Becoming the patient: 3 nights in an Indian isolation ward.

In the last four days I have been pumped with

3 or 4 different antibiotics,

some antispasmodics,

a few different antiemetics,

antipyretics,

the generic acetaminophen and ibuprofen,

a holy ton of normal saline,

and so much more…

That’s a lot of drugs for a self proclaimed “drug free zone”, but, let me tell you, this week I am praising Jesus for modern medicine.

It all started with a stomach ache.

Just a little one, ya know?

We were on a bus- fourteen hours from Narsapur, heading to a big hospital for a sweet and sick little boy (we’ll call him M.)- so maybe it was just some motion sickness.

We had gotten up before 4 AM, so maybe it was just from being tired.

And then, it got a little worse.

And, ya know, things started moving.

Nothing I couldn’t handle.

And then I got a little headache.

And then the headache got a little worse.

Manageable. No biggie.

And, then I started to run a little fever and get a little nauseous.

Okay, better just take some time to rest this afternoon.

So, like a good, tough, American, medical professional, I popped some aspirin and went to bed.

I’ll be better in the morning, I thought. 

Jokes.

At about 11:00 PM, Annie woke up to hear me groaning in my sleep. She woke me up and I could see the worry in her eyes. She felt my head and quickly started wetting tissues with cold water and laying them on my body.

After about 45 minutes of failed attempts to break what we're estimating was a 104+ degree fever, she took my pulse & insisted we go to the casualty unit (ER).

I fought.

No, I’ll just sleep it off. I’ll be fine.

She didn’t listen.

Her friend, a doctor at the hospital, drove across the city to pick us up.

It’s hard to explain the days that followed, because they have been such a blur, but I consider myself a royal guest to the side of healthcare that most healthcare professionals don’t get to see. Granted it was in a foreign hospital in a third world country, but I got to be on the other end of the needle, the cuff, the palpating, and questioning, and, let me tell you friends, it has changed me for the better.

I will always remember the waiting in a cage-like area, on a hard chair, half passed out, high fever, and stomach pains from hell, while they got me admitted.

I will always remember being wheeled on a stretcher through masses of people.

Never will I forget the fear in people’s eyes as they looked at me & I began to realize that I must be worse than I thought.

I will not forget feeling so miserably out of control of my own body.

When I go to start an IV back in the states, you can be sure I will remember the three attempts it took to get one on me, and the burning fire of the infected line that developed after a day.  I will not forget the feeling of becoming a human pincushion, stuck over twenty times.

When my patient needs an arterial blood gas draw, you better believe I’ll remember that that one-that one- is the worst of them all.

When a patient comes in and crashes, I’ll remember what it felt like to be completely dependent on others when I got up to go to the bathroom, causing my BP (and body) to crash.

I’ll remember the embarrassment of throwing up on the floor and myself because no one could understand my frantic waves for a bag.

I’ll remember to close the curtains before I give someone a shot in the butt, and I surely won’t sit and rub the site afterwards with all my strength, because that just stinking hurts.

I’ll remember the bedpans- the dirty, metal, bedpans.

I’ll remember the humility of not being able to lift my head for a drink and having to have someone bring the bottle to my mouth.

For the next patient I see in isolation, I’ll remember the people wearing masks and gowns, and acting as though I was untouchable.

I’ll never forget the fan that tried mercilessly to make up for the lack of AC, and the constant three days of soaked-with-sweat sheets and gowns.

I will not forget the night nurse who was there to do her job, and the day nurse who took an interest in who I was.

I will remember that, in India, the hospitals- and pretty much everywhere else- are BYOTP: bring your own toilet paper. I had forgotten mine. (Thank God, Annie had a pack of tissues! It's the little things, people.) 

When a patient needs a test and doesn’t understand why, I won’t forget the nurse who came to get me for a chest X-Ray- though I had no known problems with my chest- being unable to explain why I needed it.  I won’t forget being too tired to argue.

When my patient is in a gown, I won’t forget what it feels like to be wheeled to radiology in a half-see-though, white, stained gown, past hundreds of people.

