fancy playing dodge ball with bats?

 I inched my way through the tight space by crawling on my stomach. I sat up for a brief moment enjoying a bit of head room, but then in an attempt to keep up with the rest of my group, I continued creeping along the cool, rocky surface ever so carefully on my hands and knees. I could see the tiny cavern’s entrance ahead of me. I slithered across the rocks trying not to fall and started to make my descent into the cave. My heart raced as a swarm of slimy, black-winged creatures started flying toward my head! I screamed as one bat after another came rushing toward my face and body as I attempted to enter their sacred home. I quickly backed away from the cave trying to dodge the furious black, flying, freaky, animals that surrounded me.

My other friends, far more adventurous than I, were already inside the cave and I could hear them urging me to join them. I yelled back, “heck no, I’ll just wait out here!” My friend’s voices echoed from inside the cave assuring me the bats weren’t bothering them inside the cave, so I just had to be brave for a few minutes as I made the initial decent into the cave. I have never really cared about what others think of me and I didn’t fancy the idea of playing dodge ball with the bats again, so I had decided to sit this adventure out. I would wait for my friends outside the cave, but then out of nowhere, I was filled with a sudden burst of boldness (or stupidity) and I crept back toward the cave entrance. I agreed that if all my friends would point their flashlights toward the entry to the cave (bats don’t like light, so I thought they would leave me alone if I was in a spotlight of flashlights) I would try to join them.

This freaky spider was what
appeared on my camera after
just shooting a pic in
the dark.

With all flashlights pointing in my direction, I carefully descended into the blackness of the cavern. I breathed a sigh of relief as I was reunited with my friends, far away from where the bats were flying around. Linking hands with my friends we explored the tiny cavern that we found ourselves in. We were expecting a slightly bigger cave considering we had been told by our African tour guide, an old man that looked to be well over 75 years old, and told us we could just call him Boss, that this cave was one of the best in West Africa. A few paces to the right, a few to the left, one or two behind us, and one or two in front of us and we had seen the entire cave. We decided Boss has lied to us, or that West Africa’s caves were pretty pathetic. Either way, we took pictures into the darkness not knowing if the photos would even turn out, or what would be in them, but nonetheless they would document our great Ghanaian, cave expedition.

Before we left the cave, Boss called us all together in a circle to tell us some interesting facts about the caves in the area. Some of the caves had reportedly been used for hideouts or lookouts from enemies; others were used as prisons of sorts. Next, Boss grabbed some of the dirt from the ground beneath where he was crouching, he picked it up in his hands and flicked it in the air reporting, “And this…this is bat s*#t!” He repeated the phrase again and again. I started laughing, but then I remembered a bit of high school biology class and something the teacher had said about bat s#*t not exactly being a friend or something to mess around with. As Boss chuckled and flipped bat s#*t here and there, I decided it was time for my little cave adventure to end and my friends and I made a quick exit from the bat infested cave.

I hadn’t thought about my West African caving expedition (or maybe that over exaggerates the adventure) for a while, until this past week when I was sitting in class at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine. My professor said, “Nurse, what are you going to do? A 19 year-old male comes to your travel clinic reporting he is flying overseas for a spelunking trip, in less than 3 days, and he asks you if you think it is necessary for him to have any vaccines.” I had no idea what I was going to tell the young man, I knew it was something important otherwise the professor wouldn’t have asked the question, but I was clueless. My first inclination was to ask the boy why he waited until 3 days before he was leaving to seek travel health advice, but that really wouldn’t solve anything. I didn’t know the answer and that is part of the reason I am in this course. Tropical diseases are not something we cover heavily in North American nursing programs.

The professor went on to discuss rabies, the transmission of rabies, where rabies exists, signs and symptoms of the disease and treatment (of which none really exists especially after the first symptoms appear because at that point, death is right around the corner). The more my professor talked the more I realized my moment of boldness, in Ghana the year before, that led me down into bat mecca, was really a moment of stupidity. I had not realized or had totally blanked out the fact that bats carry rabies. The travel clinic I had visited before heading out to Africa asked me how likely it was that I would come into contact with dogs or animals on my time overseas. We decided it was highly unlikely for me to find rabid animals on the ship (because there is a no animal policy) and I’ve had a lifelong fear of dogs, so I assured the nurse I wasn’t about to go petting dogs in an African market. We didn’t even think about my potential contact with bats or monkeys for that matter (remember African Wildlife, October 21, 2008). So, I had headed to Africa unvaccinated against rabies. All I can say now is I’m signing up for a rabies vaccine and praise the Lord, I didn’t get bit by a bat or didn’t get any precious bat s#*t or spit into the open cuts and scratches I had acquired on my trek through the jungle that had led me to the “one of the best caves in West Africa.”

