. Also still working at the MRI center, and picking up extra shifts at my residency clinic as a preceptor. Doesn't leave a whole lot of time to do what I really am aching to do which is spend some down time in the mountains, or walking around the city.

I'm so ready for this moving process to be done. I don't even mind so much that our apartment is empty save organized piles of stuff. I don't mind sleeping on the futon mattress on the floor of our bedroom, or living on bare essentials, or trying to be creative with meal planning so we actually use up some of our pantry stock (hmmmm rice with tomato paste and pine nuts... mmmmmm). I just had another "my time is short" reality hit yesterday, and the last thing I wanted to be doing was putting my car up for sale, agonizing about financials, or pricing washcloths. I am craving some down time in the mountains by a stream, with s’mores and a good book. Need to clean out the dust bunnies of my soul, soak in the environment because the panic is creeping in whispering "you won't be here much longer." Even my scooter ride this morning was sentiment-evoking. The air outside felt good, the wind in my hair (around the helmet). I felt free and really saw clearly the wild activity of the city. On a scooter you are hyper-aware (mostly so you don't become grill decoration on a Mac truck) of the hustle and bustle, and it energizes.

I recognize I've been keeping myself a little too busy to mask the emotions that are bubbling beneath the surface. We move in with some friends in September--the ones who will be adopting Sadie-dog when we leave for Haiti. We were hoping that living all together in the house would help Sadie with the transition to a new home and family, and help my friends with the transition into becoming new dog owners. But it all feels a little unnerving anticipating loosing our little space, the intimacy that comes from our little family together at the end of day. I get tearful anytime my silly family is all in the living room: Duke on the futon beside Patrick and I, Sadie on the floor, kitty rubbing her belly up against Sadie and meowing for attention. I'm very aware that this little scene is finite.

Funny how satisfied I've become with simple moments, with a simple environment as of late. I remember feeling really restless in my apartment last fall, ready to move out and buy a house of our own... wanting this or that "essential" item to complete a look or a function. And now I recognize just how happy I am with the very simplest of pleasures in my life: walks around the block, cuddling my furry puppies, watching the sunset from our back patio. I'm content with our simple living arrangement and the security it provides, our yard, our neighborhood. Suddenly I feel like I could live in the apartment unchanged forever, without furniture or decoration. I know it all has to do with wanting to cling to what I know, being scared of the changes ahead. But it’s crazy how fierce and strong the desire is to bring everything I love about my life in close and hold tight and not let go... as if the storm will eventually pass if we just hunker down long enough.

In the same breath, I'm getting more excited about Haiti. Of course I have a lot of anxiety about what life and job will look like, but excitment swells for the next chapter to come. I've also never felt as close to Patrick as I have in the last few months. I'm sure it has everything to do with the adventure we are getting ready to embark on, recognizing that the only constant in our life in the next few years will be each other. He is the one person who completely understands our reasons for going, shares the excitement of our future and the fear of the challenges ahead. Such a shared understanding gives me the courage to pursue such dreams that throw me out of my comfort zone, out of my support network, into the big wide scary open. Our connection has deepened, and it is palpable. We are lucky that we soon will get to do the kind of work we've dreamed of, that we'll be experiencing that hyper-awareness of all senses engaged that comes from traveling. We'll be forced to live simply, recycle more, compost and grow our own food--all stuff that I have wanted to be better at in the States, but have tended to give in to the luxury of laziness. We are lucky that we have found another who is equally excited and willing to face fears for the sake of a shared dream.

So I try to focus on these thoughts when I have my "bunker down" moments. Not everything is changing; I won't have to say good bye to all in which I find comfort. My family is a phone call away, my friends eager e-mailers, my spiritual community the prayer force for strength. My husband is my island in this storm of this change. And one firm hold to such familiar anchors will give me the courage to forge ahead.

July In Transition

Simplification. Moving. Preparing.

