pharaoh, pharaoh. oh, baby let my people go

Tuesday, when we finally arrived to the city we would be working in, me and 2 leaders I am staffing this school with changed into our Indian dresses and made our way over to the Director of Medical Education’s head office to get permission to work at the hospital this year.

“piece of cake,” I thought to myself as we made our bumpy rickshaw ride to the office. Last year, the permission was granted immediately. I never even considered there being another way.  Yet to my unpleasant surprise, I was quickly corrected. After a lot of waiting around we were finally ushered into the office of an intimidating looking Indian woman.  She met us with a lot of opposition. She questioned our motives and wanted documentation of the legitimacy of our school.

Often times on the Birth Attendant School we reference Exodus 1 and the God fearing midwives, Shiprah and Puah, who delivered the babies of the Hebrew women against the orders of their king. I guess it should come as no surprise that a Christian midwife school might try and find some parallels in the midwives of the bible who feared God and the modern day work that we are apart of.  Nonetheless, these two golden midwives give us an incredible example of how to live, not just as health care workers but also as disciples in Gods kingdom. These women feared God first, above anyone else, even their king. As a result of being obedient to God, they did not listen to the king’s order to kill the male babies that were born to the Hebrew women.

These midwives took a great risk.

The midwives respected God. They followed a higher authority that wasn’t okay with killing. They weren’t afraid of worldly threats. I once read an insightful commentary that said, “there probably was enough truth in what they were saying to be believable, but they clearly had no intention of honoring the king by participating in murder, and they saw no reason to give the king a straightforward answer.”

They were shrewd.  They did what they had to. They revered God in their practice even when it had to go against the higher governmental authorities. And as a result of their boldness, Hebrew male babies were born. Immediately following this chapter, we see the birth of baby Moses. And we all know what happens once Mo gets on the scene.

And while I am taking the boldness of Shiprah and Puah into great consideration throughout the past few days, it’s Mo that I’ve really been reflecting upon. It was Moses who felt unqualified for the great position God anointed him with.

“Go and bring my people out of captivity.”

God is moved with compassion for the welfare of His people. “I have seen the troubles my people have suffered in Egypt and I have heard their cries… I am concerned about their pain, and I have come down to deliver them.”

When God called Moses to lead the Israelites out of Egypt, Moses did everything he could to get out of the position, even to the point of angering God.  Mo asks God, with an honest humility, “Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh, or that I should bring the Israelites out of Egypt?”  This was a legitimate question.  Moses was not a man of great authority any longer. Not to mention he had a self-admitted poor speaking ability.  I think about what it would be like to be a Hebrew slave in Egypt during that time. If I knew that someone was going to come to set me free I would probably have high expectations of who this deliverer would be.  I can imagine finding out it was some stuttering old Sheppard who didn’t even want the job. I’m sure I would protest, “Please, send anyone else but him! He is definitely not qualified. And he’s definitely not the guy for the job.”

Yet that’s the incredible thing about the God we serve. He is so unconventional.

Once Mo finally came to terms with the position God anointed him with he had to approach Pharaohs throne and stand firm on the reality of what God had called him to do. And yes, there was great opposition he faced every time he went before the throne, but he had to be persistent. And he was.

I look at both of these stories and think about standing firm on the word of the Lord. Sometimes that can put us in direct opposition of kings, pharaohs, or in my case directors of medical education in India.  We can be certain though that we are victorious when we are obedient to what God calls us to do.

It's easier said than done though. Tha's for sure. Which is why I have recentely gained a new found respect for Ol' Moses. 

“What are your qualifications?" the Director asked.

Qualifications. This word.

India is very into its education. They put great value on those who pursue prestigious careers in things like medicine or engineering. If they can afford it, they go to University.  No questions asked. And they study, hard.

But whoa. Never thought this would happen. It’s a developing nation in great need of healthcare workers. and we're here to help. What’s to question?

But the reality of the situation is that this battle is far beyond the physical. We have come to save life. To bring life.  To love women who may never be loved otherwise. To be God hands and feet. To invite his children into His kingdom.

