Thoughts on Mother's Day

To all the Mothers out there:
     This past weekend I got the tiniest glimpse of what it feels like to be part of your "day". Mother's Day. One day a year that has been designated to be Your appreciation day. How small that seems, one day. But what an outpouring of Love did I witness on that day! Not necessarily in the gifts department, but in the words department (that's one of my Love Languages, you know).

     For the first time I listened to everyone's praise of their mothers with keen ears. So many thank-you's, so many I-love-you's. Simple but profound acknowledgement of all of the years of dedication that their mothers sowed into their lives. I watched all of these children, young and well grown, give tribute to the women that brought them into this world and wondered if someday my little one will say those things about me. Still in my womb, it makes me tremble to think I have this role in someone's life now. How will I wear it? What kind of mother will I be?
     For the first time I saw the women in my life who have been mothers all this time for the Selfless, Brave, Loving people they must be. Until now I have not imagined their sleepless nights, their countless decisions, their hopes and their fears. I find myself imagining these things now. I haven't held my child outside of my body yet, but it must change you, call you to be more than you ever thought you could be. How does that happen? How do you suddenly become capable of so much subtle sacrifice and fierce love?
     For the first time I felt a kinship with all of them, felt somehow invisibly connected with all of the mothers that are and have been. Something about my womanhood has clicked and I feel it humming through my bones. I get to partake in this rite of passage that has been the way Life is ushered in since our beginning. Mothers have been walking this path for centuries - How I crave their collected wisdom. I have so much to learn, but I somehow feel safe knowing that it's been done countless times before.
     For the first time I wanted to reach out and hug every mother I know. I wanted to tell her how precious she is, how priceless is the work she does, and how much I admire her. It seems so small, Mother's Day, for such a big job. As one of my Favorite Bloggers says, it's Kingdom work, this raising of souls, this molding of little people. What an incredibly daunting, humbling task.

     So now that the day has passed, the cards have been sent and the flowers stand in vases, I want to thank all the mothers that I know. Thank you for rising up to the challenge of nurturing the Lives that have been placed in your care. You are some of the bravest people I know, and I hope you know how AMAZING you are.

My Mom and I

Full to Overflowing

Have you ever had a secret you were bursting to share? 

No, not the juicy, gossipy kind. The beautiful kind - the kind that makes you smile at strangers and wish somebody else knew why you were smiling so that they would smile knowingly with you.

I've been holding onto that kind of secret. 

Which is why I've been so blog silent...

Because when you're holding that kind of secret there's really nothing else you want to talk about, but you know you can't talk about that just yet. So you're left tongue-tied, and feel false writing about anything else. It's like impatience times a hundred.

But that's all over now because the words have finally been set free:

We are having a baby!

(I wish you could see my face as I typed that...I literally cannot stop smiling)

For weeks I have held that secret, that little joy in my chest, shared by only my husband and a handful of others. But last week the big 3 month threshold was crossed and we got to blow the doors wide open on it, letting all our loved ones share in the incredibly good news! 

Somehow sharing the knowing makes it all seem more real.

Which is great, because right now I don't feel pregnant.

I haven't been sick at all. I don't have the adorable round belly yet. 

And Life goes on as usual: 

Work and friends and family, commitments and dinners and phone calls.

But all the while I know in my knower that something has changed. It's like this inevitable trajectory has been set before me that no one else can see yet and that I have virtually no control over. 

It makes me see my mother in a whole new light.

It makes me want to call her everyday and listen to her beaming on the other end of the line 

because she knows. I am suddenly, beautifully awakened to all that she must know. 

Because she has been here before. 

In fact, we were here together, if you think about it.

She and I, at the beginning, starting something absolutely new together.

And now it's my turn...that is incredible to think about. 

Now let's back up here before you get the sickening sensation that I am only irrationally giddy about this whole pregnancy thing: 

A) Despite being on the back side of my twenties and despite being a nurse, I have almost no idea what I'm doing. I sat at our first prenatal appointment hanging on my midwife's every word. It's like everything I was taught in my maternity/delivery semester has been obliterated. This must be what people with dementia feel like, "I know I knew that once..." 

B) I hold absolutely no illusions that all will be rosy once the birth is over. Haha, no. That's when things get real. Not 48 hours after the most defining physical experience in most women's lives, the hospital actually sends you home with this wee helpless thing that is totally dependent on YOU. No how-to book, no "come back if this doesn't work out", just a smile and a wave and this new little life is in your hands. How's that for responsibility?

But while I'm anxious about the not knowing and nervous about being a parent, there is this unexplainable contentedness at feeling made for the part. Like joy finding a home.