I've tried to keep my sense of humor about this whole moving process: worldly possessions peddled on Craig’s List or packed away into storage bins, living with bare essentials in our apartment that looks naked without pictures on walls and knick-knacks on shelves. But my stone face is purely superficial. Bubbling below is a sea of emotion that comes out in spurts. I haven't intentionally tried to stuff feelings, just trying to focus on the present and tasks at hand. Keeping busy, though, keeps me from feeling too much. I went for a long run yesterday for the same effect—mental numbness. I find myself drawn to mindless tasks like sorting or running. Escaping? Maybe. Or just tackling big change in baby steps.

After going through our schedules in July, Patrick and I realized that really we had two good weeks at the beginning of the August to get things done, and then we'd be gone/busy so sporadically that there wouldn't be time to pack and move at the end of the month. So projects started very hard and fast. I started innocently enough... going through clothes... keeping anything that didn't make me sweat or feel suffocated (doing this in the heat of the day really helped me prioritize what to take to Haiti). But clothes-sorting morphed into going through bedding and linens... which evolved into emptying and sorting the entire storage closet and guest room closet so I had a place to store all my organized boxes/bags earmarked "Yard Sale" or "Storage" or "To Haiti." By this time my psychosis had taken over, and I got on Craig's list and started raffling off our worldly possessions.

Items of furniture keep vanishing. Patrick shakes his head every evening when getting home from work at the new something he can no longer sit on. Books are out of bookshelves, the dining room table looks like a mountain of knick-knacks. I keep trying to slow myself down, trying to be as mindful about this whole process as I can, but the apartment feels like one big unfinished task. I am looking forward to the time when all is packed, and we take on a camping, gypsy existence. Right now, however, I'm in task-master mode.

On one level it feels good to purge, to recognize all the excess and be free from it for a bit. I've enjoyed going through things, remembering who and where items came from, the stories behind little treasures, the memories tied to the material. As much as I joke about this purging process, I'm acutely aware of what I'm letting go of. And it is hard.

I keep looking around and trying to bargain what I can take, what I should store (what I'll really be looking forward to having when I come back) and what is really unnecessary and can be sold or given away. I look around my little apartment with everything in its place, and it is home. It is filled with pictures of adventures, of friends and family, of ornaments that remind us of our spirituality or our aesthetic. And all this stuff creates my soothing, relaxing environment. Letting go of it all forces me to seek peace from within instead of being wrapped in it. And, well, I mentioned above just how peaceful my insides are. It’s hard. It’s emotional. If I let myself think about it too long, I get weepy. So instead I focus on my psychotic packing tendencies, and the feeling of being "liberated" from stuff, even though it’s harder than I let on.

I'm also aware that I'm moving to a place with empty rooms and blank walls. The optimist in me says its a fresh start, a blank page. The realist in me keeps me acutely aware that I'll be moving to a place where the stuff I'm whining so loudly about giving up is often an unheard of luxury amongst the populous. The sentimental part of me says I'll be missing the tokens of years lived and memories made. So I find myself putting more things than I expected in the "storage" box... not quite ready to give up the coffee cup from the Grand Canyon or the blanket from Mexico. Maybe stuff is like that pair of pants you keep in the closet KNOWING that someday you will stick to the diet and exercise regimen that will certainly suck you down to a size 4, allowing you to strut your stuff in such a stylish miniature pair of jeans again. It's hope. And sometimes you grow out of wanting to wear the size 4 because you've come to love your body for its curves. And THEN you can give the jeans away to some tiny person with no pants. Maybe, in time, I'll realize that the memories aren't going anywhere, that they are a part of who I am, the pictures I store, and that I don't need STUFF to hold tight to those memories. But today, I'm not quite there yet.