And in the end, it was foolish for me to ever think that there wouldn’t be opposition in challenging the one who comes to kill, steal, and destroy.

What are my qualifications?

Momentarily I allowed the question to bring me to a place of defeat.

Technically, I don’t have any.

I am without a proper Indian degree stating that I have completed proper Midwifery or Medical training. I know if someone without a degree went into a hospital in my country and tried to work they would be laughed at. Scorned at even.

So the question she’s bringing before us is not absurd.  And according to this worldview I can indeed be viewed as "unqualified." And yet, here I am, not just working as a midwife but training and instructing others on how to be midwives.

Who am I? That you have sent me? 

I can try and justify it in my head. And for a moment I did. After all, I am confident that I have been adequately trained. Yet, I know God is teaching me I cannot fall back on the standards the world has set. These aren’t bad standards by any means either. It’s just that I have had to learn that the only concrete standard I can fall back on is the word of the Lord.  Even if that means I don’t have a degree to show for my work.

The God who sends me, qualifies me.

And while I may not be able to rock up into any hospital in any nation to work, I am more than qualified and capable to provide healthcare for the mothers and babies of the nations God calls me to work in.

But just like when Moses approached Pharaoh, the original few responses have been met with great opposition. Needless to say, we are having to jump through some hoops. We have been back to see the medical director 4 times now.  It could feel discouraging. Nerve-wracking even. After all, its not just for my own sake I am getting hospital permission. I have come with a group of 14 eager students who are anxiously awaiting the opportunity to being their practical work. And more importantly than that-there are women and babies who need us. 

They should wait no longer.   

So I find myself being  a spokesperson, a representative so to speak- not just for my own benefit, but for the need of the nation we have come to.

Like Moses, we have come to be deliverers.  And while the actual context of that word may be a bit different, the idea is seeming to be very similar. We must continue to be as shrewd as Shiprah and Puah and as faithful, persistent, and obedient as Moses had to be. It took a little bit of processing for me to get to this place but I feel confident that we will see the permission come in this week.  It is the word of the Lord that brings us to a place of confidence. There has been great breakthrough and movement already in our request for permission. ….And it’s coming.  For:

He has seen the troubles His people have suffered in India and He has heard their cries… He is concerned about their pain, and He has come down to deliver them.

Please join me in prayer as we continue to fight this battle.

“O my Lord, I am not an eloquent man, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant, for I am slow of speech and slow of tongue. The Lord said to him, “Who gave a mouth to man, or who makes a person mute or deaf or seeing or blind? Is it not I, the Lord? So now go, and I will be your mouth and will teach you what you must say.”

budget airlines, airport floors, late nights, little sleep, bus ride, flat tires, train ride and.... eventually we'll get there

YEP- I'm definitely back on Outreach.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “Life is a journey, not a destination.”
But after a 3 day trip to India all I can say is thank God there is a destination!

Our Destination: India.

Purpose: Bring God’s kingdom.  Be His hands and feet. Deliver some babies. Love some mamas. Get His heart for this incredibly diverse culture.

We left Perth at a decent hour. 9:50pm. 16 single girls. A married couple. And two of the greatest kids on the planet.

Budget airlines.

Being a missionary doesn’t always mean that you have to rough it, but in this case we did. A tight squeeze on the airplane but we did our best to rest during our over night flight. We arrived to Singapore in the middle of the night.  Our airline did not provide any food or water so the team was ready to eat.

Greasy noodles and naps on the floor. That’s what our layover looked like.

We arrived in India in the morning. We were greeted by a pastor from Chennai. We stuffed the heaps of luggage we brought with us into two different vehicles and made our way to our accommodation. Someone was supposed to be preparing rooms for us. Once we arrived, though, we realized that the “room” was actually going to be a mat on the concrete floor of this dusty church. It was humid, hot, and there were a lot of church members still around but the team was incredibly gracious. We pulled out some borrowed mats and did our best to sleep with the mosquitoes and stray cats that came and went throughout the night.  