I won’t forget the staring. To the people that stood within two feet & just stared, the woman who stood in my doorway and stared, the crowds that stared- I won’t forget any of you.

When I wheel a patient somewhere, I will remember what it felt like to sit in that gown, looking and feeling like straight up hell, while I waited in a metal wheelchair, in a crowded hallway, for an x-ray I didn’t really need, for twenty minutes or more.

And when my patient is waiting desperately for discharge, I will remember what it felt like to be told, "No. You have to stay for some more time." 

This is the smile that I genuinely thought would convince people I was ready to be discharged. I can see now why it didn't work. 

But, let me tell you what else I won’t forget:

I won’t forget Angelee who dropped what she was doing and drove across town in the middle of the night to pick me up.

I will not forget the constant cycle of Annie’s friends who came and stayed by my side when Annie had to go be with M. I will not forget them sleeping in chairs, or bringing me crackers, or talking about life just to get my mind off things.

I will not forget the kindness of the attendant who, through his mask, kept telling me I’d be okay, and wanted to know all about my life as he wheeled me to isolation. That one, he was an angel, I’m sure.

I won’t forget the pictures of Jesus and postings of scripture on the walls, leading all the way to my room.

I will always remember the perfect peace of being close to Jesus through the whole thing, and the atmosphere shift that happened when I started playing worship on my phone. 

I won’t forget the luxury of being able to hear my mom- a familiar voice- after the first day settled down, even if it was only for five minutes.

When my patient is NPO and begging for food, I won’t forget the glory of that one, beautiful, single breadstick-my first food in three days.

I will remember how funny the whole situation became by the third day, and how Annie and I were laughing so hard that two nurses came running because they thought something was wrong. 

And most of all, I will remember every. single. touch. I’ll remember the rubbing my back & holding my hair back while I dry heaved…and heaved…and heaved, and the touching of my arm and assuring me everything would be fine, and the holding my hand during the second, third, and fourth IV attempts. I won’t forget the hands that held me steady when my BP kept bottoming out, or the nurse that patted me on the shoulder and laughed when I proudly announced that I hadn’t gone to the bathroom all night & was now ready for discharge.  I won’t even forget the hands on my feet when someone was checking for edema.

I will remember it all, both the good and the bad, because both have made me a better nurse, a better friend, and a better lover of Jesus.

Even in the midst of chaos and sickness, Jesus is good,

fear has no place,

and His peace is overwhelming in a heart that’s close to His.

P.S. I’ve been discharged and am doing much better! Resting, mending, and hyping my body up with some probiotics at a nearby house until we take the train back to Narsapur tomorrow.

Doing good, friends! I'm doing good! :) 

P.S.S. There’s also a story about a drunken rickshaw driver that picked us up after the hospital stay, but I’ve put my family through enough torture these last few days, so we’ll keep that as a story for another day. J

There is beauty here.

The fan hums loudly above us and a constant breeze courses through the outpatient room.
Papers rustle with the invisible motion, but the work of holding and pinning them down is well worth the effort.
It's hot here, yet not as hot as it usually is during this time of year. Everyone says it's because God knew I was coming and wanted to give me a break, so He cooled it down. If that's the case, I owe many thanks to the Big Man.

The outpatient room

It's hard to write an update, or to tell you what I've seen and done.
It seems impossible to put into words the immeasurable joy and gut-wrenching heartache that I've found in this place.
It's hard to know what should or shouldn't be shared, what's private and what's not.
It's easier to write about the weather or the Bay of Bengal, because I don't know where to begin or what words to use for anything else.

I wrote a post after my first day, but I deleted it shortly after posting it for sensitivity's sake.
Not for my sensitivity, or for the people's here, but for yours.

Long story short, within ten minutes of the first day I blacked out. Like, "couldn't-see-a-thing-someone-catch-me-cause-I-think-I'm-going-down-where's-the-cold-water" type of blacking out.
The sights and smells of stage four ulcers, pussing and attracting flies, on limbs that were attached to kind, beautiful, smiling women was a dichotomy that my horribly jet lagged brain could not compute.

