I'm Gonna Miss This

There’s a Trace Adkins song that has been on repeat in my head.  It goes something like this…

You’re gonna miss this

You’re gonna want this back

You’re gonna wish these days hadn’t gone by so fast

These are some good times

So take a good look around

You may not know it now

But you’re gonna miss this.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBDN8yWyNYU

This speaks to the state of my heart….EXCEPT for one thing….I do know it now.  I do know I am going to miss this.  I don’t have to be convinced of that.  So here is your warning – long sappy post ahead.  I will try and write something coherent as I am feeling all the feels.

Today is Ruby’s last day of preschool.  In just a short awhile, I will get in my car and drive the familiar route.  I will arrive (ideally) about five minutes early, enough time to park and leisurely get out of my car and walk to the gate.  I will scan the playground for a tall, bubbly girl – likely wearing a good amount of pink or purple.  When in doubt, I look at the swings or the ride-on cars, two of her favorites.  If she happens to see me, she will blush, smile, and look away.  When it is time for them to line up, she will grab her school bag, look for me, and run out to me.  I will ask how her show-and-tell was.  She may immediately come forth with this prized information.  It is more likely she will say “Not going to tell ya!” and pretend that she had a VERY BAD day at school.  She will try hard to hold her face in a frown to be extra convincing and I will happily play along.

Pick-up equates to five, maybe ten minutes total.  I have picked her up dozens of times since September.  It is a lot of the same.  We have a routine.  Nothing magical or special occurs.  But that moment when she is looking out at the crowd and our eyes meet and her delighted face….it fills my heart to the brim.   I’m gonna miss that.

I’m gonna miss having two booster seats in my car.  I used to try and clean my car more on the weekends – vacuuming up crumbs, collecting rogue wrappers, finding random pencils and hairbows and an excessive amount of glitter.  Then I kind of just let it be.  I kind of enjoyed that the back of my car was lived in and that even the messiness told stories of our time together.  Sand = Alki beach adventures.  Leaves and mud = the changing of seasons.  Chocolate on the seatbelt = a Lindor truffle incident.

I’m gonna miss watching Ruby at gymnastics….as she mastered new skills, gained confidence, decided she was too old to get the stamps at the end.  I’m gonna miss going to the elementary school to pick up Willie.  I am going to miss watching them play on the playground.  The phenomenon of losing track of where the kids have gone in less than 30 seconds.  The chit-chatting with other parents.  The joys of finding a great parking lot.  The memories of getting caught in a downpour.

I’m gonna miss our outings.  Donuts at Top Pot.  Swinging at Whale Tail.  Hot chocolate at Met Market.  Reading stories at the library.  The zip lines at Jefferson Park.  Rock collecting at the beach.  The zoo.  Playdate Seattle.  The aquarium.  The awesome playground at Seattle Center.  Finding Octavia at Trader Joe’s.  The excitement of choosing toppings at Menchie’s.

I’m gonna miss our times at the house.  Having friends over for playdates.  Baking.  Art projects.  Legos.  Clue and Uno and Chutes & Ladders and Oh Rats and Monopoly Jr.  Puzzles.  Reading stories.  ABC Mouse.  Make believe.  Scooters.  Science experiments.  Read Right.  Sticker Charts.  Homework.  Fuse beads.  Perfume making.  The routine of making lunch or preparing snacks.  The evolution of favorite TV shows and characters.  Bubble blowing.  Thanksgiving and the infamous calendar!  Playing zookeeper and police and Willie telling me “you are not going to like this – it’s violent!” 

I really could go on and on about this school year we spent together.  I was so grateful to get the job and at the time, I had no idea how the year would unfold.  I could not have anticipated the way these kids and this family would capture my heart.  I did not know it would be possible to have a job that I truly loved going to every day. 