...the world is not fair...

I sat in one of the lecture halls at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine and eagerly waited for the professor to start his lecture. I had my notebook opened, ready to document every important piece of information the professor shared with us. He began by saying,

“…The world is not a fair place…

… Someone dies from HIV every 10 seconds…

…1 child dies from malaria every 30 seconds…

…1 child dies from malnutrition every 40 seconds…

…30,000 children die EVERY day from PREVENTABLE diseases…&

…4,000 people die DAILY from lack of access to clean water & sanitation...”

I sat in my chair and scribbled notes rapidly as the professor continued to discuss the tragic reality of our world today. The professor presented statistic after statistic describing the horrid, hellish situations many people face daily. If you are like me, you are skeptical of statistics and your brain kind of shuts off, when presented with a list of numbers… Sure, statistics have their place in the world, but what is more important is every statistic represents a precious, valuable life. The professor continued to talk, but my mind was far from the lecture hall… I was picturing the faces behind the statistics…


I was back in Africa. I was sitting on the dirty ground in the suffocating heat, dripping with sweat, cuddling the fragile, dark-skinned children at the orphanage. I was uselessly swatting malaria, mosquitoes away from the tribal children as they sat in the dirt with hungry, tummies rumbling. I was back on the Mercy Ship. It was late at night and in the shadows you could see a couple in a tight embrace. There was nothing but pure love in the embrace, but it wasn’t a romantic love holding the couple together. It was the love of a nurse for her patient, the love of an American girl for her African sister. It was the love of Jesus shown with human hands. It was me holding my 16 year old African patient in her bed, on the ward, as she wept in the middle of the night because she leaks urine all the time related to a traumatic pregnancy and the free surgery we gave her, did not completely solve her problem. I was back on the dock in war torn, Monrovia, Liberia saddened that we had to turn yet another patient away because the need is so overwhelming, but time is so limited. I was in Chile listening to story after story about the damage the tsunami had done and how with every aftershock fear, panic, and anxiety well up in the people’s hearts. I was in Bolivia hugging the Señora as she wept, explaining she didn’t know where her next meal would come from. I was in New Hampshire caring for my patient, a pastor’s wife, with a broken hip. She had already broken her other hip and arm. She was so discouraged, her pain increasing daily. She was barely 5o years of age, but the cancer coursing through her bones had weakened them to the breaking point. I was in Canada in my last year of nursing school, working in the adolescent psychiatry ward and caring for a missionary kid the age of 16 who had tried to take his life after being fed up with the legalism that his parents and church were imposing upon him… Memory after memory of the sites and scenes of suffering that I have encountered in my mere 28 years of life came flooding over me. My professor was right, the world is not fair.


I believe all of us are well aware of the suffering in the world. The question then becomes what does one do with this information. When looking at the statistics it is very depressing. It is easy to become angry with God. Sometimes we question how a loving God could allow so much suffering. At times we wonder if God even exists. We ask God why there is so much suffering in the world! I have wrestled with these very questions, but have realized we can question our lives away, but suffering persists. But, did you ever ponder that our questions could be reversed? What if God asked you why there is so much suffering in the world? What if God asked you why you didn’t do something about it? My challenge to you today: Be the change you want to see in the world. Show people that the world may not be fair, but that you still care.

The Learning Curve-Bleeding Radiators

 

The dish was actually white under
layers of grease!

I heard a voice from the other room yell, “Hey, Laura, make sure…bleed…” I didn’t catch all my friend said, but I heard “blood” and that was enough for me, I put down my cleaning rag and quickly came into the kitchen where my mate was helping me. He looked fine, I was confused, there didn’t appear to be a medical emergency. Then my friend again said, “Laura, make sure you bleed your radiators.” Now, as a nurse, I know a fair bit about bleeding, but most of the time we don’t want it to happen, we aim to stop it. I didn’t know radiators bleed, but apparently they do. I had no idea what my friend was talking about so he tried to explain to me that to get my heat working better in my flat that I needed to “bleed” the radiator. When I still didn’t catch on to what he was saying, he said, “Where’s your radiator key? I’ll show you.”



I don't understand?