Some luggage to arrive with

Floor sleeps- Take 2

sleeping on the floor/sleeping with some bug friends

Day 2: Travel to new location in order to get to the train in order to get to our destination city. We hopped on a bus that was supposed to take 3 hours. It took 6 and it just so happens that we had a flat tire along the way. There was no air condition on the bus so patience was tested but we had the children with us to help test our attitudes. They were incredible. Never once complaining. And if the 2 year olds not crying then surely I cant be either. Even when we are stopped on the side of a road with a flat tire- in the middle of nowhere, sweating profusely and wondering why we haven’t arrived yet after 5 hours of driving- I still cant cry. I haven’t slept much the night before. My arms are covered with bug bites. But the kids aren't crying and I better not be either.

finding big rocks to help get the bus up to change the tire. And somehow still being playful along the way.

A husband to one of the students. Thank God for husbands.

 Day 3: We finally made it to the train. It was an over night ride, which was to our advantage because we had some sort of 3 story bunk beds that didn’t allow for sitting up, only laying flat. Sleep it is.

 I’ll take it. 

The train ride was well over 13 hours BUT lo' and behold we finally arrived to the city we would be calling home.

The journey was bumpy. And sweaty and hot…. and yet totally worth it.
Thanks for the warm welcome back, India.  No pun intended.

Train! We meet at last

Rice and some other mysteries

Some Muslim friends on the train we shared bunks with.

moving from bed to bed on the train-

Abigail, and the beach ball that says, "warm welcome to the medical team."

INDIA <3

Wild guess on who braided my hair?

‘You said, “Ask and I’ll give the nations to you.” Oh Lord, that’s the cry of my heart.

A few months ago I sat in a classroom in Australia and I found myself having a conversation with the Lord.

After some debating and deep contemplation I concluded that I could never return to work in India again.

It was a strange thought to be having. It was a strange conclusion to come to, especially because while I was in India, I absolutely loved it. It was an amazing experience.  I love India. I love the Indian people and I loved working at the hospital. And in the midst of all that I experienced in that country there was always so much grace to get through it. 

However, in that moment when I found myself sitting in the classroom reflecting back, I couldn’t believe what I had been exposed to. The severity of the conditions for the women. The utter filth that clung to the hospital. The disrespect. The chaos. The death.

I don’t want to wipe cockroaches off a woman in labor ever again.

I don’t want to watch a baby get thrown into a cardboard box because it didn’t survive the birth. Where’s the value in life in that?

I remember every time I delivered a baby girl there was a surge of disappointment that came from the mother. And it’s not just the mother’s fault for being bothered by a female baby- it’s the pressure the society has put on her. She has failed and now she has to not only live with the consequences but pay for it as well.

It hurts to see that.

And I didn’t want my heart to be broken by these things anymore.  

I wasn’t sure I was capable of it.

And in a moment of weakness I allowed myself to think, “if I never go again, maybe I can forget about it.”

But God met me in my weakness. He didn’t let me walk away with that thought in my mind. Immediately He brought me to a place of conviction. He brought understanding. He showed me His heart.

He is so gracious.

It’s like He gently whispered to me, “beloved, this is not my heart either. And its hurting me too. I love my people. I want their circumstances to be different.”

And then He reminded me of the passion He has given me to see things change in government hospitals in the developing nations. If I have a heart for it, why don’t I go where it can be the toughest? Start from the bottom. See the fruit.

And so that’s why it is a great privilege for me to announce that I will be returning to work in India at the end of September.

Donning the traditional clothes, bobbling my head, and sipping on chai- I’m going with a group of incredibly eager and passionate midwife students and we’re going to storm that nation.  We’re going to be God’s hands and feet for the women who are so deserving of it. We are going to welcome life into the world and claim it for the Kingdom. We are going to wipe the cockroaches off and clean the beds and we’re going to do it, not by our own strength, but with the joy and the strength of the Lord.

Give us India, Lord. We're asking for this nation. 