I went for a hike Friday with Anne and Sadie-dog that helped cool my recent insanity. The wildflowers were at peak bloom, and the mountain was dotted with color. The air was cool and clean, rejuvenating and calming. Mountain waterfalls and streams were full and rushing; the air itself was ripe for walking meditation. Sadie was in heaven, romping here and there, chasing Picas (the little tiny mountain mouse-like rodents that live on rocks at high altitude). I swear Sadie was showing off for Anne (her future mommie), because she came every time I called, she was perfect to every stranger and every stranger’s dog, she stayed close to us, and sat with us every time we needed to take a rest stop or sit for a snack. I fell in love with my dog all over again. How on earth am I going to leave her??? She looks at me while I sort and pack, head between paws, brown eyes staring out, wondering/hoping that any minute I'll put on my tennis shoes and she'll know immediately that we are going to do something fun. :)

So the fun moments I have to work on, because the time here is short. Ultimately the work and tasks will get done. What I stand to regret is not soaking up these moments with my furry family, the cool crisp air of the mountains, the freedom to walk anywhere in the city, the invigoration of a long run, the luxury of getting together with friends at a moment's notice, the simple ease of life lived here. Because a big change is on the horizon. Ready or not.

Commissioned

Evolution. Progression.

Since our trip to Haiti, fear had settled in. In efforts to keep abreast on the latest news and goings-on in Haiti, we've became more acutely aware of the volatile and violent undercurrent of Haitian affairs. Poverty, hunger and lack of options breed unrest, and as a result, kidnappings, riots and violence arise out of news reports from the streets. We have had a LOT of reservations about a placement in the midst of such violence. We have been struggling with our sense of call and whether the safety concerns that exist in Haiti are worth the risk. Together we have spent hours in reflection, prayer, talking, journaling and endless researching. The need is still great. But fear snuck in. Why should I risk life and limb for a cause that is not my own? Or is it my own as I am born into the kingdom of God and am inherently responsible for all my sisters and brothers?

In all honestly, fear was taking over, consuming, choking. Fear was swallowing up our dream. Yet we had a meeting in Indianapolis we had committed to in order to finalize the application process. So we continued to fret and consider and hope.

Patrick and I got back yesterday from 4 full days of meetings and interviews with the board of Global Ministries in Indianapolis. We were brought there to interview in front of regional directors, to meet the 36 board members, to present our "spiritual journey and our call to mission," to visit with current and former missionaries as well as to become familiar with the issues and programs that Global Ministries is involved with. An interview. And not only were our skills up for review, but our philosophy and our life's purpose. A BIG interview.

The interview with the regional directors was intense and informative. We sat in front of 10 faces, all different shades of brown, persons from all over the world. Many of the directors were former missionaries with a lot of life experiences and passion for service. They asked us an assortment of questions, ones I've never been asked in an interview before. We dared to be honest. When it was our turn to question, we brought up our overwhelmingly most important question of the moment--that of safety. The board validated our concerns and seemed relieved that we were aware of the realities of such a commitment. They then proceeded to discuss the network of support we'd be surrounded by both from the Global Ministries board and from CONASPEH in Haiti. They talked about the policies in place for the "worst case scenario"--how they would take charge in all negotiations, how our family and friends were absolutely to be protected from getting involved. They reassured us that they have had only one missionary kidnapped (in the 70's) and he was quickly released unharmed, that they believe their placements are safe and well supported, and that it is in the partner's best interest to keep us safe. They talked about processes in place and required of us to better ensure our safety.

We had many conversations both with multiple missionaries who previously served in Haiti and in areas of extreme civil unrest. We visited with the president and well-respected community leader of CONASPEH who believes the news we receive State-side is quite slanted. It is his believe that we will be more safe than even he is in Haiti given our associations, our work to be done there and the safety network that will arise out of our community in support.

I felt like everyone was being realistic and understanding. I didn't feel like it was anyone's agenda to convince us to go regardless of the situation. People gave honest accounts of their experiences and of systems in place, and understood our reservations.

The meetings following were a mix of spiritual and political information and reflections. Conversations were inspired and interested. There was an overwhelming sense of purpose and calling exuded by all there to help meet head-on the injustices of the world. Lots of hugging and hand holding and praying and singing and sharing.