Oh, goodness. I didn’t even know what a radiator key was; I had keys to my flat, but no other keys that I was aware of and I hadn’t seen anything like that in my process of going through the drawers in my flat when I moved in. I did find the drawers and closets in this flat full of unopened mail from the last 5 tenants, moldy sheets, and piles of junk, but no radiator key. But in reality I wouldn’t have known what a radiator key was if I saw one. I did show my friend two random pieces of equipment that I found when I was cleaning the kitchen and he politely, while trying to hold back laughter, informed me one of the items was a knife sharper and the other was a snazzy bottle opener. Everything looks so different here in England! I put a radiator key on my list of things to buy.

Much of my time since arriving in the UK has been spent in class, studying, and securing my food supply and shelter. Securing a food supply and making sure you have shelter are two of the most important things you must do when moving into a “new village”. I was so thankful that at least this time my “village” for the next few months had a clean water supply, included in the rental fee, unlike my time in Bolivia and Chile. My shelter is pretty much set, now that my friend has helped me with the heating, but I am still in the process of turning my mere shelter into my home. I have become quite good at making a home out of nothing; considering my home changes frequently and is limited to the weight of 2 suitcases (100lbs). Old laminated calendar pages make great, inexpensive, easy to pack, wall décor! I have a few specific calendar pages that have moved with me for at least a few years!


Securing my food supply has been an interesting process. Everything comes in really tiny containers, so one must shop frequently. There is no concept of Costco as far as I can tell, which is good, I guess, because the fridges are even miniature too. Also a small factor that I didn’t consider, but have quickly learned is that because of my posh location, food items come with a posh price tag as well, not to mention the fact that $1 USD only gets me £.63 GBP! I am not in a 3rd world country anymore- that is for certain! The food staples that I found in the cupboards when I moved in had expiration dates from a few years ago and most had to be discarded, so I am starting from scratch. I already told you how saddened I was that I was not able to obtain a satisfactory supply of peanut butter and grape jelly, but I have also found it difficult to locate Ranch dressing, pickles, and popcorn of all things! I consider those very important food items. If I am to eat vegetables, I need something to camouflage their flavor and popcorn is an essential study snack because it has very few calories per quantity of snack.


I was in a store just today and asked one of the clerks if they sold popping corn. I believe I only said 5 words total to the clerk and didn’t think my American accent was that apparent, but the first thing he said was, “you Americans sure love popcorn, don’t you?” I want to know how he knew I was American; I had even tried to disguise my accent. Maybe it was the fact that I was wearing flip-flops and a sweatshirt and no one else does! I told you I stood out! Either way, I have not secured a supply of popcorn yet and I have been in over six different grocery stores (not just looking for popcorn, I am not that obsessed with the product, but I am trying to find the cheapest place to shop as well). And just so you know… pickles happen to be called Gherkins here and they taste about as good as the peanut butter from here.

The toilet is in a small closet & there
isn't a sink in the same room...
 the sink is in another room...

After seeing the prices of items in the local grocery stores, I finally asked someone if they have anything like dollar stores here in the UK. The person I asked looked at me like I was crazy, but kindly informed me that there are some POUND stores here. There are no pound stores in my neighborhood, but with some careful searching on Google maps. I located a few and noted that it would only take me an estimated 1 hour and 20 minutes to walk to one (I am too cheap to pay for public transit and figured I could use the exercise anyway), so I put on my lovely tennis shoes and went in search of a pound shop. After 2.5 hours I still hadn’t located the shop, so I gave up and took public transit back to my flat.


Speaking of public transit, the London Underground is an amazing subway system. You can get almost anywhere in this city by the tube and in a relatively fast amount of time as well. Considering where I grew up, in the villages of Paul and Rupert, Idaho, I have not been highly exposed to public transit. In Paul and Rupert, we didn’t even have a bus system, or taxis, let alone a subway system. So, I didn’t really compute how far underground, the Underground is. There was a long line at the elevators to get out of the tube station the other day and because I have eaten a few too many cookies lately, I decided it wouldn’t hurt me to take the stairs. 176 stairs later, and totally out of breath, I realized that they call it the London Underground for a good reason; you are really, seriously, a long way underground!

Thank you London!

The learning curve of living in my new village continues, but I am enjoying myself. I thank you for your prayers and support. I am certain the learning curve will continue, but for the moment, I will leave you with one final thought. It is important to look both ways when crossing the street. I have not totally figured out which ways cars come from here, but it is opposite of what I would expect. Apparently, I am not the only one who struggles with this concept considering the city of London has been kind enough to paint… Look right --->… <--- Look Left… on the pavement at many street corners. Unfortunately, this helpful hint is not painted on every street corner, but that’s okay, I will survive by remembering the little phrase my loving parents drilled into my head when I was little…”look both ways when crossing the street.” Is that what the Bible meant when it says…"train up a child in the way they should go and when they are old, they will not turn from it…”???