In order to go, I will be needing to raise $5,000 by the end of this month. That’s a lot of money. I know I serve a God that holds all the money in the world. It’s nothing for Him. And I believe He is going to provide for me. So I’m pressing into Him to a release of it. Would you join me in prayer as I seek breakthrough in the area of finances?

If you are able to financially contribute, in any way- even a small donation makes a big difference, you can do that through the secure donate button on my page or you can email me and I can give you some more options at laurae.brager@gmail.com

Right now I am really trusting for some fundraising strategies. If you, or anyone you know can help with fundraising please let me know.

I look forward to being back on the field and sharing my stories with you.

Bless you!

what is God's heart for maternal and child healthcare?

A dear friend of mine made a beautiful video to answer this question. It's worth watching...and then replaying. 

If you watch, I'd love to hear your response to seeing this video. What do you think about it? 

Feel free to post a comment. It's pretty simple to do. You can just click on the link that mentions "comment" or the small pencil icon and write. 

For me, its a reminder. It's why I go.
"Every pregnant woman should be looked after."
"No woman in labor should be left alone."
"No baby should lack help."

They are simple, yet powerful statements.
And while we are looking at cartoons images, I am remembering real faces. Real situations. Real human beings in real awful circumstances.

But God hasn't turned His back on this tragedy. He isn't leaving them alone.
He is there and He is using us, He is using me- to help make this different.
I am so grateful to serve a God that sends and saves and loves.

aussie aussie aussie?

So I find myself back in the Land Down Under. I’m snuggled up in a sweater (that they refer to as a “jumper”) and I am wearing boots and a scarf and a jacket and I’m somehow still cold. It’s the dead of the winter and I’m trying to figure out how to transition from the scorching Las Vegas sun to the cold winter nights here in Perth. What a big world we live in.

While the weather may be the most abrupt change in my life it seems minuscule in comparison to the other kind of transitions I am trying to make.  I find myself still trying to process my last 9 months. Often sitting with the memories of the hospital, I can still envision many of the women I worked with.  My experiences seem real, sometimes more painfully real than I’m prepared to deal with, but they also seem like an abstract idea. Did I really just do that?

Yeah- I did. And the joy and the pain that I carry around with me in my heart as a result of it acts as a constant reminder for me.

It reminds me that I walked through some difficult times. I saw death on a daily basis. But I also saw life and I saw miracles and I saw Gods heart. And I watched Him move in the nations amongst the women He loves so dearly.

 I’m so grateful for what I got to do and be apart of. And I’m so grateful I get to continue being apart of this.

But today I didn’t work in a hospital. I didn’t deliver a baby and I’m not sure I even saw a pregnant woman? So Lord, why’d You call me here? Why am sitting I in Australia when the need is elsewhere?

As I have adjusted back into this culture this question has come up several times. A new group of students arrived last weekend and on Monday we began the school, once again. I’m still sitting in the class and I’m definitely still learning but this time I’m not considered the student. I’m the staff. Responsible for discipling and leading these women into being God-fearing and good midwives! So as I help prepare things for lectures and make rosters and spend more hours starring at a computer screen than I ever imagined in my life, I have to stop and think about what I’m doing. It was easy to see the fruit of my labor in the labor room but this proves to be more difficult. Who would have thought…getting away from the death and the chaos and only then being greeted with uncertainty.   

What I mean to say is- when you’re a missionary and you are working in a hospital in Africa and you’re delivering babies it’s pretty easy to see that your hard work is making a difference in the nations. It’s easy to see God’s heart and hear His voice. But when you’re sitting in an office and all the sudden you go to bed without any blood on your elbows -it’s hard to see any value in the work you’re doing.  It’s easy to feel useless. And yet, somehow, God in all His beauty, patience, and graciousness has continued to teach me. And I continue to be humbled by His wisdom. As the Lord gently reminded me this week, the type of work I am doing right now is not only equally important, but its also completely necessary. Knowing that part of going into the nations requires equipping people to go. Knowing I’m spending hours making rosters for Gods Kingdom makes it not only easier, but actually more enjoyable. And I get to be apart of others answering the call God has on their life. I get to help train and see Godly midwives sent out to the nations. Out to help the women who I care about so deeply.