I have to admit, in the last few years I've actually evolved into a secular public being. Maybe it is due to my role as a physician, and my desire to be open and affirming to every patient I might encounter. I have continued to nurture a internal spiritual existence that fuels my life and work, but lately I've really been turned off by the "Christianity" sector and certain public displays of elitism and separation. All this despite the fact that my husband is so entrenched in the theology of the world. But my faith in the power of a religious community was resurrected as I found myself surrounded by a group of people that practice what I personally identify with in Jesus' message. Everyone at the conference was deeply committed to a political, radical faith that sweats against materialism, violence and empire when the world suffers so. The message of the week was of critical presence--bringing peace to points of deepest need. They talked of peace that can only happen through justice. I was inspired to find myself amidst such a community of people, and to feel their overwhelming support and excitement for our call and service, wherever that might take us.

The meetings felt like a slice of the UN--faces of every nationality and color. Everyone seemed politically and socially informed, or striving to be so. Knowledge of situations all over the world was nurtured, updates were given. People talked honestly and truthfully about the injustice in the world and our role in the web. Experiences and observations of the horrors that our world hides were shared. And when most would question how a God could exist in such a world of poverty and oppression, this community of people dared to hope that we would overcome with some faith and hard work and critical presence.

I was amazed. Inspired. And after 2 straight preceding weeks of tears and insecurity and overwhelming fear, I left Indianapolis feeling lighter. Clearly I am called to contribute my energy to the thread of hope in the world that we all cling to, to embrace hope for a better existence for all people. I have to trust this calling, trust that safety will wrap itself around us or that we'll have the courage to persevere through difficulty. To have the opportunity to heed such a call in a place of deep deep need, where basic interventions can change lives drastically is a gift. I left with a feeling of empowerment that I could somehow contribute to the universal energy that lifts people up out of their strife, whatever strife that might be. I left with a tired, but organized mind and a mental list of the projects to outline, people to network with, preparations to make. I left feeling peaceful... and happy... and ready.

Despite the depths of my anguish and fear, I have found my excitement above it all. Some came from the reassurance of the community of support that we have; some of it came from simply being asked to explain our interest and our calling. The reasons we were even considering Haiti had been obscured by fear, and with some relief of our worries, the excitement has once again surfaced. Patrick and I both really needed it.

The truth is Fear is exhausting. And much like its cousin Worry, living your life by it doesn't give way to dreams realized, goals reached, and life LIVED. Fear can make you smarter and more aware. But letting it empower instead of limit choices is the true challenge. I am thankful that God shakes us out of our fear at times, reminding us of our strength and of the community of love that surrounds us.

Thank you so much for all of your concern, for your ears, for your patience. I know there is a consortium of you who were hoping that we would decide quite the opposite, but yesterday we agreed and were commissioned to be placed in Haiti and serve as we are able. We made the decision with a lot of research, a lot of reflection, a lot of intentional discussion and with prayer. I can honestly say I'm really looking forward to what lies ahead. I hope that after we become established in our new living community and can send word back of our experiences, you too will be able to be excited.

Thank you for your love and support. Ambition is really just a leap. And it's scary. I can't even begin to describe my consuming fear at times. However, something deep inside tells me that on my way down, I'm going to build some wings and lean how to fly in ways I've never yet flown. And THAT, my family and friends, is worth the jump.

A Glimpse Into Haiti

Our plane just landed after a week's trip to Haiti. The purpose of the trip was to interview with CONASPEH--the Haitian organization we would be working with as missionaries in Haiti. We also met Felix Ortiz, our site director from Global Ministries--the organization that would place and support us as missionaries there. The intensity of the days gone by still weighs on my heart, and I struggle with the challenge before me, doubting my strength and abilities, wondering if what I give up by going is worth what I would gain or give being there.

I haven't cried so much in a matter of days since loosing my Grandfather. I cry for the suffering I witnessed, for the harsh reality of life there, for the challenges we will face and for the things we would have to give up for this call. I felt different about this trip than other ventures outside the border. I think because instead of just learning from and enjoying everything I saw, I looked at everything through the lens of "can i LIVE here for 4 years???." And that made the realities of the place all the more harsh.