It's funny how quickly you adjust, no?
On day one I could hardly look at the ulcers and a few days later I was scrubbing in on a surgery where a man's ulcer debridement went all the way through his foot. He had partial feeling in his foot and was writhing on the table until he was given a local anesthetic about half way through.

A  few days after that, a mother brought her child in and gave the doctors quite a shock when they saw the girl's baseball-sized abscess growing on her jaw and neck. The mother refused to go anywhere but to this hospital. Though they are not equipped to handle the surgery, one of the doctors took the case, knowing the alternative of letting her leave could be deadly. He was able to open and drain the abscess successfully, but the cultures aren't back yet, and the painful process of healing is only in the beginning stages. Never have I heard a little girl scream like she does when they go in to check and change her dressing, and never do I want to again. While her bandages were being changed, I played for 20 minutes on the steps outside with her sister. We both pretended like we didn't hear the cries, and enjoyed the rousing games of peekaboo and lets-run-up-the-steps-8000-times.

Who needs toys when you have two dozen concrete stairs? Am I right?

I've been in on one HIV cesarean, in which I wore four gowns, surgical flip flops (not even joking), two "sterile" trash bags around my feet/legs, a mask, goggles, and gloves (a rare commodity around here)...all in a little operating room, with about 6 people, in 90+ degree weather.
I've seen more leper's ulcers than I can count, and scrubbed in on nine debridement surgeries, which kind of all ran together into one two and half hour, rolling surgery (same instruments, cleaned in boiling water between patients :) ).
I've seen a woman weep as she found out that she had leprosy, and another stare off in the distance blankly as she found out she had HIV.
I've seen fourteen-year-old mothers, and mothers who have no interest in their children.
I've seen herpes zoster and a handful of cases of vitiligo.
I've seen a six week old baby weighing only a little over 2 kilos,
and so, so much more.

But, let me tell you, those are just the medical things. If we only focused there, this would all look really grim.

I've also seen the hope of healing,
the stunning beauty of a toothless, old-lady smile,
the unmatched joy of simplicity,
the promise of redemption in every man and woman marked by the Hindu religion,
the laughter and happiness of dozens of children when the crazy-white-lady decides she wants to play with them,
and the Father heart of God for his orphaned sons and daughters, for all of us, really.

I've seen the patient steadfastness of friendship as two boys rotate to sit day in and day out by their friend's side as he lay in the hospital bed, and we all pray to God that he'll send a miracle.

I've breathed in the fresh breath of simplicity, of taking breaks, of grilling in the dirt near the beach, of eating with your hands at every meal, of bananas-lots and lots of bananas, of mangos (oh man, the mangos!!), of playing and visiting, of conversations that are worth their weight in gold, of helping to rework distorted mindsets, of falling asleep at 7:30, of genuine joy, and of actually having time to read.

                                       ^^ Isn't this how everyone grills? 

             

In between outpatients, Dr. Annie is teaching me Telugu & everyone thinks it's hilarious. We pieced together our scrap pages, ripped off the cover of a prescription pad, and made a nice book. If all goes well, it should hit stores in the Fall of 2015.

God is so good here,
and he's so good where you are too.

Sometimes you just have to look past the ulcers and you'll see the smiling face.
Sometimes you have to look past the hurt and suffering and you'll see Jesus in the midst of it all.
Sometimes it takes a conscious effort to seek out and find beauty, and sometimes it finds you, but it's always there...He's always there.

I pray that you'd be drawn to worship, no matter what the circumstances around you look like right now. It may be ugly, but he's there, and with him is a host of angels bringing an abundance of good, joy, and beauty.
Don't wait for your earthly eyes to see the beauty. Just worship in the midst of the ugliness, and your heavenly eyes will be opened to the things hidden. If leprosy can beget beauty, than so can anything you're up against, I promise.

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it!!"

-John 1:5

"Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his steadfast love endures forever!"

-1 Chronicles 16:34

Welcome to India

Just in case you thought this stuff might be glamorous, let me recap the last roughly 72 hours for you:

I have done a lot of flying. In that flying, I have gotten nauseous from the altitude and turbulence, been slept on by a man from Bali, listened to two screaming babies, and watched the first five minutes of two films.