We need more workers and here they are and I get to be with them!

It’s just such a privilege.

So while I wont stop missing the labor room (I just cant) I have come to realize that this is where I’m called to be. I am being stretched and challenged with new things. I am getting the opportunity, once again, to be apart of something so much bigger than myself. I look forward to the day I get to welcome life into the world again (just 21/2 months away) but I also look forward to Monday- when classes start again and I get to see the students getting a heart for the same thing I have a heart for.

And that’s amazing. 

I look forward to keeping you updated over the next couple months. Thanks for your support.

love you.

oh, I miss you, you know

--->side note - I wrote this post almost 2 weeks ago but haven't had the chance to post it yet.

Right now I am sitting in an airport in San Francisco.  I’m about to board a 15-hour flight and no matter how often I travel, I can hardly get used to these long hours. 

I love the airport, I do, but as I continue to live the lifestyle that I do I have become increasingly more aware that with every airport also comes a goodbye. I can’t deny that I enjoy the solitude, the occasional glass of wine in the random side kiosk, and the guarantee of knowing that with every goodbye I am greeted with new and sometimes familiar "hellos.”  My lifestyle, while often may be lacking in luxury, is definitely not lacking in privilege. So as I sit here it's easy to feel excited for what’s to come.  The emotion, however, that’s currently standing on top of my excitement is the sting of saying goodbye to my loved ones. 

My time at home was filled with lazy nights with my family, good conversations with old friends, catching up with acquaintances, and playing pretend at Disneyland (I love that place.) And while all of these things were beautiful, they were rushed and compressed and flew by faster than I would have preferred. I enjoyed being home, if I can even call it that anymore, and I am extraordinarily grateful for the time I did have there. So to the many of faces I finally got to see in person and to the new friends who I met for the first time- thank you for making my trip home memorable. I might not be the biggest fan of Las Vegas, but I am the BIGGEST fan of what Las Vegas holds- and that’s each of you. Thank you for being you, for loving me, listening to me, and welcoming me back so warmly.

They say pictures speak a thousand words, and right now I couldn’t agree more. So here’s a quick snapshot of what the weeks looked like for me. 

my family, and mickey mouse.

cousins, loves. 

sisters

friends

friends, more than friends... family. 

there's a lot to love in this picture

I forced my family to eat Indian food with me... with their hands. 

I miss you already, so much.  And I wish there was a profound way of ending this making it positive, but the truth is that it just hurts me a bit to leave…. and I think that’s okay.

Prayer requests:

-I am still currently short about $650 a month to be able to meet my financial needs as a missionary.

-Adjustment. No longer am I student, I’m a staff- a leader, a teacher and that will take some adjusting to. Can you pray for me to have wisdom in this transitioning time?

- And last, but not least please pray for me to be settled and readjusted back into Western culture. I'm still working on that. 

If you have prayer request please write me and let me know. I pray for you!

buzzz buzzz bite!

It started out at a persistent ticking in the back of my head. “Not a normal headache,” I thought to myself, “but perhaps I’m on the way to a migraine.” I had stuff to get done though so I couldn’t be bothered by the pain. I continued on with my day ignoring the aches growing in my body. I tried to enjoy lunch, got some errands done, and then eventually found myself abnormally exhausted and in desperate need of a nap. I hopped on the back of the local transportation; a motorcycle I shared with two other people called a “boda-boda” and made my way home. As I crawled into my bed, the suspension of something worse than a migraine came rearing into my head. And it wasn’t just my head now. I felt hot and cold, sore and achy. My fever spiked up and it wasn’t long before I went into intense shivering as my body tried to break the 104 degree temperature that appeared almost out of nowhere.

It was the night before I left Africa and boarded a plane for Australia.

Malaria.