High-Heels...They Feel Just Like You Are Standing On Rocks!

Everywhere I look there are people running here and there. Wherever I turn, I see an ocean of suits, suit coats, ties, i-pods, dress shirts, coffee cups, i-phones, dresses, skirts, designer bags, cell phones, purses, snazzy ballet flats, dress slacks, fashionable coats, mobile phones, scarves, trendy boots, this and that gadget phones, high-heels, and stilettos. I feel like a fish out of water. I have been in London now for about 19 days and in all my wandering, attempts to find my way around this city, swinging by Big Ben and Buckingham Palace, and hours spent walking around lost, I have only seen about 3 people total wearing tennis shoes (I am included in the count) and although it is the middle of fall, I have only observed one other person wearing a hooded sweatshirt, the rest have on something far more expensive and stylish to keep them warm. I think I am in the middle of the biggest culture shock I have ever experienced, even though I am in an English speaking, developed nation.

 I had no real idea where my flat was when the rental possibility opened up, but I did know it was in a “safe” neighborhood, close to a tube station-bus stop so that I could get to my university classes without too much difficulty, and the price was right (thank you God for providing me reduced rent through connections with a former Mercy Ship’s Doctor). Since arriving in London, exploring a bit, and watching the reactions on people’s faces when I tell them where I live, I have learned that I have landed in one of the wealthiest, exclusive, posh districts in Central London. I live on a street lined with designer stores, and I am mere minutes from Hyde Park, Westminster Abbey, and Buckingham Palace. I am so blessed, but I find this entire situation comical because fashion, brand names, and external appearance and status are the last things in the world I am interested in. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I like to look nice, the luxury of modern life is lovely, and money and material things are not the enemy, but everything must be in balance.


Honestly, I have been extremely overwhelmed with the current situation I find myself in.  Some of the purses I have seen for sale around here cost the same amount it would cost to feed an entire village of my African babies for an entire year! Also, I stick out like a sore thumb or maybe that is just the way I feel. And although I just told you that I don’t care about appearances, it is hard to live surrounded by such fashion, “beauty”, and wealth and not compare myself to others or get down on myself for my lack of in vogue attire. I was sitting in my flat the other day and was pondering this very situation, I started to feel insignificant and less valuable because I wear New Balance tennis shoes and my old university sweatshirt instead of a smart skirt with cute fuzzy boots that are the hottest fashion here. But then a small voice inside of me reminded me that man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart… I was reminded that my treasure is in heaven, not here were moths and rust destroy (which I witnessed with some of the stuff I had stored in New Hampshire while I was in Africa)…that the things of this world are temporary, that this world is not my home, and neither is London, I am just passing through… and there is one who loves me regardless of what I look like, what I wear, or what I have done…And that is what really matters.


Quoting Waris Dirie, the African author who wrote about her life as a child in Somalia (and many other intense health and political situations surrounding Africa including female circumcision and arranged marriages in her autobiography books called Desert Flower & Desert Dawn), “I buy shoes, comfortable ones though, not high-heels. They feel just like you are standing on rocks! Now why would you do that if you don’t have to (Desert Dawn, 2002, pg. 113)? I COULDN’T AGREE MORE! (I know my citing is horrible, I am working on that as I have to for my research paper, but my referencing skills are a little rusty either way Waris Dirie came up with that quote, not me)…


Wow, welcome to your new London neighborhood Laura! I am still slightly overwhelmed with my current situation, but one thing I am sure of is my identity in Christ and I say, “Thank you God for loving me just the way I am. Thank you for my flat in its grand London location. Lord, thank you that you love all of us, just the way we are, whether that be naked, in rags, wearing trendy clothing, or in nursing scrubs and flip-flops, with African scarves tied in our hair. Lord may all who read this know that your love is unconditional and may you continue to provide me with strength to share your message of love whenever I have the chance. AMEN!”

Trimmed Mange Tout

As I was preparing dinner tonight- I looked in the vegetable drawer for the snow peas I had bought at the grocery store a few days ago. I had a great mental menu planned; a sort of America-stir-fry with beef tips, rice, snow peas, and Soy sauce for flavor. I had no actual idea how to cook the meal, but figured it couldn’t be too hard. Although, you wouldn’t believe how challenging I have found it to cook for myself again, after having lived with the luxury of having food prepared for me by skilled kitchen staff for the last 2.5 years (while on the ship in Africa and in Bolivia & Chile).