Kip & Ellie - Thank you for the privilege and honor of watching your children.  What started out as a job quickly became so much more.  You are family.  I think I officially became family by attending Thanksgiving, but unofficially, you all accepted me as your own from the beginning.  Thank you for being such amazing bosses!  I remember you gave me a bottle of wine at the end of my first week.  You have always been so open and I feel we can talk about anything.  Thank you for always being willing to let me have days off and going above and beyond to accommodate for my traveling.  Thank you for trusting me with your most prized possessions.  Thank you for giving me autonomy and valuing my voice.  Thank you for your willingness to work as a team.  Thank you for caring about me as a person and the things happening in my life.  You are wonderful parents.  I know sometimes people assume that if a family has a nanny, the parents are disengaged and uninvolved.  I have never felt that with you.  It is so evident to me that you both play such a vital role in Ruby and Willie’s lives.  I respect you both and feel so lucky to know you and have you in my life.

Patti & Johanna – Though you started out as “the moms of Ruby’s friends,” I now consider both of you MY friends.  As we clocked time together at school pick-up’s, gymnastics class, and play dates, I began to get to know you as individuals.  Thank you for all of the times you picked up Ruby & shuttled the girls to gymnastics and had her over for playdates.  Thank you for trusting me with your own children and letting me get to know Holly and Tuula.  Thank you for being the people I could talk to about my friend being diagnosed with cancer or the process of applying to be a school nurse.  Thank you for sharing with me about your family, your parents, your dogs, your fears, your hopes.  Thank you both for supporting me in my efforts with Imani/Kenya.  You are not JUST stay-at-home moms.  You are brave!  You have stamina!  You press into the routine, the schedules, the mundane.  You chauffeur.  You cook.  You clean.  You train puppies (or give it your best effort ;). You nurture.  You rarely get a break.  I know I am not a fellow mom, but you are my “mom friends” and I am so grateful for the unexpected blessing of knowing you! 

Willie – I know that right now this may not mean something to you, but I hope one day when you are older, you will know just how much I have loved spending this year with you.  I still remember when you gave me a house tour the first time I met your family.  I see a leader developing in you.  I love that you have a strong voice and I know that you will have the opportunity to influence others. When you step up and take charge, people respect you and listen.   I see this even from the brief time I watch you interact with your peers on the playground.  I pray that you will use this strength of yours for good – that you will fight against injustice and be a voice for those who don’t have one.  I know school is a challenge for you and it is painful for me to watch you struggle.  I so desperately wanted there to be a moment where everything just clicked and made sense.  I am so proud of you every time you keep trying and persevering even when the task is difficult.  I know there are times when you are too frustrated and you give up.  I understand that.  But I also see the times that you get up and try again.  You are making so many strides.  You can read lots and lots of words now in a snap.  You have mastered many math concepts.  You have an incredible memory and ability to articulate a wide variety of facts, some that you recall from a long time ago.  You have a love of history and science and I hope you will encounter teachers, administrators, and other adults that nurture those passions.  You enjoy fishing and biking and climbing and running.  If you decide later on that you want to do sports or learn to play an instrument, wonderful.  And if not, that is okay too.  I hope you grow up knowing you can try new things, without the pressure of feeling like you have to excel at every activity.  Though sometimes it gets you into trouble, I love that you question things.  You ask why.  You persistently demand a good reason.  Keep asking questions.  Keep challenging the status quo.  Keep being a friend to all.  Choose to be a person of compassion above all else.  Thank you for making me laugh.  Thank you for reminding me to be patient and be able to see things from different vantage points.  Thank you for protecting your sister and (generally) playing very nicely with her.  I am a better person for knowing you.  I love you.