It's amazing how you can know you were made to do something without ever having done it. 

Maybe it's intuition, or maybe that's what they mean when they say "motherhood", but something has kick-started that was there all along. Lying dormant. Waiting for the go ahead. 

And now the time has finally come.

Before this year is out I am going to be a mother, 

and it feels completely right.

Having Eyes to See

Ok, I'm ready to face it - I have had a hard time approaching this blog since we moved to Seattle...

Slightly irrelevant but still hilarious old photo :)
"Buddy...is this how you see??"

     Not because nothing has happened - on the contrary, many great 'somethings' have happened! We are settling in beautifully to this city that does spring so well; enjoying the many friends that are now close at hand, and reveling in the fact that we don't have to pack in a month's time. We get to stay...I never thought I'd be so happy to say that out loud.

Much more current (less funny) photo

     The fact is I am ready to dig deep and get to know the earth beneath my feet a little more than the past 12 months' worth of nomadic living has allowed. But I've been trying to reconcile the premise of this blog with the fact that we are no longer traveling, in the traditional sense.

The passports are tucked away.

We've unpacked the boxes.

We mean to stay.

     Does that mean that I've lost my platform to tell our tales or recount life's joys? My heart tells me no. If I'm honest, every great journey I've been on has included moments of discovery that had very little to do with geography. Sure, it's easier to contemplate poverty when you're walking through a Guinean marketplace, or to ponder mortality when you're at the bedside of an end-of-life patient making the brave choice to let go. But in order to be impacted by my circumstances, I have had to be in a state of heart to receive the impact - to be affected by the world around me. To have eyes to see. 

     This past week I visited a lovely local church who's pastor preached on this very subject, using John 9 as his source: the miracle of the blind man receiving sight. A man born blind becomes the topic of debate among Jesus' disciples as they try to determine whether it was his sin or his parent's that made him blind. Jesus rejects both suggestions, stating that actually, this man was made this way to display God's glory. "While I am in the world, I am the Light of the World", He proclaims. He then proceeds to spit on the ground, turn the dirt into mud, and wipe this mud on the blind man's eyes. The man is sent to wash his eyes in the Pool of Siloam and he returns seeing. 

     If you're a literary buff, this is about as plain as allegory gets - The Light of the World gave a man SIGHT...amazing on so many levels. But my one take-away this week was that it doesn't matter where we are, if we see things in light of the Light, we can see. Ok, let me clarify - I just read that and maybe it's muddy. If I allow Christ to be the eyes thru which I see the world, then it doesn't matter if I'm in Washington or in Africa, He can use me to touch those around me. Right. Here. Plain and simple. There are needs here that are just as important as starving children. There is such a thing as poverty of the soul. There is suffering that doesn't meet your eyes when you pass it on the street. I want to see, Lord how badly I want to see.

One of our brilliant sunsets

     So I've come to the conclusion that there is more than one way to travel in life. Whether you're mobile or stationary, you are on a journey. One can choose to travel the world and another can live in the same town for 50 years. Both can grow. Both will experience change. And both can impact others and live richly. I believe that now. So my husband and I have decided to plant for a time, and see what journeys of the heart we will be taken on :)

Oh Washington, how I missed thee

What a beautiful, overcast day! Call me crazy, but lately I love the rain :) 

     I write this from one of the myriads of coffee shops here in Seattle, Washington. It's another cloudy day - I'd say it has rained one out of every three, but I don't mind. I remember sitting in a very similar coffee shop this time last year, in New Haven, Connecticut. Without any idea of the many miles yet to be laid before our fee. The many miles til home. It was an exciting time, full of promise. And now a year later, we've come full circle, back to Washington. I sit in my own neighborhood, sipping an iced mocha, looking out at the pale grey sky; this is our home.

The Emerald City just last week, Mt. Rainier gleaming in the distance

     We have spent the last few weeks settling into our new place, reacquainting ourselves with the many boxes we had left in storage. It was overwhelming to see all of the things we have lived without for the past year. And slightly odd to unwrap them, remembering how I had saved them and now not remembering why. Let's just say we did quite a bit of purging, lol.

Tackling the storage unit!

     We have also been able to reconnect with friends and family in the area - something we have been really looking forward to! From old nursing school friends to old groomsmen, aunts and second cousins, I am amazed at the amount of loved ones God has placed nearby during this time. It's about the biggest blessing I could ask for.