Anyhow, I have embraced the cooking challenge and I am giving cooking my best shot. I cannot rely on the American staple of peanut butter, the peanut butter here in London, England, tastes horrible! And I have yet to find a grocery store that sells grape jelly. No more PB& J sandwiches. But, back to the point, I had all my ingredients lined up on the kitchen counter and was getting ready to open the snow peas when I looked at the wrapper they were in. It read “trimmed mange tout, grown in Zambia.” I thought, “Oh no, what did I buy? I thought I bought snow peas. What in the world is trimmed mange tout?” At the grocery store, I was so focused on figuring out the conversion rate between the British Pound and the American Dollar that I didn’t look closely at what I had purchased. I stared at the mange tout on my counter for a few minutes trying to decide how adventurous I was feeling and if I wanted to figure out how to cook mange tout.


My adventurous spirit won and I got online- using my newly acquired dongle (which was a new thing to me as well. A dongle is an amazing device that you stick into your computer and immediately you have internet. Apparently these came out in the last few years when I was living in Tim-buck-to away from modern technological advances). I typed in “trimmed mange tout” and found about 9,790 websites that featured “mange tout.” Although I was oblivious to the concept of mange tout, the world wasn’t. To my surprise, but relief, I found out mange tout is another name for sugar peas, sugar snap peas, or snow peas. I wondered why in the world- they couldn’t have just written snow peas on the package. Oh, well, it is all part of adjusting to my new home and the culture here in the United Kingdom.


Speaking of adjustments, I am doing well. I do feel like I have been living in a jet-lagged whirlwind these past few days, but that is almost normal for me at this stage in my travels as a missionary nurse. I arrived in London September 13 after encountering an overbooked flight, a change of flight pattern from Salt Lake City ->Chicago -> London, to Salt Lake City -> Dallas Fort Worth -> London. After 21 hours of travel from Rupert Idaho, I reached London, England, totally stinky, tired, exhausted, and super excited to begin this next chapter and adventure in my life.


My adventures started almost the moment I landed at Heathrow airport. I tried to get into the right side of the car to head to my new flat with my Mercy Ship’s friend from South Africa that now lives in London who had graciously picked me up at the airport. I stood by the door for a few minutes waiting for my friend to unlock the car doors so we could get in and zip off toward London- my new home for at least the next 4.5 months. I wondered why he wasn’t opening the doors, but couldn’t be bothered with asking and I stared off into space, like a proper jet-lagged individual. A few moments later, I heard my friend’s voice behind me as he politely reminded me, he would be driving and I needed to go the left-side of the car, which is the passenger side of the car here in the UK. Oops- I forgot things are opposite here in the UK. I experienced more of this reality as we drove down the free-way and I kept ducking and flinching, feeling as if cars were going to hit us, because I felt they were coming at us from the wrong direction.


I experienced another level of a shock when I opened the door to my new flat and found the place absolutely filthy. The carpet was dirty. The walls were layered with scum, there were soiled dishes in the kitchen cabinets, the stove was a nightmare covered with layers of dried grease, the cupboards were filled with expired food from the year 2007, the fridge was manky (one of my new British vocabulary words- meaning rotten-slimy, sick, manky), there was moldy linen in the bedrooms, and I could have written my name in the dust on the kitchen counters. I was slightly disappointed with the situation, but figured I would make the best of it. It wasn’t exactly a situation I expected to find myself in considering the UK is a developed country, but I just chalked the situation up as another missionary experience and figured I would have plenty cleaning to keep me busy in the middle of the night when jet-lag wreaked havoc.


Two days after I arrived in London. I found myself seated in a lecture theater at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine. With eagerness and excitement I sat in the seat and listened to the director of my course, the Diploma in Tropical Nursing, introduce herself. One of the first things she asked was “how many of you have heard of the book titled Where There Is No Doctor...” Many of the 65 of us enrolled in the course raised our hands. The professor went on the say, “that is why we are here. We are going to prepare you to live and work…Where there is no doctor…”


I sighed deeply and a smile spread across my face. I am in a new country, my flat situation was less that desired, although it is cleaning up nicely with elbow grease, I didn’t have a phone line or internet as promised; things are expensive here, especially since I have no incoming income considering my nursing license application has yet to be approved even though I started the application process this past April, the peanut butter irritates my taste buds, and fancy words are used to describe simple things such as snow peas. Despite all of that, I know without a doubt, I am right where I need to be, in the center of God’s will, learning how to live and work…Where there is no doctor…so that I can bless the nations with the gift of God’s healing love through my nursing care. I couldn’t be happier!