Ruby – You are my girl.  I would guess almost every one of my friends has heard me talk about you…probably multiple times.  We have spent so much time together this past year and my love for you runs deep.  I have loved baking with you.  The two of us make a good team.  Even just yesterday, I watched you crack two eggs with ease…not a single shell in the bowl.  You make me proud.  When I first met you, you had me thinking you were going to be shy.  Well, the joke’s on me!  You are bright and articulate and funny (even sarcastic!).  You are independent but still let me cuddle you on occasion.  Thank you for being a willing participant in our art endeavors – like painting with shaving cream and marbles.  Thank you for being a trooper as we got your brother every day.  Thank you for making me laugh time and time again.  You are so witty and oh how much I loved to play into your elaborate stories and jokes.  You adore animals.  Now not being an avid animal lover myself, I was surprised that your enthusiasm for animals even made me a bit mushy inside.  You love your class pets.  You love your friends’ dogs.  I loved taking you to the pet store and watching you watch the animals.  Though you don’t have any ‘real life’ pets of your own, you do have quite the collection of stuffed animals.  I try to keep up with who’s who, though it does seem that a lot of them frequently change their names!  I remember when you got your doll Ruby and how exciting that was.  Speaking of Ruby’s, I remember taking you to see my friend Laurel’s chickens, one of which is named Ruby.  We were feeding them raisins.  One of the chickens pecked your finger a bit and you cried.  But then you were brave and gave the chickens another chance.  I also think about going to feed the goats by your house and how cute that little baby goat is.  You are an agent of joy.  I don’t think there was a single day that I spent with you where you did not make me smile and laugh.  I must mention that in the first few months of being your nanny, I was a bit worried about a little habit you had of frequently saying “vagina.”  It would always catch me off guard – this cute little preschooler, generally sweet and kind and considerate and a rule-follower…..and then you would throw out the V-word!  It makes me smile now, as it was indeed a phase and I honestly cannot even think of the last time you said it.  But let me tell you, there was nothing in my 13+ years of childcare experience that adequately prepared me for that!!  We have gotten into a nice rhythm you and I.  I can pretty much guess what you want for lunch without asking.  I know you just eat the frosting off of donuts.  You have a big sweet tooth like me!  You will spend hours coloring or doing puzzles or earning tickets on ABC Mouse.  You can be a bit shy with new people, but you warm up rather quickly.  I love your wardrobe – some of my current favorites are your cat pants and that purple/green/black poufy skirt.  I love watching you work on the “worm bed” at the playground and doing flips on the slide.  I love when you parrot things I have previously said, like “not gonna cry about it.”  I love playing into your humor.  You are smart.  You are kind.  You are beautiful.  You care so much about your family and friends.  You are learning to compromise and problem solve and stand up for yourself.  You really have blossomed over the course of the year; you aren’t the same girl I met in August!  I look forward to watching you grow up, as you find your passions and your niche.  You are the best job I ever had.  I love you times infinity.

How lucky am I to have loved and been loved so much.

I’m gonna miss this.

Progress is Not Linear

I willingly made and ate oatmeal several times.
 And I still dislike it....

“Progress is not linear.”  I believe that.  I have experienced that.  I have seen it to be true in other peoples’ lives.  I am living that. 

This past month, I have eliminated the majority of added sugar in my diet.  I was not overly strict about it and I did not limit fruit or most dairy items.  But I did successfully stay away from all the treats – cake, cookies, chocolate, ice cream, donuts, sugary coffee drinks and cocktails.  I also made some substitutions, like instead of vanilla or key lime yogurt, I had nonfat, plain yogurt.  This was not always easy.  It revealed how much my social life intersects with food and that sometimes making good choices consequently causes other people to experience guilt and shame.  When I would take the kids I nanny to get ice cream, quite frankly, it was not fun to sit and watch them eat it.  And yet, I was surprised how it was not nearly as hard as I thought.  I did not dream about sweet treats or feel the need to have a cheat day.  While making this diet and lifestyle change has not magically transformed my body or melted pounds away, it is a good step toward the healthy life I desire to have.

Evaluating progress is difficult for people like me who tend to view things with an “all-or-nothing” mindset.  I see these self-sabotaging behaviors in myself.  For example, one evening at the gym, I decided to get a smoothie from the gym smoothie bar.  I looked at the different options and picked one that listed various fruits, whey protein powder, and added some greens.  As I took the first sip, I immediately thought “this is too sweet – there must be additional sugar in here.”  At that point, it was too late and I drank it anyway.  Initially, I was upset that I had consumed all this sugar without even intending to.  But then I decided to let myself off the hook.  Drinking that smoothie was not going to harm me (especially given how much sugar I used to eat on a regular basis without thinking twice about it!).  I was still valuing my health by trying to make a healthy, informed decision and this did not mean I couldn’t continue to strive to eliminate sugar.