The poverty is extreme. The capital city is completely intense and insane and will be a difficult challenge for this country girl. I was shocked at how little formal social structures were in place as a result of a thick history of political upheaval. The country visibly suffers from being industrialized before it could develop systems to handle it. For example, people in the city have access to Coke and Sprite, but not to fresh water. We received drinks in Styrofoam cups and had paper napkins with every meal, despite the fact that I've never seen so much trash litter a landscape in all my life. Startling mountains, piles, avalanches of trash. Trash lining the river bed, the sewer, the streets. The expanse of it all felt oppressive and heartbreaking. There was no grass to speak of, rare parks to relax and enjoy the breeze. Just dirt, rock and trash.

The evidence of the history of political turmoil and social unrest was clear. UN peacekeepers roamed the city by tank, by truck and by chopper. Soldiers stood ready at the guns as they patrolled the streets. You could still see bullet holes in the buildings of radio stations where journalists were killed during the military coup of the 90's. Walls surrounded everything and were built up to 15 feet in height with razor wire or broken glass added on top for additional security. Behind the walls were schools and homes and life, but all this wasn't evident from the street. And the streets--rutted and chaotic. After a drive, I would emerge from the car feeling worn and beaten.

Most people we saw live in tiny sheds/shacks without running water or a sewage system. We visited a complex of little 2 room homes that, combined, were smaller than our current apartment living room. They were nice by the standards of the Haitian poor because they had 4 cement walls and a roof. Most shelters that the poor live in are lean-tos or crumbling rock structures. Families of 6 to 9 lived in each of the little "casita". The houses inside were neat and tidy. One woman proudly gave us a tour, showing us the double bed that she and her husband and 2 children slept on, the mat that her other two children slept on with their grandmother, and the area in the kitchen where her youngest slept. She had little cups and saucers proudly displayed on her shelf. Her children, leaving for school, were clean, hair was styled, clothes spotless. I'm not sure how it happened since the only water available came out of a community spout, and their only "bathroom" was against a wall in the yard with a little piece of cardboard to use if privacy was needed. But the truth is I never saw a person who "looked" poor while in Haiti. Everyone wore clothes that were clean; hygiene was remarkable given the resources.

The school-based clinic where currently only a Haitian nurse works includes a room with a barred door, a hospital bed without sheets, a cupboard with Tylenol, Ibuprofen and an anti-worm medicine, and nothing else. No sink to wash hands or electricity, much less medical supplies or lab equipment. I couldn't help the overwhelming doubt that flooded my heart--what could I possible offer to the people of this community without the tools I've been trained to use?

But despite the shock of the landscape, the people of the country filled my heart with joy. The children were a sea of smiles and waves every time we passed by their classroom. The leaders of CONASPEH were incredible and inspiring. Although initially we were greeted with suspicious looks as we walked along city streets, a quick cultural lesson revealed faces that quickly melted into smiles (you must verbally greet everyone you see, engaging everyone in conversation in order to establish you are not a threat). We quickly became the favorite "project" of the hotel staff, the children at the school, and the pastors we met as everyone tried to teach us Creole by yelling louder and more slowly their foreign words. I found it interesting to be on the other end of the language barrier. It IS amazing that words don't become understandable no matter how loud or painfully slow you shout them out. But wow, if we caught on to a single word, a big celebration that would follow. :)

I never saw anyone cry, despite heartbreaking stories relayed. I have later found out that women rarely cry there. The social norm dictates that they must be strong for their families. I found myself blinking back tears doing my best to appear as brave as the people who survive and overcome such incredible difficulties. Instead, laughter and teasing and joking were the only emotions observed in our short week there. We quickly fit in as teasing was embraced and the ability to laugh at one's self is honored. I left my tears to the quiet of our hotel room at the day's end, and gratefully laughed at my foibles with language and culture during the day.

