06 April 2013

and I cried


When I called Mama Yoba at midnight and she told me that a well-trained birthing nurse was able to remove the placenta and that Regina was recovering, I cried.  I cried tears of joy and relief that my dear friend would be okay.  I cried tears of thanksgiving to God for hearing our prayers.  I cried tears of exhaustion.  I told Luke that I think the tears I cried were tears of all the stress and exhaustion of the last two-plus years, finally spilling over.  The dam broke, my strength was gone, and I cried.

I didn't know Regina was pregnant until about a month ago.  We hadn't been together as much and she hid it well.  When she finally told me, she was ashamed, saying it was a mistake and they hadn't been responsible.  It came as quite a surprise, as I had just recommended that another missionary call Regina to speak on purity at a girls’ workshop.  But I assured her I was there for her.  She was my friend.  And of all the Zambians I have come to know and love, Regina is probably the only real, mutual friend – almost a sister.  

Tuesday I decided to walk to Kimasala to visit Regina and Mama Yoba and some of the others out by Lusa.  I arrived to find out that Mama Yoba was in Lusaka and Regina had gone to the hospital Monday afternoon with severe cramping. When I visited Tuesday evening, she had not actually seen a doctor, but was feeling a bit better.  Wednesday afternoon I stopped in again, and she had been discharged – never seeing a doctor, having an ultrasound or anything.  Thursday morning I received a text message from her brother saying she had been sick all night.  I called and she said she wanted to rest a bit, but a couple of hours later she wanted to go to the hospital.  I picked her up, along with her cousin and the baby’s father and we went to a small clinic in town that specialized in ultrasound.  The technician said her amniotic fluid was dangerously low and we should go straight to the hospital.

Back in the overcrowded maternity ward, Regina was given one of the last available beds.  An initial exam determined she was in pre-term labor, and that was that.  There was no medication, no further analysis.  They were just going to let the labor carry on (though only seven months pregnant).  Now most women are completely alone through the labor process.  With 3-6 beds in an area, they lay there in the heat and fight through the contractions quietly and alone, until it’s time to actually give birth (which may be why many women prefer to deliver in their homes).

Visiting hours are very strict: 6-7 a.m. and 5-6 p.m.  I stood by Regina for the first three hours, holding her hand, fanning her with a notebook, praying fervently, and slowly noticing I was the only “visitor” in the area.  At 3 p.m., I went outside to ask her friend and her cousin if one of them would stay with her for a bit while I went to get a bite to eat and put gas in the car (there had been a shortage and I was running on fumes).  They told me they wouldn't be allowed - that I was only allowed because I was white.  I think the one friend made her way at least for some of the time because she was nine months pregnant and could easily pass as a patient.

I returned for 5 p.m. visiting hours, only to find out Regina had gone into the labor room.  This is a room with three beds side-by-side, in which the women lay completely naked through the birthing process.  All the women are expected to bring a sheet of plastic, gloves, and other supplies for use by the hospital.  By 5:20, Regina had given birth to a 3 pound baby girl.  The baby was taken straight to an incubator, but Regina was not in the clear yet.  A group of us waited until 7:00, but Regina had still not delivered the placenta.  One of the older caregivers for Lusa convinced the nurses to allow her to stay, but the rest of us were forced to go.  Mama Yoba was still in transit from Lusaka, and most of the day I was praying she would arrive quickly.  She called me from the bus shortly after I arrived home pleading with me to do something – to tell the nurses they needed to help Regina.  I didn't know what to do.  There was nothing I could do.

And I was so afraid I would lose my friend.  I even told Luke that if something happened to her, I didn't think I could come back to Zambia. I couldn't handle it.

After a hot shower and a few hours of tossing and turning but not sleeping, I called Mama Yoba.  Regina was fine.  Everything was going to be okay.  And I cried.

Thank you Jesus. 

01 April 2013

Because He Lives

Every once in a while something pops up that makes us think, “what if?”  A note from a former employer or co-worker, a discussion about some past achievement, the Olympics (I’ll elaborate on that one), or a general feeling that we’re not accomplishing anything here…

What if we had taken a different path? What if we were still in that job?  What if we had continued in certain sports?What if, what if, what if.  Sometimes, it carries a twinge of jealousy or remorse. “I could have been…” or “remember when?...”

It’s like a conversation Luke and I had several years ago during the Olympics when Luke asked me, “Do you ever think that if you had trained a little harder, you could have made it to the Olympics?” – not just in reference to my running, but also to his gymnastics and diving talents.  A sort of, looking back, wondering if we took the right turn in the road.

Yesterday I wandered onto LinkedIn, a networking site I used quite a bit in my “corporate life,” seeking out partnerships and job opportunities, posting open positions, and building expertise in areas of marketing and communications.  I had several “recommended jobs” pop up and jokingly asked Luke if I should apply for a specific job that came up. 

I think it was more to prove I’m capable of such a position than an actual desire to do it. To "live up to my potential." The power, the glory, the accolades….

And then I remember the cross.  And His power. His glory.  I think about Hebrews 9:14 where it says, “How much more, then, will the blood of Christ… cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, SO THAT we may serve the living God!”

We serve a living God!A living God who sent His Son to die and on the third day rise from the dead so that we may approach the throne of grace through the righteous perfection of Christ and worship Him and serve Him!

‘"Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will make you fishers of men.” At once they left their nets and followed him.’ – Matthew 4:19-20

I keep trying to pick my nets back up.  Sometimes I think that would be easier.  Or at least a bit more predictable.

And then I think, many of the disciples were trained as fishermen for a reason – maybe to help them become “fishers of men?” So I get all Eric Liddell about running and think that maybe God wants to use that. He does and He has. Not through some Olympic medal, but it was because of running that I went to Bradley, where I first heard God’s call on my life to missions and met Luke.  And through training and persevering and having great coaches and some not-so-great coaches, Luke and I both have a greater understanding and perspective as we equip young men and women here to use sports to share Christ and make disciples.

In the job sphere, perhaps using my writing and marketing to tell people about God’s awesome glory and help share what He’s doing for His kingdom in Zambia is why He gave me that net in the first place. It may not carry the huge paycheck here on earth, but Christ already reserved a treasure for me in Heaven. 

Our call to serve God here is still very clear, and there’s a certain peace (in the midst of turmoil) that comes with being in His will and using our gifts to serve Him.  Yet, we are still so very human and often still think we need affirmation and accolades.  And while waiting to one day hear God say, “well done, my good and faithful servant”  (Matthew 25:21, 23), I believe He sometimes gives us affirmation through creative channels, like this message I found from a former co-worker while browsing LinkedIn yesterday:

“Hey Tiffany – I was driving this morning when my partner called to tell me about a marketing manager role in Dallas. I started telling her about you and said that I would look you up.  Then I saw your profile – WOW! Stand up and applaud! I have said for years that I wanted to have “time” to volunteer and serve.  Something that there never seems to be enough of…. Time. I think that what you are doing is so awesome….. Just wanted to tell you how impressed I am with your courage.  Good luck – sending prayers.”

I’m not posting this so you congratulate us on our work as missionaries.  Often we feel like we can’t possibly be making a difference. Sometimes we yearn for a “normal” life.

Then we think about verses like Luke 9:62 (‘Jesus replied, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.’”) and feel ashamed for even writing about our “what ifs.” But we remember the cross.  We look toward our glorious and living Savior. And worship Him in all His glory and splendor (and none of ours). We serve Him with a clear conscience.  And it’s all worth it.

Because He lives.