Not only was I the only, and I do mean only, white woman traveling on any of my aircrafts, I was also the only woman traveling alone. That got me some strange looks. In one of the terminals, a man across from me locked eyes with me, and then started waving and gesturing while angrily talking to his wife. Thank you Jesus, that I did not speak his language. I smiled and stared him down until he clearly felt uncomfortable and stopped.

I have accidentally paid eight dollars for a cup of airport coffee.

I’ve been detained by Indian customs and “questioned” by four different custom officials. I swear  to you, I thought I was coming home then. They asked every question except for "Are you a Christian?" I prepared in my heart not to lie if that question was asked, for I am no Peter. I still have no clue why they let me go. My answers were awful. Seriously, straight up awful. 

I have spent nine hours delayed at a terminal in Hyderabad because of flooding in Rajahmundry.It is here that I met another American who has travelled to over 15 countries in the last six years, sponsors 20-some children in India, makes several hundred thousand a year working for a Saudi oil company, and is looking for medical personnel to help him start a compound with a school, medical facility, orphanage, and more…. Our flight delay was spent talking, mostly as I listened to him dream and talk about the importance of having purpose. Funny how those people just “coincidentally” happen upon your path, no?

I have burned my esophagus with the spiciest food on the planet, offered to me as a complimentary meal for my flight delay.

I have taken a two-hour car ride through India with Miriam, the most personable woman I know. Bless my soul, that car ride….

I have seen seven men peeing on the side of the road & one woman with her skirt around her knees. Heaven help me, I have no idea why.

Even though my hair was a greasy mess, I stunk, and I looked like death-warmed over, I was showered with flowers and welcomed like royalty to a beautiful guesthouse in the middle of the slums.

I have slept on and off for over 12 hours and been awaken by some strange Indian music that blared throughout the town from 5:00 to 6:00 AM. I have since learned that it was worship. Why people were worshipping at 5:00 AM, while it was still dark out, I have yet to understand.

I have showered in the most freezing water known to man before realizing that you can only use one handle at a time, and that the hot water doesn’t work when the cold water is on. I promptly turned the cold water off and was then greeted with the most scalding water known to man. Cold showers it is.

The power has shut off twice. Apparently there are power outages for about 8 hours each day. Good times!

I have blown my phone charger, because us white people don't remember that you need both a converter and an adapter for the voltage differences. 

I have met the kindest and sweetest Dr. Annie and her mother (still unsure of her name….everyone just refers to her as Annie’s mother?) Her first question to me was, “What do you need to do for your studies?”

When I told her that this wasn’t a part of my studies she said,

“Well then why did you come? How did you hear about us?”

I explained very briefly the process of me coming and she said, “Oh you are very kind. Everyone is so afraid. We never get visitors! They are afraid of infection, but by God’s grace it is very good here.”

This morning we went to church. As we walked in, every head turned and gawked at the white woman in a skirt. Dr. Annie sat me in the front row, and everyone stared.

Then when the service- or was it worship?- began, the women all covered there heads. Me? No. I had forgotten to bring a headscarf. Oy.

I swear, I understood not one. single. word. of that sermon, or of the worship. I prayed so hard that it would be like they were speaking in tongues, and I would have the gift of interpretation. Real Pentecostal stuff, ya know?

It did not work.

They walked the offering bag around, and everyone, including the children, had something to put in it. Me? Nope. I had not brought my purse. Nor do I know the conversion rate, yet. With my luck, I would have put 200 dollars in and not realized it.

We walked back to the guesthouse & everyone gathered in rows as we walked through. I just wanted to hang out with them and play with the children, but I already sensed the divide that exists in their minds. We are sick. We are untouchable.

Today I’ll let it slide, as I’m still getting used to everything, but get ready my Indian friends, because you are touchable to Jesus and you are touchable me.

And now I sit writing. A breeze is blowing. There’s a cow (or maybe it’s a bison...or was it a buffalo?) off to my right next to a huge mound of straw that I see absolutely no purpose for.