Another area that I am learning to have grace with myself is with anxiety and worry.  About 6 years ago, I began struggling with anxiety and panic attacks.  At first, I thought that with the right resources in place, I could get a handle on it.  I assumed that once I began counseling or found the right medication combination, I would get progressively better.  That is not what happened.  Things became a lot worse before they got better.  Even then, the “getting better” was not a nice arrow up.  It was more of a curvy, wavy line that kinked in a few spots, but on the whole, was inching upward.  It took many different counseling experiences, visits to various healthcare providers, tinkering with medications (and ultimately, no medication at all), and a lot of patience, grace, and support from family and friends.  Today, I am a lot better.  It is night and day from where I was, and yet I even now, I go to counseling.  Even now, I have days that feel completely overwhelming and out-of-control.  But I have learned that one panic attack or one difficult day does not erase all the steps that have brought me to this better place.

If you are struggling through something, take heart.  Give yourself credit where credit is do.  For the places that you still have a ways to go, let yourself take baby steps.  I have this new practice where at the end of the week, I write down things I am proud of and areas where I have been brave.  That is how I give myself a pep talk to tackle the week ahead.  Maybe I did not do everything I had intended to do.  Maybe I did not make it to the gym the three times I had hoped.  Maybe I missed someone’s birthday or was late responding to a pressing email.  Maybe the laundry is still sitting in the dirty pile on the floor and my car remains unwashed.  But at least for a few moments, I force myself to look at what I was able to do.  I sent out Mother’s Day cards to a lot of incredible women.  I spoke my truth to a friend, even though it was really difficult.  I went to the gym two times and cooked dinner more times than not.  I spent time catching up with a friend who I haven’t talked to in awhile.  I finally wrote a new blog J

Hang in there.  Slowly but surely, you are making progress, my friend, and that is something to be proud of.

Christmas in the Midst of Chaos

It's true.  I love Christmas.  Pretty much all things Christmas.  I am a strong advocate for decorations, and putting your tree up as soon a possible in order to maximize the number of days you get to plug it in and marvel at its beauty....the twinkling lights, the nostalgia of ornaments, the pine tree smell.  I love that baking becomes 110% acceptable the whole month of December.  It's December 9?  Okay, let's bake some cookies!  I love cozying up with a blanket and cup of coffee with a book or a journal.  I love holiday movies and specials, and making crafts and cards.  I love giving gifts and wrapping presents, and those rare moments when you remember EXACTLY the perfect gift to get someone....something you happened across months before, and just happened to remember at just the right time.  I love that the frequency of mail increases, and that even the most digital, technology-forward people will buy postage stamps and send out Christmas cards.

And yet, there is still this underlying reality of our fallen, broken world that even the tastiest cookies and best Christmas music cannot overcome.  I watch a close friend grieve the death of her mom.  I catch just thirty minutes of news at the gym, and can hardly believe this is the world we live in.  My heart breaks for all the people in the hospital, as their loves ones just live moment by moment, a few stories I know, and so many that I do not.  I reflect on my own struggles, a recent recurrence of anxiety, and wondering where I will find the strength and courage to face this reality once more.

My solace and hope has come from observing Advent, and being loved and known by my people.  Advent is a time of preparation, and has been such a fruitful and grounding experience for me.  A daily exercise is reminding myself that this life is not my own, and that my hope cannot be in this world, as it will fail me every time.  To recognize God's orchestration and His coming to dwell among us, and to marvel at the work of His hand, His timing, and His faithfulness.

This passage from Waiting Here for You: An Advent Journey of Hope, resonated with me:

"All of us are waiting n something, often wondering if God has forgotten us.  In your waiting, let the birth of Christ encourage you.  Just because God hasn't come through (as far as you can see), it doesn't mean He has abandoned you.  To Him a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day.  This very minute He's working for His glory and for your good.  Though circumstances say otherwise, God is going to come through, on schedule, fulfilling His long-appointed plans for you.  Don't give up before the time is right."