February 13th I left snowy Idaho and headed for hot &humid Bolivia, South America
…in Bolivia… I sweated my guts out & participated in a Discipleship Training School with Youth with a Mission (YWAM), a Christian organization with the vision of “Knowing God & Making Him Known.” The school had a 3 month lecture phase and 2 month practical-outreach phase to put into practice all we learned in the classroom phase of the course. The classroom phase was intense and I describe the process as going through “soul-surgery.” I realized I have a serious issue with pride and God taught me many things. We covered intense topics such as forgiveness and restoration, inner healing, spiritual warfare, God’s plan for us, Worldview, the Holy Spirit, Inductive Bible Study, and many more topics.


May 6th I left Bolivia and travelled to the earthquake zone in Chile, South America
…in Chile… I froze my toenails off, not literally, but man it was cold. Considering Chile is in the Southern Hemisphere, my visit was perfectly aligned with the dead of winter. It was cold! I love the cold and winter is my favorite time of the year, but I have realized proper clothing, heaters, hot water, hot chocolate, & warm cozy houses are all essential components that contribute to my love for winter. I am not so keen on the cold when I don’t have those lovely items! Oh, it wasn’t all that bad, but definitely another adventure. I didn’t complain the entire time I was there. I also helped build houses, provided community & mental health nursing care and counseling, slept on the floor in a building without heat or running water, played with children, performed dramas in churches and schools, seriously improved my Spanish skills, worked with the government to unload huge trucks of mattresses, blankets, sheet rock, & other emergency supplies. I moved and helped distribute tons of flour, went weeks without a shower, knocked on doors of houses in the worst devastated areas and offered to work, clean, listen, & pray for the people. I got strep throat and lived with a Chilean family for a week while I was recovering. My group and I set up a table in an area destroyed by the tsunami and painted nails, cut hair, & offered massages. The list goes on and on…


June 29th I left Chile and travelled to Bolivia
…in Bolivia… I gathered the rest of my belongings that I had left there while on outreach in Chile and I graduated from my Discipleship Training School.


July 1st I left Bolivia and travelled to Texas. I left Bolivia feeling restored, refreshed and more equipped to pursue more of my dream to be a missionary nurse.
…in Texas…I met up with one of my best mates, named Karl, a crazy Australian guy that I met on the ship in Africa. I also visited Mercy Ship’s headquarters in Garden Valley, Texas. I was reunited with many other lovely friends from the ship.


July 4th I left Texas and travelled to Idaho
…in Idaho…I basically stopped over for a few nights to empty all of my belongings onto the floor in my old room at my parent’s house & donate a sample of my urine at a local nursing home to test it for drugs, the final stage in my hiring process for temporary employment. I interviewed over a computer phone from a small internet café in Chile, but even though technology is amazing these days, there was no other way for me to offer my urine sample for drug screening without delivering it in person.


July 7th I left Idaho and travelled to New Hampshire
…in New Hampshire… I was reunited with my dear friends and church family that I met while working at Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center while I lived in New Hampshire. I also dug through all my material belongings that my dear friend has faithfully stored for me the last 2.5 years while I was in Africa and South America. With tears in my eyes and a heaviness of heart, I made garage sale signs and sold almost everything I own, knowing that it is not good stewardship to leave my items in a box, molding & rusting in my friend’s basement when I will probably not use the things again for a long time.


July 13th I left New Hampshire and returned to Idaho
…since returning to Idaho... I have been experiencing the biggest culture shock of my life…returning to nursing in the USA. July 15th I started a row of 12-hour orientation shifts at a local nursing home. The first day at my new job all the staff and care aids gathered in a circle for morning report, out of habit from the ship, I bowed my head thinking we were going to pray before starting the day. I was quickly brought back to reality when I heard one of my new co-workers cuss and the others converse in some of the most vulgar language I have heard for a long time. I almost cried. I miss Africa.


I had three 12-hour orientation shifts and was launched into nursing on my own. I am now working full-time night shifts at the nursing home. The learning curve is huge; I have never worked in long-term care and have been out of nursing in the USA for 2.5 years now. YIKES! I am responsible for 30 patients and I haven’t yet figured out how to accomplish everything I need to within the time limit of my shift, the entire process is entirely stressful, but I have seen God take me through greater challenges. I see God answering prayers already because I was wondering how I would stay awake on my night shifts. So far that hasn’t been a problem. I run all night long trying to get everything done!