Today we will have a day of rest, which is wonderful, because, lets be honest, I feel a little bit like I’ve been hit by a bus and don’t know which way is up, but tomorrow we will begin work (I still have no idea what work I’ll be doing…) at 7:30AM.

It’s going well, folks. It’s going well.

Welcome to India!

Clearly, I have no idea what I'm doing and while it’s not glamorous, I’m enjoying every single minute. I swear, a part of me that was dead has come alive. Jesus is good like that. 

Like Dr. Annie said, “It is very good here.”

the safest place...

"What are you doing with your summer?"
"I'm going to India to volunteer in a leprosy clinic and HIV/AIDS hospital."
Blank stare, shifty eyes, uncomfortable laughter.
"Oh, well...uh... good for you! Somebody's got to do it, right?"

As I prepare to board a bus that will take me to my first of three flights, I am overcome with the love and support that so many have showered me with for this journey. Yesterday alone, I talked on the phone with eight different people, five of which prayed with me and, all of whom encouraged me relentlessly.
Another handful of people have supported me financially.
Dozens and dozens of people have talked with me, prayed with me, and given me such courage over this last month.

And, yet, for every one that encourages and supports, there seems to be another with stifled fear and hesitation. Often, they're the same person: an encourager and closet-worrier in one.
So many have asked, "What if you get leprosy?"
"What if you get HIV/AIDS?"
"Isn't there, like, a terrible rape culture there?"
"You're traveling by yourself? A long layover at an Arabic airport? Better cover up!"
"What if you miss a connecting flight?"
"What if your suitcase gets lost?"
"Isn't it filthy there? You better carry lots of hand sanitizer."
"You're not taking anti-malarial meds? What if you get malaria?"
"You're so pale and light-haired. That's the worst. You'll be a magnet for creepy men!"
"Are you scared?"

No.
No, I am not scared.
I am not worried.
I don't fear malaria, or leprosy.
I'm not afraid of getting HIV/AIDS or of being abused.
I'm not fretting over the filth, the masses of people, the culture shock, or the "creepy" men.
I am not scared. 

Why?
Partly because I have been educated, and have learned how little I really have to fear.
For every "creepy" man in India that objectifies and stares, there is a kind and respectful one who resents the image that those men set for his country.
In order to acquire HIV/AIDS, I would have to get an infected person's blood into my blood stream or have sexual contact with them. The chances of any other bodily fluids being enough to afflict me with HIV/AIDS are slim to none.
Leprosy, while an ugly disease, is now completely curable, and is only transmitted through "close and repeated contact with nose and mouth droplets from someone with untreated leprosy."
Malaria is often acquired by Indian's multiple times a year. It is easily treated, if caught early, and a treatment costs about five bucks, with far less side-effects than the expensive preventative prescriptions.

Education breeds understanding, and in understanding, fear lessens. 

But, even still, I should fear, right?
I mean, flights, and car rides, culture shock, and scary things.
Nope.
Here's the truth that I've discovered,

The safest place I could ever be is close to the heart of the Father and abiding in His will for me. 
He is love on steroids, my friends, and in love there is no fear. 

I gave my life to Him.
I said call and I will follow.
I said use me, for I am yours.
What a hypocrite I'd be if I backed out in the face of uncertainty?

And even if I could,  I don't want to back out.
I don't want to back out, even though I'll miss spending time with family that I haven't seen in years.
I don't want to back out, even though I'll miss the birth of my second nephew.
I don't want to back out, even though I won't see my friends, family, or boyfriend for two months.
I don't want to because He's worth it.
Worth every. single. bit.

The truth is:
I don't have a certain gene that makes me operate differently.
I'm not "called" to the missionary life.
Culture changes are no easier for me than they are for you.
I won't just magically adjust once I get there, and I definitely won't be smiley and happy every step of the way.
I simply fell in love with the Father & this is what He's asking.
You, too, can do this. You, too, can go where God is asking. You, too, can conquer fear by getting close to the Father's heart. You, too, can make people stare at you awkwardly when you tell them your plans in life. You, too, can be different and full of faith.