I ask myself, where do these two intersect?  Can I have both - the childlike, lightheaded celebration and wonder and awe that is Christmas, with the current state of affairs in my small community, as well as the global one?  I say yes.  I say yes, because Christ came to Earth exactly for the things that break my heart, and it is still worth celebrating, even two thousand years later.  Sure, there are many new traditions that have nothing to do with the birth of Christ, but getting caught up in legalism seems the worst way to celebrate, and the best way to suck joy and life from the spaces you occupy.

The older I get, the more I cherish this time of year versus Christmas day.  It is not about presents anymore.  It's the time of year when you see a post on Facebook about sending Christmas cards to an 8-year-old girl who was the sole survivor of arson.  It's when you make it a point to bring people together - whether to bake cookies or have a party or exchange gifts.  It's a time to reconnect and to reminisce.  It's about going home, or making a home in exactly the place you are in.  It's a time when there just seems to be some extra I love you's floating about, and a little more compassion.

It's not perfect, and it doesn't always bring out the best in us. I know many people dread this time of year.  But take heart, and don't give up before the time is right.  People living before the coming of Christ waited hundreds of years in great anticipation for His coming.  Maybe this year say no to a few more things, so that you can enjoy the things you say yes to.  Give something to someone you ordinarily would not.  Send a few cards.  Bake some cookies.  Light your favorite candle.  Drive by some lights.  Focus on being present.

May God be near to you this Christmas.

With Love,
Alyssa

Embracing the Seasons

I am overdue for a blog post.  There's nothing like a rainy, blustery day to put on some music and curl up on the couch to write.  It is one of the many blessings of this season of life.  I have every Friday off.  How great is that?  It's not even 10 o'clock and I have whipped up some sugar cookie dough for some fall cookie decorating later with friends.  I have already grabbed myself a nonfat latte, and went to the grocery store.  Not bad, not bad.

If you have had a conversation with me in the past few months, I have probably used the word season numerous times.  Talking about this present season, past seasons, the changing of the seasons to come.  I find a lot of comfort in the entire concept that surrounds seasons.  I love that anticipation of the seasons to come.  I love the memories of seasons that have passed.  And probably most of all, I love that seasons are temporary, but they cycle.  They leave you, but they come back.  Not quite in the same way, but they are not gone forever.  (Although if you live in California, it does seem like summer is lasting forever!!)

I had dinner with a friend of a friend last night.  It was a wonderful unexpected surprise - I got an email from her on Sunday, where she explained she had recently gotten together with my friend, Lindsey.  She wrote:

When she shared about you and your story, I though that I had to meet you.

For me, there really is no higher praise.  I was touched and eager to meet this individual.  And so last night, we exchanged stories over gourmet pizza and bananas foster.  We talked and talked and talked.  We laughed.  We shared the deepest parts of our hearts.  And then as we walked out of the restaurant, we both expressed we knew this was only the beginning.  As I sent my signature "post-hang out text," she replied: I am glad our paths finally collided.

Something came alive in me last night.  Revisiting the past of how Imani came to be, how God has really been doing something big within my heart for a long time....suddenly, the place I am in now (recently quitting my nursing job, moving back to Seattle, nannying again, trying to figure out exactly what I am supposed to be doing)....it didn't seem strange at all.  It seemed predictable.  I found myself thinking, Well of course I left my nursing job.  In nursing school, I questioned whether nursing was the right fit for me, but I continued on because that was the plan.  It was the only plan.  I didn't have a plan B.  There was so much freedom in realizing I am being more true to myself in this season than I have ever been in my life.

She reminded me that who I am is not limited to a nurse, or someone who started a nonprofit.  Those are parts of me, yes, but I am so much more, and to give space and time and energy to those hibernating parts of me is life-giving.  What are the things that I love?  What energizes me?  What do I want to learn?  How do I use the things I am passionate about to love and serve others?  This season is all about answering those questions, and living in spite of knowing all the answers.  Of giving myself permission to not know.