The organization we would work with in Haiti (CONASPEH) and the American organization that would employ and support us (Global Ministries) are both incredible. I couldn't have self-designed a better mission or philosophy for either. Each statement of purpose resounds with Patrick and I, and the people working in these organizations immediately became our personal heroes for the work they do. CONASPEH is working via grass-root efforts to transform a society. The people who we would be working with are leaders of the country and communities they work in, inspiring and building social reform from the ground up. All who we met there have such a vision for the country; they are making huge strides to inspire change in what feels like a hopeless situation. They reject the old idea of "missionaries" as we do; no longer is the missionary's role that of bringing the American experience to Haiti, instituting programs that aren't Haitian-based or maintainable without outside influence. Instead the leaders of CONASPEH embraced the concepts of Liberation and post-colonial Theology, and they LIVE it everyday.

The pastors we met with described their own vision of our time there as a mission of solidarity. They welcome the gifts of our presence and our training to augment the community effort that is well-underway. CONASPEH is working hard to figure out creative Haitian solutions to Haitian problems, to help design programs that do not depend on foreign aid, but that can be sustained through Haitian resources. They celebrate our gift of presence, and hope we will advise, based on our knowledge, in order to help come up with creative solutions.

Our project site director, Felix, used to be a missionary in Haiti for 9 years. He and his family were there during the military coups in the 90's. Despite the trauma of the violence he witnessed, he feels that the work done in Haiti was the most remarkable of his missionary experiences. He had great advice about living in Port-Au-Prince and was clearly in love with the Haitian culture, the people and the philosophy driving the work of CONASPEH. He was an incredible and beautiful person to get to know.

And I could write on and on. Now I sit trying to process what I've just seen, the decision before us, and whether I'm up for the challenge. One of the biggest sacrifices I recognize I will be making (and that I can't even type without tears) is the presence of my incredible friends and family in my day-to-day life. I will struggle with leaving our support systems for an experience where we will need them more than ever.

Ultimately, I left Haiti feeling like this opportunity is a way Patrick and I can work in a very real way toward peace in the world. It offers a chance to bridge a gap, to make connections despite differences in culture, language, socioeconomic status and experience. It is an opportunity to be outsiders interested in learning from the inside, interested in offering a hand in a unified effort to better ways of living. This opportunity allows us to put our ideals into very real action, to give our philosophy and theology a chance to come to life. And in turn, by putting ourselves in such a situation, we force ourselves to learn and grow, to refuse easy comfort or spiritual stagnation. We open our lives to experiences that will mold us in ways not yet dreamed. And if we are successful at creating a community in an unlikely setting, to ease one person's hardship or influence a life for the better, if we are able to help a process move forward in whatever small way we can, then... well, then amazing.

Fear of the Unknown

Days have gone by. Patrick and I talk of Haiti as if the decision has already been made. And maybe it has. Timing seems perfect. Our shared dream would be put into motion. The opportunity is too good to turn down. I dream of Haiti--a land thus far I only know about through books. I am excited at picturing life reduced to basics, learning a culture and a language from within, getting thrown outside of my comfort zone. Its exhilarating. But...

My responsibilities there are vague. The overriding organization that we would work within has a holistic approach to community development, and I would work in one cog of the wheel. Creativity and self design will be required. Instead of providing details about how my days will run, what patients I will see and what staff I will work with, I hear instead of the overall basic need of systemic reform on Haitian health, the need for networking between the small clinics supported by individual churches currently in Haiti in order to provide more unified care, the need for figuring out how to get patients to the places that can treat their ills. Medical volunteers coming from the States need to be organized in order to maximize the good that they can do in a short time. I heard a lot of "organizational" and "policy" lingo. Eek. I have NO training in such. Will I really be any good to anyone there?