That’s was the obvious answer, but one I was unwilling to accept. I imagined being left behind because of my symptoms as my team boarded a plane. So I prayed and when I physically couldn’t pray anymore my team prayed for me. The night was miserable, maybe one of the worst physical discomforts I’ve ever experienced and all I could do was try and sleep and get through the evening. My hope being that when the morning broke through so would my fever.

When I did wake in the morning I felt some relief from the night before, but I wasn’t up for the 20 plus hour journey on an airplane that was before me.  I also wasn’t up for staying behind. So vomit bag in hand, I hopped on a bus and made the 4 hour trek to the airport and somehow managed to board the plane and land in Dubai.  I headed straight for the medical clinic in the Dubai airport and practically begged them to give me an IV for some fluid that I knew I was in need of. I had a rest in the hospital bed at the airport (yeah- who knew they had those) and I appreciated it beyond measure. Looking back now I recognize that I technically shouldn’t have been allowed on the next plane, not in the condition I was in, but I can’t say I am not grateful that I snuck past the cheerful faces of the flight attendants.

When I finally arrived in Australia I began to feel a bit better. I had some good days and bad days but I never took myself to be tested. I was ignorant and didn’t heed the obvious warning signs that my body was practically screaming at me. I had malaria, and even though all my symptoms pointed to it, I chose to ignore them and blame it on an odd feeling or intense reaction to jetlag. To my defense, it didn’t help that the symptoms came and went (something I later learned is common with faliciparum malaria)

 Besides the fact that I was plagued with the poison of a mosquito bite, adjusting to life out of Africa and back into Australia was strange and beautiful all at the same time. Being back in the Western world was as shocking as expected. People appeared unhappy and almost gave off a grey color, but then again it is winter in Australia so maybe I’m being too harsh. I missed Africa desperately the whole time. But as the days passed I began to appreciate what I have in Australia as well. As a team we debriefed our year together. We laughed, we cried, we told stories, and we tried to make sense of the fact that this was the last time we would ever be together as a whole team. 

As we said our goodbyes-me and two of my best friends from my team closed our time out together with a trip to Brisbane, a city on the opposite side from Perth. Our first day in Brisbane was great.  It just took two days though before the symptoms that afflicted me previously began to flare up again. I found myself checking my friend into the hospital and then joining her the next day for the same thing: MALARIA.

I was supposed to catch a flight home but was held back- by 4 days, which felt like an eternity after being away from home for a year. But I survived.  And all thanks goes out to everyone who prayed, without ceasing,  for my well-being. Another reminder that I am not in this alone. I have support. People who pray and care and invest into my life helps me recover from mishaps like these.

What did I learn from all this?

Well first of all- malaria is the pits. One of the most uncomfortable and painful things I could have gone through.

-My parents are incredibly strong, patient, and constructive. Again, I don’t have children but I can imagine what its like to hear that your child is FAR away and suffering and there’s not much that can be done about it. But my parents persevered, prayed, and relied on Christ to continue to care for me. We can all learn something from that, can’t we?

I feel like I must add in that my flight delays and changes were not without cost. Obviously, as a missionary who doesn’t get paid for my work, the expenses were beyond my ability to provide- so my parents did. And whether it was beyond their ability to provide for will go without my knowledge, because they did what they needed to do for their child. What incredible parents I have!

-God is still good! Even though I wanted to go home. Even though I was already in emotional pain about leaving my team and ending this leg of my journey, even though the last thing I needed was a medical bill and a headache from the infernal regions- I can still say, without a shadow of doubt- that God is a good, loving, and gentle Papa. He took care of me. And He will continue to take care of me as I continue to serve Him.

-Last thing I learned is I shall never again grow weary of taking my malaria prophylaxis.  This lesson learned also comes with an apology and confession to you. After 5 ½ months of NOT getting malaria, I grew lackadaisical with my malaria medication. And we have all seen what happens when you do that.  I know I need to be safe and healthy and I have learned the hard way that when we grow lazy and ignorant (and act like it could never happen to us) we put ourselves in danger.