7 Things I Love About Fall

1. The leaves changing on the trees.  We have a big, beautiful tree right in front of our house, and every day, I marvel at the vibrant colors.

2. Cozy.  Cozy everything.  Getting cozy with Ruby watching Inside Out.  Cozy clothes and blankets and making cozy spaces.

3. The crisp air in the morning.

4. Hot beverages.  Okay, let's be honest, I can't remember the last time I ordered a cold beverage....I'm just a hot drink kind of girl.  But they seem to be aplenty during the fall.  And just for the record, I think Pumpkin Spice Lattes are gross.

5. Baking.  Especially things like Harvest Loaf Cake or cookies to put in care packages.

6. Harvest of Hope.  Yes, it is probably the reason my hair is falling out, but I am really excited for it.  I love that Imani events have the feeling of a reunion, a wonderful celebration that brings people together.

7. The decorations.  I am not a big Halloween person, but I do love fall decor.  Pumpkins, leaves, wreaths, candles - yes, please!!

Happy Fall!!

Anxiety.

I thought about various other titles - ones that were not quite as straightforward, ones that seemed to sugarcoat the topic a bit.  But there it is.  Anxiety.  This post is about anxiety, and I do want to give into the guilt about writing that.

It always seemed a bit much to share on the Internet.  The last thing I wanted was more people who meant well, giving me advice via the comment section.  There is something about typing out a thought that makes us think we can say anything, without considering the consequences.  We don't have to see or hear how people on the receiving end react, and as a result, our words can come across in a million ways other than how we intended.

But if we can share our ultrasound pictures, news of a cancer diagnosis, the things that make us laugh, cry, smile, and get angry for all to see, then perhaps this story has a place too.  I am tired of the lie that you must have your life completely together, and that anything less is shameful.  I wish people reacted to mental illness in the same way they react to other illnesses, with prayers, with support, with GoFundMe accounts, with T-shirts.  That would be the true sign that the stigma has been lifted.  We still have a ways to go.

Some of you may be thinking, what is she even talking about??  I want to share a little bit about my own struggles, in the hopes that maybe someone out there needs to hear this.  That maybe someone else can read this and say to themselves, I thought I was the only one.  My friend, you are not alone.  I know that does not fix the problem, and yes, the road is painful and ridden with obstacles.  But there is hope.

When I was in college, I began to have panic attacks.  At first, I did not really know what was going on, and just attributed it to stress.  I attempted to get more sleep, exercise more, and decrease stress levels as best as I could, but my efforts were in vain.  The panic attacks intensified in frequency and quality, to the point where it became difficult to function in the most basic sense.  With the encouragement of a friend, I sought out both medical and psychological help.  Without going into the many details, the three years that followed were incredibly difficult.

I began counseling.  I had a counselor tell me that I was "hurting her heart" and she started crying during the session.  I got a new counselor.  Then it was summer so I had to get another one.  I ended up seeing 5 different individuals, each time having to start at square one, telling my story again, trying to build trust and rapport.  

Therapy alone was not helping the symptoms.  I was having panic attacks almost daily.  Performing basic tasks, like going to class or eating a meal, was becoming difficult, and the people around me were frightened and concerned.  I made the difficult decision to start medication, though I knew it would take weeks to even know if it was effective, and worse, knowing it may get worse before it gets better.  It took about 2 years to find the right drug combination that helped more than it hurt.

As the weeks turned into months, my anxiety gave way to depression.  Constantly feeling like the world was crumbling apart, night after night of panic attacks - the hyperventilating, the chest pain, the nausea, the crippling fears, the thoughts in my head telling me I was not worth it and People would be better off without me.  Eventually, I started cutting - as a physical release of the deep emotional pain.  I was becoming the person I read about in my psychology book.  I was becoming the person I just could never before understand.  I was hitting rock bottom.

In the midst of all this, I was in nursing school.  In a lot of ways, life continued on - just a double life that became almost normal.  It was an awful normal, but somehow, day after day, I trudged along.  I owe a lot of that to my friends.  Patient, loving, grace-filled friends who did not know what to do for me other than love me and be there.  It is hard to express my gratitude to those people who were there, sacrificing their own emotional energy, sleep, study time, to ensure my safety.  To ensure that I had just enough hope to propel me to the next morning.