In perfect love, there is no fear & his love is oh-so-perfect and sweet, I promise.

I do hard things.

So far this year has been characterized by one word: obedience.

When you cry out to the Father in desperation for more of Him,
when you vow that you want whatever He has at any cost,
when you say, "I'm yours. You can have me,"
when you pledge your obedience and faithfulness,
when you lay your life down,
when you hand him a blank check,
He hears. He sees. He knows.

But, God is a god of process.
He loves the journey.
Because it's in the journey that we are made; that's where we begin to know him, and our hearts become like his.

So, you might not see the plan right away.
If you're me, you might take a leap of faith, and then spend three years praying that same prayer: I'm yours. You can have me. Call me and I'll follow.

But, during those three years he'll be shaping you, molding you, presenting you with little moments to be faithful and obedient. He'll be teaching you, and preparing you, breaking down walls and building you new again. But, most of all he'll be proving himself worthy of your trust and affection. He'll be revealing his Father heart to you, and wooing you with his furious love.

Before the calling, comes the knowing Him, 
because He's far more concerned with your heart, than what you can do for Him.

So, he'll shape you and draw you close, and then all of a sudden, he'll ask you a few hard questions: Did you really mean what you said? Is your life really mine? Will you really get out of the boat? Do you really want all that I have for you?

And if you've come to know him at all, you'll answer the same way I did with a resounding: "YES! Whatever the cost, I am yours. "

And then things get real:

"What about your health, Lauren? Are you willing to lay down time and energy to take better care of yourself? I think you should start training for a half-marathon trail run."
A daily commitment to running for hours on end? I. Hate. Running. Who does he think I am? What good will that do? 
My yes got a little smaller, "Yes, God. I don't see the point, and I hate running, but I'll do it."

"What about your singleness, Lauren? Can I have that? I know how much you treasure it, but I've got something better."
Shoot. Right to the thing I hold most dear. 
My yes got smaller still, "Yes, God. I know you have only good in mind for me. You'll have to do a miracle in my heart, but I'll trust you even with that."

"And finally, what about your summer plans and all your money? People might oppose it and won't understand, but I want you to go to India by yourself to volunteer in a hospital and leprosy clinic."
Oy. God, these things are hard. 
My yes was soft and quiet, "Yes, God."

The majority of people will tuck tail and run in the face of hard things,
but I'm learning that it's in the midst of those things that our greatest and sweetest rewards can be found.

It's in the running of miles upon miles that I've learned about commitment, and how to stick with something when I'm tired, hurt, or burnt out. I've broken through mental barriers that held me back from so many things, learned invaluable life lessons, and realized who my greatest encouragers in life are.

It's in the dating of an incredible man that I've learned to conquer roughly 10,000 fears. In this I've been sanctified, challenged, humbled, and have come to know God more fully than before. I have had more fun, more laughs, more experiences, more joy, and more goodness because of our choice to pursue relationship in admiration of each other and obedience to the Lord.

And it's in the saying yes to a summer overseas, even when my bank account, practical mind, and all logic scream, "No!", that I've already learned about the Lord's provision, my misguided poverty mindset, and once again, who my biggest encouragers in life are.

There are gems hidden in hard places, and when we get out of the boat in obedience, he'll lead us straight to them.
But, first we have to know Him, because we'll never get out of the boat if we don't.
Once you know Him you'll realize that the boat is boring, not as safe as it appears,  and pales in comparison to the exciting life of walking on water, chasing after more of Him.

No matter the cost-pride, image, money, reputation, people, things, jobs, plans, homes, or, the big one for me, dignity-it will be hard, but saying yes to Jesus is such a joy, so freeing, and so. so. worth. it.

Stay tuned for updates from India!


P.S. If you accidentally stumbled on this blog in search of Havilah Cunnington's bible study called I Do Hard Things, you can find it here. It looks great. 

when being extraordinary looks ordinary...

I want to be radical.
Even at a young age, I would read and watch stories of people like Mother Teresa, Shane Claiborne, Todd White, C.S. Lewis, David Platt, Steffany Gretzinger, Francis Chan, Katie Davis, Heidi Baker, etc., and I would be so incredibly inspired.