The other night, I was standing at my med cart when I felt someone pinch my behind. I heard a male co-worker quickly claim, “That wasn’t me!” I was feeling slightly offended until I heard a squeaky little voice from the 90 year-old grandma in a wheel-chair behind me say, “he he, that it was me!” Oh, my goodness, I am in a different world!


With the vision of someday returning to care for African orphans and precious chocolate children in my mind and the goal to show God’s love to every person I come into contact with, I bravely return to the nursing home for each shift I am scheduled. Out of stress and pure exhaustion, I have cried almost every shift I have worked so far, but that is okay. I am working as hard as I can to earn money for what God has prepared for me next.


September 12th… Lord willing, I will board a plane headed for London, England. I am pleased to announce that I have been accepted to take a 4.5 month course in tropical nursing at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine. I am super excited about this opportunity as the course is in high demand and nurses travel from all over the world to participate in this course. The course is designed specifically for nurses who have the passion to serve overseas in undeveloped areas. I will study tropical diseases, community health, water and sanitation, malaria, typhoid fever, dengue fever, leprosy, & learn about all the other freaky little parasites that are out there!


Right Now… It is the middle of the night & I am wide awake. Instead of being frustrated that I cannot sleep, I am working on my to-do-list that is a mile long. Thank all of you for your amazing love and support throughout the years! I love all of you very much!

Raining Buckets

I am now in the costal city of Constitucion, Chile. I have been here for about 11 days now. My group and I are sleeping on the floor in a school. I am thankful the school has running water and that we have little cushions to sleep on.   We eat our meals like a big family around the science labortary table. It has been raining buckets for the past few days, this complicates things a little bit. There is tons of wind and one would think this would help dry things, but it only pushes the rain around more. It is difficult to construct houses and help the people when it is soaking wet outside.  My ocassional bucket showers are not proving to be very efficient, so I am thinking of taking my shampoo out into the street to enjoy the free showers God is providing. I washed my clothes the other day, the one day we had sun. They are still soaking wet. I don't know if they are ever going to dry! I had to buy more socks in the market today because I literally do not have any more dry socks to use!  The world cup is on and the Chilean people are huge supporters of soccer. The other day Chile played their first game. The government set up a huge circus tent for the people that have lost their homes and we joined the group to watch the game at 7:30am! After the game we held a program for the kids of the community inside the tent. The event ended with the kids jumping all over me and rubbing sawdust (which was brought in to cover the mud) all over me. I thought it was fun until one of the little girls spit in my direction at the exact same time I was trying to breath and her spit landed in my mouth!  Oh, what fun! I wish I could write more and explain all that is happening, but I do not have much time to get to the internet. I love all of you and thank you for your thoughts and prayers! 

Random Points of Interest

-There are small earthquakes daily here in Chile. The past few days the quakes have been more frequent and strong. The most recent quake (30 minutes ago was a 5.4 on the richter scale). Most of the people living here are becoming accustomed to the daily quakes, but for others each small quake continues to serve as a reminder of the pain and tragedy that the original earthquake on February 27,2010 brought. The earthquakes come out of no where. Yesterday when I was eating dinner, I heard a lot of noise, as if a train was going to come through my front yard, then everything started to shake. Everything shakes for about 15-20 seconds and then the shaking stops. God has blessed me with no fear in these situations, but I would continue to ask for your safety and protection. Also, pray for the people here in Chile who are experiencing painful flashbacks every time these earthquakes come. Pray for peace in their hearts and strength to carry on and rebuild amidst their current struggles.
-The current value of the Chilean Peso is about 539 Chilean Pesos to 1 USD. To put things into context, it costs 350 Chilean Pesos to ride the local bus. I am no math wizard, but I think that equals about .65 cents.
-The currency in Bolivia is Bolivianos the current exchange rate there is 7 Bolivianos to 1 USD. It costs 1.50 Bolivianos to ride the local bus in Bolivia. That is less than .21 cents. Bolivia is the poorest country in South America and the poorest country in in all of Latin America next to Haiti.
-I am currently involved in some serious active nursing care, unfortunately, I am the patient. I have come down with strep-throat. A number of others in my group are feeling ill as well. Please pray. 