So there it is. My adventure, for lack of a better word, with malaria. May it be the last- and if it isn’t may I continue to have people like you, who obviously are incredible prayer warriors on my side.

God Bless you all.

who said, "all good things must come to an end?"

I finished my last week of ministry. I can hardly believe it is ending.

Out of everything I have seen and done and been apart of this year, I may be more surprised by the fact that I’m finishing than anything else.

An end?

I knew in that there was one in theory.  Somewhere out in the deep dark yonder there was a closing to this school. But now, all of the sudden, its at finger tips length. I can almost reach out and touch it. And even though I feel as though I’d like to run from it- seems as though I don’t have a choice. My time is definitely coming to a finish.

Comes with a lot of emotions. Sad to leave this life behind.  To walk away from Africa and the simple lifestyle of living in a third world nation. I love what I do, why would I want to leave it?  It has only been 8 months, but the most life altering, eye-opening 8 months of my life. It seems impossible to part with the girls on my team The ones that once were once just good acquaintances but now part of my family line. They are my sisters. What does a world without them look like everyday?  How can I live in a world that doesn’t allow me to rub the belly of every pregnant woman that I see? Part of me- a big part of me isn’t ready to return. This has become my reality and even in the toughness of it I cant help but think, “don’t make me go back.”

And yet, in the same breath-I’m constantly aware that someday soon I’ll get to hug my mom again. I’ll see my family and not just through a computer screen but in person. I’ll get to share the stories I haven’t gotten to write about and then I get hear stories about what’s been happening in the lives of the ones I love so much. I get to go home.  I get to meet my new cousin- who I was hoping would hangout an extra 8 months in my aunts womb before she came out, but to my great disappointment, decided to be a normal baby. (Just kidding Zo. I’m glad you’re here now, but as pay back I think your betrothed to my midwifery skills- someday I get to deliver your babies.)

Eleven months ago, when I left home, I left behind the people I love most in this world. Never once has that been an easy thing to do. Missing birthdays and anniversaries. Family trips and Christmas. Seeing pictures of my loved ones and feeling the sting of not being amongst them.  It’s been hard. My life that I have come to love so much has not been without sacrifice. But now, all the sudden, I get to see my family and friends again.  And I am so excited for that.

Basically, I am the epitome of mix emotions.

I recently heard someone say, “We all have those defining moments in life …where we will never be the same again… and you can look back in your life and know that God engineered something in you and you knew it would forever change you.”

This year was it for me. It was defining.

Today is our last official day here. It is filled with packing and cleaning and purchasing souvenirs and trying to find a way to figure out how to live amongst other white people again someday soon. We are processing and debriefing and mostly just enjoying each other’s company.  I fly out of Uganda in tomorrow, reach Dubai and then make my way back to the land down under on the 24^th of May. Be praying for me as I learn to adjust. As I travel, once again, and as I say goodbye to the only life that’s really ever made so much sense to me. 

back on the boat

I got off the boat and noticed her impending pregnant belly poking out to me right away. In Africa, it’s okay to hold someone’s hand. Even if it’s a stranger. It’s a sign of friendship. And as someone whose love language happens to be physical touch, my love tank is regularly overflowing here in Uganda. I grabbed her hand and interlocked my finger into hers before even introducing myself. I genuinely loved her.  And she felt safe with me.

  

“I’ve been pregnant for a year,” she told me. And I could see the exhaustion in her eyes. As if her ragged clothes and calloused hands weren’t enough of a signal.

Obviously she hasn’t been pregnant for a year. But these women on the island have never really been educated in pregnancy. Their periods stop and they eventually started growing and someday they feel pain and start pushing. That’s about the most they know of the life that regularly grows inside of them.

It’s her 7^th baby and she wasn’t planning on having anymore.  She is 28.