     Gearge Moore suggests that "A man travels the world over in search of what he needs, and returns home to find it." I'm not sure whether I agree with this entirely, but there is something poetically truthful about it. There is really no place like home. And while I know that no address on earth is permanent, it feels good to call this place home right now :)

     Anyway, instead of just talking and talking, I've decided to include a few photos from a recent adventure to the Olympic Peninsula with my dear friend Becky and a troupe of new friends. We decided to take a day trip across the Sound and hike Mt. Walker! 

Riding the Kingston ferry

The start of the trail up Mt. Walker

Onward and upward!

The higher up we got, the more engulfed in cloud we became :)

The girls at the top! 2,000 ft elevation gain in 2 miles
That's how we roll...

No view? No problem! We're on top of a mountain!

I am so thankful for this place, this time, and the many adventures to be had right in our backyard!

The Space Between

Hello my happy little blog, I'm back :)

     Patrick and I have officially been state-side for over a month, and it's honestly good to be here! I've purposely kept away from blogging these past few weeks to give myself room to just 'be' during what I knew would be a significant transition. And I'm so thankful I did. We were welcomed back by the people that make home a place of the heart rather than a place on the map. From the minute we stepped off the plane we were surrounded by loved ones. We enjoyed plugging back in to our family and friends amidst the Christmas hustle bustle...

New Christmas presents #1 and #2 -
bear hat and revived polaroid-esque camera!

A gift from my raven-haired "twin" Lauren!

Second Annual Mother-in-law Christmas Tea!

Surprise visit from my dear friend Rachel
(and a much-needed shirt)

My beautiful family

     Anyway, over the past month I have tried to process the amazing experience we left behind while crashing headlong into the culture shock I knew was coming. After all, we returned to America in the middle of the biggest commercial season of the year. I wish I could express how strange it was to walk through a pristine shopping mall after knowing the muddy, crowded alleys of a Guinean market. How novel it was to see cars driving down the road in an orderly fashion. How odd it was to see babies lugged around in carseats, not wrapped tightly to their mother's back. How startling it was to see our enormous hospital towers all aglow. I wish I could tell you that coming home felt like coming home.

     But it didn't. We were not the same as when we left, and "home" wasn't the same either. Yes, we spent four months overseas, but this truth has very little to do with Africa. We left Spokane 12 months ago with a one-way ticket to the East Coast, putting all our eggs in the travel nursing basket and trusting God to carry it. We leaned into Him and, though we had no permanent address, my husband and I learned to make a home in the space between us. We were changed simply by the act of leaving.

     So returning to Spokane was like trying on an old sweater I forgot I had - comfy, full of memories, but not meant to wear everyday. Rekindling a life there just wouldn't be right. What was can never be again, and it would be a shame to try to make it so. Let it stay beautiful in my mind's chronology of our lives, that's where it can live forever. Just like our time on the East Coast. Just like our time with Mercy Ships. Not meant to last, but to stretch our minds to embrace different ways of life and fill our hearts with love for people we wouldn't have encountered had we stayed. I think back on the patients I had in New Haven, in Baltimore, in Guinea. I think on the friends we made while back East or onboard the Ship. Though my heart is wrung by the distance, I have no regrets. I would rather remember them fondly and shed tears of loss than to never have added them to our lives.

     It's with this in mind that I look on our next steps with anticipation. In a week's time we will be planting roots in Seattle, Washington, a city we both know and love. We signed a lease for a great little loft in the Fremont neighborhood and we each begin new jobs in February. To say we're excited is a HUGE understatement! It is such a joy to be back in the Northwest, putting down roots, investing in friendships, and building community again. The possibilities seem endless :)
   

An Amateur's How-To for a Mercy Ships Farewell

     In an attempt to laugh off the fact that we're leaving this ship in less than 72 hours, I have put together a lighthearted list of what to do when you're about to leave the Africa Mercy. This is not an exhaustive list, and certainly not authoritative, but it makes me smile. And after a few rounds of goodbyes it actually seems to be pretty accurate!

     1) The night before your departure date gather an embarrassingly large group of friends and go out to dinner on the town. Helpful tips: Make sure one of you speaks the local language. And ask what entrees they still have BEFORE all 18 of you have ordered, or they will return a half hour later and say they no longer have any chicken.

     2) Stay up late that night to eat treats and play games in the mid-ships lounge! (Beware of quiet hours, as your laughter may disturb nearby family cabins after 10pm...boo)

     3) The morning of your departure have one last communal meal, preferably out on Deck 7. If you're going homemade this takes some prep work, as you have to make all of your market runs ahead of time, but it's worth it!