I always day dreamed of myself as the doctor working within the throngs of people who needed diagnosis, medicine, intervention. Working alongside native health care workers learning all the while. And of course out of that, I'm sure I'd recognize inefficiencies... needs... and try to work for ways to make the system flow more smoothly. But walking into a job that asks that of me on day one seems daunting. I also realize that it is systemic reform that developing countries need more than anything, and that doing this work likely will make the most longstanding differences in the health of the people at large. But I'm having a hard time feeling confident in my own capabilities to tackle such tasks and worrying about spending less time doing what I absolutely love and am passionate about doing--patient interaction. Such an experience in public health would only strengthen my abilities as a health professional, but is this what I trained to do? Will I know what to do when I get there? Am I worrying about things ahead of their time?

I'm used to interviewing for jobs that have ridiculously detailed outlines of what I would be expected to do, where I would be expected to be every minute of every day. I can already close my eyes and accurately picture what a month in my life would look like working in a job I've interviewed for here in the States. There is NO mystery. My training up to this point doesn't require a whole lot of creativity. I've been told what to memorize, what to learn, where to be at what time. Haiti asks me to be creative. To be flexible. To come in knowing nothing. To learn and to be lead into action. To work outside of structure. It's scary. I know I'll be stretched in ways I can't imagine now, I'll be pulled to work in ways I don't know I'm capable of. Part of me says, "DIVE IN! JUST DO IT! Seize what is sure to be a life changing opportunity and trust in your training and in the course of your life!" The other part is waving fearful flags that 12 years of my life and training cannot possibly prepare me for what I will see, experience and be motivated to do on such a venture, and confidence in my ability falters.

Such ego. I battle with my ego. I've come to a point in my career where I feel confident in what I do, the care I can give, the advice I can hand out. And considering a change of fate into a place where I am the most ignorant person in the village is humbling. So I have to put my ego down. I have to realize that the education I seek will come with days of looking and listening and learning from the people I will meet in a land I have yet to discover. If I am meant to help along a process already in the works, then my role will come. If my hands can be of service, than the gifts that have been given to me by luck of birth will be utilized.

My romantic visions of life overseas put me in a tent, scarf around my head, heart racing as I worked to resuscitate a dying patient, starting lines and pushing fluids, handing out anti-parasitic medications to big-bellied children, delivering a baby in a village hut. But my call also asks me to be more community health centric, to visualize the bigger picture and hope to make a more lasting difference beyond the solitary face staring back at me and into lives of generations to follow. I feel so small. The task so large. Yet it is not my task... it is the task of the people of Haiti. And I would heed a call to be a worker in the machine, to bring my own talents to the effort in whatever way they can be of use. I can do small things with great love. I will be one of many hands. I will learn from teachers there, from Haitians who have their stories to tell. And I set down my angst and ready myself to listen.

Character

"Human character is revealed in how we live our lives. It is revealed by what we devote our lives to and how much love we put into what we do." --Jean Giono

A Call...

I am amazed at how life can shake you out of your comfortable plans in a phone call. How God can call your bluff and "double dare ya" to pick up and live the dream you've been advertising for years. I am amazed at how much I cling to the bodily comforts of this world and struggle with letting them go.

The last week has been a tornado, a bomb shell and our worlds are sort of rocked. Life has been very emotional, full of discussion, journaling and surveying our goals and that which drives our passion for life.

So exactly one week ago today, an unexpected opportunity fell into Patrick's and my lap. While searching for a location to do some traveling and volunteering this summer, Patrick stumbled across an opportunity through his church (the UCC) for a paid missionary placement in Haiti. The job calls for a teacher/Master of Divinity and a medical professional. It asks for a 4 year commitment, living and working in the main city of Port-Au-Prince while also doing outreach to some rural locations. Patrick would teach in a seminary there, work on community improvement projects and do some new project planning. My job, currently, is still vague... but includes working in an inner-city clinic and a rural mobile clinic, potentially working in a hospital, teaching community health and lecturing to the nursing school there. BIG details still hang in the balance. We sit in limbo waiting for conversations with people who hold the details, waiting for a visit to Haiti to get a feel for what we would be committing to.