Gringa Missionary Snowwoman

The temperatures are dropping. It is getting colder here in Chile as the Southern Hemisphere heads toward winter. The morning air is cold, damp, and anything but fresh. I can see my breath as I walk down the street to Señora Claudia's house for breakfast. I clomp through mud and puddles of stagnant water, thanking God that I have steel toed, rubber work boots. Breakfast is a humble serving of bread and butter along with a cup of boiled water. I am thankful that the water is boiled and I pray that the boiled water has thoroughly cleansed the mug I am about to drink from because I have observed the precious grandpa of the house washing the dishes in cold water without soap. I decline the coffee and tea that is served and I spoon a few scoops of chocolate mix, from my secret stash, into my cup. I realize I am missing an essential ingredient to perfect my cup of hot chocolate, but that is beside the point. Milk is not being served, so with a grateful heart, I sip my warm beverage and thank God that I have something warm to drink and that he provided me with the gift of chocolate mix from a little store down the road.

After breakfast is finished I head down the road looking like a freaky gringa snowwoman with my scarf, hat, gloves, and many layers of clothing. My outfit is completed with my red work smock-apron-vest that says "Youth With a Mission" in Spanish on the front and "Humanitarian Aid Volunteer" on the back. Although I am cold, I thank God for the fact that the cold weather has seemed to freeze my body odor. The cold is a true gift in this regard because my current shower routine has me showering around every 4-5 days.

With my growing Spanish vocabulary, I greet every person I pass on the street. The little barrio (neighborhood) of Santa Clara where I am living and working is a buzz of activity. Huge trucks are coming and going moving piles of rubble and dirt. I hear the clip-clop-clip-clop of horse hoofs from a horse drawn cart that is transporting supplies. Across the street an old man and young girl are digging through the remains of their once beautiful home, hoping to find remnants of treasured belongings. An elderly man struggles to push a wheelbarrow full of wood and construction tools down the pothole filled road. I look at all my surroundings and I am puzzled. It is hard to imagine what this neighborhood once looked like. I am told it was beautiful and lovely, but that is hard to imagine when I am surrounded by destroyed homes. I find it difficult to differentiate between the lines of poverty and destruction from the earthquake and tsunami.
I pass a few more houses with people eagerly waiting outside for my assistance and I assure them that their name is on the list for help and my group will be pleased to help them shortly. But for the moment, my attention and focus turns to the Señora in front of me. I enter her recently constructed home that follows the Chilean government's guidelines for construction of emergency houses and I set to work. I measure, I mark, and I cut the chunks of styrofoam that we are using for insulation. As I continue to measure, mark, and cut again and again, the small home where I am working transforms into a winterwonderland as bits and pieces of styrofoam start floating through the air. I giggle because this missionary snowwoman now has a snowy environment to match her snowwoman attire.
As my team and I finish insulating one tiny home after another, I thank God for the opportunity to be here. I pray that God's love will be with the people of this community and I pray that when the cold, cutting, winter that is just around the corner arrives that these precious people of God will not only be warmed by the home they now have to live in, but that the will be warmed from the inside out because in the name of God, one gringa missionary snowwoman gave what she could to share God's love.

-Every night I sleep in a room 7x9 feet with 5 other girls (1 German, 2 Bolivians, 1 Brazilian, and 1 rocking chick from the Bahamas)
-I am living in a government office building without heat or running water
-I get a 3 minute shower an average of every 3 days (when one of my new neighbors down the street invites me into their home to use their personal shower)
-Wet wipes are my new best friends
-The daily temperatures here average between 40-60 degrees (slightly different than in Bolivia)

-The air is cool and damp and frequently holds the horrid odor or rotting fish that were swept ashore and into the streets by the Tsunami

-The streets are strewn with litter, rubble, mud, old shoes, clothing, everything imaginable

-I eat three meals a day in a Salvation Army Shelter (which actually doubles as the living room of a local family, the family has been gracious to loan their space to feed humanitarian aid volunteers)

-My daily food intake normally consists of 5 rolls, some rice, and a potato dish

-The past few days I have been working with 100 Chilean Marines- they are incredible. They are working 7 days a week, 12 hours a day, to construct houses for the estimated 6,000 people left homeless in this area because of the earthquake and tsunami destruction

-There are shipping containers in the middle of my neighborhood even though it is 1.5 miles from the ocean. The containers were thrust onto land by the tsunami
-I am armed with an incredible pile of medicines and have been distrubting medicine to many in my group
-I am healthy, happy, well, and strong serving under the precious wonderful name of Jesus in the Earthquake- Tsunami zone in Talcahuano, Chile!