I wanted to be radical. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to start ministries, see people resurrected from the dead, minister and watch God heal physical wounds, speak & change hearts, see revival. I wanted to sell it all & move to Africa to be an on-fire, sold-out, radical, twenty-something, Jesus-loving minister of the gospel who had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
And I still do. I still want to be a radical, sold-out, Jesus-loving minister of the gospel, but boy does it look so different than I thought it ever would.

Three years ago, I would have never imagined that I would still be in Midwest America at a small, conservative Christian college. Yet here I am, pursuing my third year of nursing school, taking care of a beautiful woman with Multiple Sclerosis, leading a floor of women towards Christ, teaching little kids not to hit & scream at me, and leading a group called Global Vision.

Not quite the radical life I thought I'd be leading, but it's funny how much God can change your heart & open your eyes to the life that is right in front of you.

It's funny how, all of a sudden, you're listening to a person's heartbeat through your stethoscope during clinical and you realize you are learning to be a healer like your Father; not just a healer of the physical body, but of the heart & soul- of the deeper, untouched hurts and pains, the insecurities, misgivings, and spiritual afflictions.

It's funny how, all of sudden, you're deciding how to approach a disciplinary situation on your floor & you find yourself pouring words of love and encouragement over the offender, rather than shame & rebuke because you've learned to be an encourager & constant friend.

It's funny how, all of a sudden, you're seeing brokenness and heartbreak & you find yourself on your knees in empathy and seeking to restore, because God has increased your capacity to love with greater depth and fullness.

It's funny how, all of a sudden, your nephew is about to turn one & you haven't seen him in two months & your heart still hurts and desperately longs for closeness, but your soul is at peace because you have found your strength & you have learned so much about being present in the season that God has you in.

It's funny how God feels closer because you've established your relationship with him in the secret place.

It's funny how your long-lost dreams are starting to flood your mind in a new and more powerful way because you have learned to lay them at the cross & allow them to be changed, taken away, or sacrificed for something greater.

It's funny how, when you stop looking for the extraordinary life that you want to live, and start drawing close to the Lord's heart, you find yourself living the ordinarily radical life you always dreamed about.

God is faithful, friends.
He knows us so well & he desires to see our dreams fulfilled, but sometimes he knows us better than we know ourselves & we have to step in to plans that seem crazy and so not in line with our dreams.

So if you're dreaming of something more, of something deeper, of something more radical, may I encourage you with these simple words: don't lose hope. Keep going.

He knows what he is doing & he hasn't lost sight of you.

He is working on you & paving a way for beautiful things to come about in and through you. It may look ordinary now, but you'll soon get a little ways down the road & all of a sudden you'll have some perspective and realize that there is no such thing as ordinary with God; he only does extraordinary & you are no exception. 

He is doing what he promised in and for you, this I can guarantee.  

wholly single...

Small town, Midwest America is a beautiful place, quite possibly one of my favorite places in the entire world simply because it is home.

In this small corner of the world, corn fields abound;
people wave to just about anyone, whether they know them or not...but chances are good they know them, since everyone knows everyone;
your road companion is often times an Amish buggy;
your graduating class is small enough that you usually know and have talked to everyone;
about 90% of the population would identify themselves as Christian or religious;
a Friday night's entertainment usually consists of a high-school basketball game, a bonfire, or hitting up the local theater, Wal-Mart, or hang out spot;
and, typically, by 22, 23, or 24 you are married, engaged, or pretty darn close.

All is blissful and well...but that last part (the marriage part) has started to rub me the wrong way recently, not because I think getting married young is bad, but because it has become a standard of living that ostracizes the singles into a category that portrays them as the leftovers, the unwanted, or the defective.

Especially at a small, Christian college in this Midwest oasis the pressure to find Mr. or Mrs. Right before you graduate is intensely high. I feel like I'm constantly fielding questions from genuinely good-natured and well-intentioned people about if I'm seeing anyone and why I don't date more.
As I give a half-hearted response of, "Oh, well, we'll just have to wait and see...", I usually get a slew of semi-encouraging responses that range from, "It's really just a blessing that you can focus on God and school without any distractions," to "Mr. Right will be here before you know it. One day it's just going to hit you out of the blue."