     4) After all the procrastination has been squeezed out of the process, you MUST pack. So open your room for public packing time! Not only will you have company for this usually stressful task, you will be able to pack lighter because your friends will free you of any items you were wavering on taking with you...the most common things back home are priceless here (i.e. face wash, tea)

     5) When its time to disembark for good, walk down the gangway one last time and say a final farewell on the dock, surrounded by your friends. Rainbows and goodbye songs are an added bonus!

Trusting Who holds the Plan

Confession: I have been trying to write this blog for nearly a month, the blog about leaving the Africa Mercy. And, Confession #2: it is still like pulling teeth to write. But it must be done...
    
     It has started; the beginning of the end of this chapter in our lives. We have one week left in West Africa. This nagging reality has begun to creep unbidden into the margins of my thoughts. I cannot change it and I cannot wish it away. If you had told me back in August that four months would go by this quickly I wouldn't have believed you. It sounded so endless back then. And as the months have passed, I have tried to be present, to linger, and to enjoy this time as much as possible.  I have bottled up each patient, every experience, and all these new friends in a little nook in my heart that didn't exist before and will now be forever changed. But there our departure date stands - like a brick wall, with the ticking of Time propelling us ever toward it. In a few short days we will be going home.
     But to what 'home'...? Certainly we have family and friends that we are excited to see - I wouldn't have you believe that I don't miss them terribly, I do! They are what I am looking forward to returning to most. And bonus, it's the holiday season :) Which means when we arrive everything will be infused with an extra dose of cheer and all those cozy feelings that make this time of year so lovely. If we had to pick a time to return this was it, right? But that still doesn't mean we are returning to a home.
     Literally, we have no place to call our own. When we left to join Mercy Ships we had just finished our contracts in Baltimore, so we packed up our apartment and drove across the country to put the rest of our belongings in storage. We also have no jobs waiting for us. As travel nurses we go contract to contract, and we have yet to sign on with our next assignment. So the idea of home has turned into this elusive thing in my mind that doesn't quite exist anymore. And if I'm honest, it makes me nervous not to have a concrete plan in place as this journey comes to a close.
     I have done a lot of talking about this with gals onboard over the past couple weeks, and last night at our weekly community meeting one of our fellow crew members even spoke on the idea of Plans. We all have them. We talk about what we're doing today, we think about what we're going to do tomorrow. Some of us even try to foresee the next ten years. The problem is that sometimes we get too caught up worrying about our plans, which not only robs us of the present, but when you boil it down, it is the opposite of trusting God. 

     In Luke chapter 12 Jesus gives this incredibly simple, yet challenging command: "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear..." (v. 22) There is no clause giving potential reasons that worry might be excusable - if I don't have a job, if I don't have a place to live. Do Not Worry. Even when you don't know the plan.

Flash back to my early twenties: 

     I had a perfect life plan all set in motion. I had the best job, lived in my favorite city, and was dating the person I thought I would marry. All seemed set for years of happiness when I did the biggest face plant of my life. Pride caught up with me and I found myself single and broken hearted (rightfully so). My plans had just been smashed to bits by yours truly. Now what??

After crying myself to sleep for a week, I had this crazy idea. 

I need to quit my job and I need to move. Now. 

     This was the scariest thought, and indeed it didn't feel like my own. It roused a series of backlash questions from the Worrier in me: "Where will you live? What about your current lease? What about your boss, what will she say? And how will you ever find another job like this??"
All of the unknowns loomed large, but the more I prayed the more it became clear that
this is what I must do. So I did. 

And in three weeks time:

I resigned and was still given a great reference by my boss, 

I found out an old college friend was moving to the area and she took my spot in the house 

(and thus my lease), 

I had a phone interview and was offered a job near my friends and family, 

and one of my dear friends offered to let me live in her spare room for next to nothing.

In short, each and every one of my worries was taken care of. 

Each and every one.

"Consider the lilies, how they grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will He clothe you?" (v. 27-28)

Flash forward to the year 2012:

I am married to the man I love, 

We have lived in cities I never thought I would see, 

We have worked in some of the most prestigious hospitals in America, 

And we have nearly completed our time onboard the Africa Mercy, an organization I have wanted to work with for over five years. The story of how we got here alone is testimony of God's provision

(Here is how The Journey Took Shape; it still blows my mind)

We have been able to touch the lives of patients we would never have encountered, and  

we have worked with some of the most amazing people, people we would never have met had I stayed where I was comfortable. I could never have foreseen all of the beautiful ways God would use me or stretch me, and none of it would have happened had my 'plans' worked out.

So even though I have been known to worry about a thing or two and I am liable to do it again at some point, I choose to trust the One who has brought me this far. Because really, if He has promised to take care of my needs and has proven to take care of them time and time again, 

won't He continue to pave the way?