Of course my mind has been flooded with a million worries and excitement and terrors. Is it safe? Can we afford it? Can I live in a place without electricity or running water for 4 years? Will I be prepared for the medicine I'll practice there? Will I be able to learn Haitian Creole in time? Can I leave my pets? Can I take them--fat, happy dogs-- in the face of starving children in Haiti? Are we jeopardizing our health? Can we live as simply as life there will demand? Can I be away from my frail grandma, my growing nephew, my family and friends for that long? Will anyone come visit? Will my family understand? Will I be employable when I return? Will I loose the skills of an American doctor after leaving a world of consumption for a world were there is not enough to consume? Will I forgive myself if I don't take this opportunity? How will this change the course of our lives? And the list goes on...

Long story short, Patrick and I can't hide the spooky feeling that some bigger power is stirring the swivel stick of life. Living, working, and immersing ourselves into another culture is something we both have always dreamed of before ever meeting each other. We never thought it would be possible to go abroad so soon given our enormous debt. Now an opportunity arises--a unique opportunity that would allow us to afford to live and work and pay our bills. The timing seems right: no children, no mortgage, no jobs to leave. If we waited, the decision would become more complex given the "settling in" and baby-making we would do. Or in retirement our bodies would likely take a larger toll in sacrificing comforts and health. And as scary as it seems, it also feels like we can't NOT do it...

The culture sounds amazing, the poverty extreme, the need great. As one doctor told me, I can do more good in minutes there than years here. It is a place where I am told some have to use dirt as a filler to make bread because they are too poor to buy flour, a place where some families are forced to choose the most vulnerable of their children to leave in a corner and neglect until he dies because food doesnt' exist to feed all mouths in the family. And I hear stories of the strength, courage and pride of the people, the richness and complexity of the culture, and I'm compelled to learn about their lives.

"We'd have 3 weeks of vacation to come home and see family and friends, as much time off as I have now. With the miracle of phones and Internet and cheap flights from Haiti, I think I'll see everyone almost as much as I do already." This is how I go and work through each of my worries: rationalizing, making financial spread sheets, talking to friends and strangers about their experiences in Haiti, talking to future employers about my hireability after such a proposed adventure. I journal until some of the fear dissipates and calm settles in.

There are still some really big questions to answer and long conversations to have. As amazing as the opportunity seems, I'm terrified to give up a job I am well-trained to do, a home in the mountains, good smells, independence, running water, fuzzy dogs, health care and all that we for granted here in the U.S. of A.

I am amazed how much even the simple suggestion of such an opportunity has changed the way I take survey of my days lately. I go for a run with Sadie and am thankful for being able to safely run alone through the city. I take a shower and am grateful for the warmth and the water pressure and the feeling of being clean. I snuggle down in my bed and am grateful that I don't have to shake it out for fear of bugs hidden within. I go for walks with Duke and Sadie and little Shanti-kitty darting behind me and am thankful for my little funny family. I turn on the tap and drink water grateful for the knowledge that it brings health to my body and not disease... and the moments go on. But as much as we'd be giving up for a short period of time in the span of a life, the call to interact and live among the poorest of the poor, to learn about a culture from the inside out, to help alleviate suffering in lives who need basic medical care, to embrace the opportunity to live out our wildest and most passionate dreams is loud and clear and rustles our souls.

We have some really good opportunities here in Denver as well... so as Patrick says, all of our options are good. And with time, our path will become clear. We find ourselves in a blessed situation. But we struggle with the responsibility of choice before us.

Who knows what will turn out of all of this, but it is a beautiful gift to be challenged in a matter of days, to have our eyes wiped clean, and to have the world open up to us in some ways. Regardless of the outcome, we are challenged and forced to think. To think about how we spend our time, our money. How we are gifted with blessings that we take as a given. We are reminded of lives that struggle as we lounge. We are rocked awake after falling into the comfort of routine, the luxury of convenience. We value that which we have taken for granted for fear that the future does not hold all that we keep close. We wonder if the call of mission will take us to places we never dreamed or keep us in our current state of being. Only time and thought and contemplation will tell...