The village had been made aware that midwives were coming to the to see them. And not just any midwives- white ones. Many of the women walked for a good part of the day just to be seen by us. We are a group of 4 and this time we have a staff person with us- a midwife from Germany that continues to teach us as we see the women. Having someone with so much experience around is so helpful. We split up on this day and two of the girls stayed to give immunizations and make the babies (and sometimes the mamas) cry while me and another went back to a mud hut to start the antenatal checks.  Immediately we had many women line up to be seen. It’s not like the hospital here on the island. Even if it’s a long line we aren’t forced to rush through each check. We can actually take the time with each woman. See her. Listen to here. Advise her. Pray with her. And check the progress of her and her unborn baby. I realize the value this gives them. I listen to their stories; some of them have never seen a doctor or a midwife and have delivered all 8 of their children on their own. It hasn’t been by choice though and it hasn’t been without complication. And now, we’re here and we get to show them attention. God, thank you for loving these women enough to send me here to see them.

I start with my new best friend, the woman who is sure she’s been “with child” for a year now. I ask her a lot of questions, many vital ones that she doesn’t know the answers to and try to explain to her how a pregnancy works. After some time, I check her stomach and measure the height of her uterus. This can give me an idea of how far along she is but it’s not always an accurate one. Without a scan it’s the only option we have here. The shape of her stomach and the feel of the baby inside her womb alludes me to believe there might just be 2 in there. I saw this so often in Tanzania that I’ve become familiar with twins. Again, no scan and no option of one, so I can’t be sure of this but I know I need to share the information with her anyways. I gently let the mom know that she still has weeks to go (in her “year long pregnancy”) and then I let her know she might just carrying more than one baby inside of her. I’m apprehensive to share this information because there’s a real possibility she will feel the need to end this pregnancy. But I’m obliged to be honest with her. She doesn’t deserve to be shocked after one baby comes out to find out there’s another still in there.  I take my chances with her and let her know of the possibility.

I see the look of fear and disappoint in her face. She’s a lovely mother and I am sure she loves her children very much but she’s not ready for baby number 7 and definitely not prepared for 7 and 8 at the same time. I feel for her. And try to encourage her that she’s blessed with so many children because God knows she’s a good mother and can handle it.

She humors me and laughs at my attempt to comfort her.  I ask her if I can have a photo with her and her beautiful stomach.

“this is not a stomach,” she tells me, “it’s a big huge balloon.”

Her African accent and the fact that she’s conversing with me in English makes me laugh.

I wish I could be there for her. Help her out. I know she’s working hard plowing the field, possibly carrying two babies inside of her, taking care of 6 other children, and still convinced that she’s been pregnant for a year. I wish I could do something more for her. God knows I’d take the pregnant on for myself if I could. Relieve her back pain and carry her twins for a few days for her? Oh yeah- I’d do it. But reality reminds me it’s not an option. So together we pray. And I leave it in Gods hands. Because that’s all I can do.

I saw many other women after her and each came with their own unique story. Some young, some old. Many pregnant for the umpteenth time and many in desperate need for some good healthcare. Malnourished, poor blood, urinary tract infections, and no idea of what’s really happening with their bodies. There are no What to Expect When Your Expecting books in this village. Pregnancy is often just a painful mystery. They need someone to invest long term in their village- to be with them, to educate them, to deliver their babies and teach them natural family planning. To show them how to plant good foods for their bodies so they can eat the right way. They need someone to empower them in their pregnancy. I wish it could be me, but right now I know my only option is to be this person for them for the day. I do what I can in the small amount of time that we’re there, knowing that it’s not enough but hopeful that it’s at least helping. I am not discrediting the work that I did while my team and I were there. I am grateful the women were seen. I am grateful they learned, even just a little and I am hopeful that they retained the information that was shared with them. I could leave the island feeling helpless, hopeless, and defeated but it’s not what I see. I know God is at work there and I know that in the midst of the great tragedy it can be, there is a solution.

I continued to be incredibly blessed by the family that lives there and is investing into the people, learning the skills necessary to help the people out. The island this week was another amazing experience.  Spending time with the family was an additional treat and overall it was a great ending to our ministry time here in Uganda.