Don't get me wrong, I SO appreciate that I have so many friends and family that care about me, encourage me, and want to see me happy.
But, I think the problem lies right there: they assume that being single equates to being unhappy or searching for more. The slightly pitying tone in which people respond when you tell them you're not seeing anyone instills a lie in people that says: I'm so sorry. You must think you're doing something wrong. You must hate your life. You must want so desperately to be with someone, anyone!! 
And eventually, singles will begin to believe that they are, in fact, defective, doing something wrong, or deserving of others pity. But, that. is. just. not. true!

God made you. He hardwired you. He knows you to the very core of your existence and he has a unique and individual plan for you and I'd wager to say that He doesn't want you (or any of us!) to settle for anything less just because we feel like the world (that means you, pestering sisters, married friends, pushy mothers, nosy aunts, etc..) expects things to happen a certain way.

Side note to put everyone's mind at ease:
Do I want get married someday?
Yea, probably!
Am I opposed to people getting married in their early twenties?
No, no, no!! Almost every member of my family has married before turning 23. There's nothing wrong with it!

What I do oppose is the intense and ridiculous pressure to find one's soulmate before a certain deadline (i.e. your college graduation, your little sibling's wedding, your mother's death, etc...)
Being single does not equate to being less whole or desirable than the dating or married woman.

So, be single.
You're not unwanted or pitiable. You're not any less attractive or admirable.
You have things to conquer & learn, so get to it and stop waiting for Mr. Right to come along so you can do those things.

And gosh darn it, be selective.
Don't settle for just any old guy off the street who treats you "alright".

If a guy asks you out, it's okay to say no!
There will be more fish in the sea, girl.

A few months back my dad wanted to see me, so he offered to pay for my gas to come home.
I earnestly obliged.
He's a Jr. & Sr. high principal, so his Friday night consisted of supervising and supporting the bulldogs in their home basketball game. Often, if I'm home, he'll ask me to join him to keep him company, and this weekend was no different.
So, off we went to the game.
He dropped me off at the door before he parked because it was raining and he didn't want me to get wet.
He paid for me to get in to the game, and then we stood together in our little corner of the gymnasium as the game unfolded.
The team's water jugs leaked on the floor in front of us, and rather than finding the custodial staff to clean it up, he looked around for some rags, got down on his hands and knees, and cleaned it up himself.
After the game, he readily began helping to clean the gymnasium and put away the water jugs, chairs, etc...
He's a principal. That's not his job description.
But he's humble.
He's a servant
And he genuinely cares for the people who serve that school.

He takes criticism, complaints, and pay cuts, yet he continues to commit himself diligently in ways far beyond his job description... kind of like how Christ continually commits himself to us, His children, beyond all contracts, job titles, or preconceived notions.

As Freudian as this might sound, might I suggest: look for a man like that.
A man that pays for you, sits with you, reflects Christ with and to you.
A man that is humble and kind.
A man who goes above and beyond.
A man who puts his phone away and pays attention to you.
A man who looks you in the eye & truly listens to your heart.
A man that sings with you and laughs with you.
A man that is there in the good and the oh-so-ugly.
A man that knows, encourages, and is willing to deny himself to see your desires and dreams fulfilled.
A man that worships with his words, his thoughts, his actions, and his life.
Look for a man that knows the God of love, so that he can reflect that love to you and others.

And if you have to wait....then, WAIT.

You are no less of a person, no less desirable, no less whole, no less functional, no less capable because of it.

"The woman who is content with where God has her in life, who is content in her singleness, is not vulnerable to the emotional persuasion of foolish men who wander through her life. But the woman who doesn't trust God's goodness, who doesn't wait on God's timing, or is controlled by the feeling of incompleteness without a man in her life- that woman ignores red flags, lowers her standards, justifies a lack of godliness, and in the end gets hurt by the very man she wanted to love."

-unknown