This is the reality of mental illness.  I never thought it would be me.  Never.  And then it came into my life, and turned my world upside down.  Everything changed.

I really cannot exactly pinpoint how things got better.  It was multi-faceted, what I believe to be a combination of finishing nursing school, starting Imani, getting on medications that helped, and finding a therapist who was really good at what she did.  And the answer to the prayers of many people over a long period of time.  Over time, I no longer needed therapy or medication to function, though I know they are still available should I need them again.  I used to have so much shame about that - being on psych meds, going to therapy.  But it is the reality.  And if I ever hope to see a world without stigma, then I must do my part in being honest and open too.

Things are a lot better three years later, and I am grateful that anxiety is not a part of my daily life.  Yet it is still something I struggle with.  It did not magically disappear, and I still have to face the monster.  Sharing my story has helped.  I still have issues with guilt and shame, but each time I share about it, I take away some of their power.

For whoever needs to hear this, it is okay to not be okay.  It is okay to struggle, even if it has been the same struggle for a long time.  It does not define who you are, but it does shape who you are becoming.  God can redeem it to be a beautiful part of your story.

Waves & Wonderings

I have lost count the number of times I have tried to write this blog.  Normally, I have so much to say, to the point where I mentally write out passages to later transfer to a page.  But I find myself frustrated that I have very little to say.  It is not that things haven’t been happening, or that I am not having a great time here in Kenya.  Yet, this trip is different.  The sights, the sounds, the people – so much is becoming familiar.  In fact, when I share with people that I have been to Kenya five times now, a common response is “now you are a Kenyan.”  Of course, that is pretty far from the truth, but maybe it does shed some light on a transition that is happening.  I think maybe I am transitioning into something new.  I no longer feel like a tourist, and just “seeing” a bunch of things no longer is enough.  I long for deepened relationships.  I long to be part of the solution, and not just another person witnessing the slums.  I want so badly to truly know and understand this community, yet I don’t feel that I am supposed to move here.  It feels a lot like limbo, the in-between.

At the risk of sounding prestigious, it was difficult for me to come to the coast for vacation.  I am not anti-vacation, and going to the coast in California has always been a relaxing and rejuvenating time.  But the sudden change of scenery – from walking through one of the world’s largest slums on Monday, to arriving at a beautiful, oceanfront resort on Tuesday was confusing.  I keep replaying questions in my head – Is this okay?  What would my Kenyans friends think?  Is spending money on massages and snorkeling selfish, when it could be invested in fighting poverty?  If I am enjoying myself, does that mean I don’t care?  I keep thinking – why is it so hard to go back and forth and seemingly effortless when I am at home?  Maybe it is because when I physically come to Kenya, I see my purpose as living out the mission of Imani.  Restore hope through health.  It is difficult to see how sitting here on the beach is fulfilling that mission.

Then I gaze out into the ocean.  Tears welling up in my eyes.  My only response is to say “God I feel you.”  The ocean does that for me.  The crashing waves into the shore.  Over and over again.  Day and night.  Sun and storm.  When I am awake to stare at it in awe, and when I am asleep.  I have struggled with guilt my whole life.  Guilt and shame.  And somehow even in this beautiful, calm, heaven-like place, the emotions that have plagued me over and over strike again. 

The ocean is frightening and inspiring.  Powerful, yet calm.  Intimidating, yet inviting.  Similar to my Heavenly Father, the one who gives and takes away, the author and creator, the beginning and the end.  I think when I am here, in Kenya, I expect to feel a certain way.  To respond to encounters in a certain way.  There is this expectation that the experience is going to be life-changing, the way it has been in the past and some.  That’s a lot of pressure for a trip.  I keep asking, God, what is it that I am supposed to take away from this?  Well, that is the mature version – the questioning normally sounds more like why is this sad thing not making me cry?  Why don’t I have a collection of dramatic and amazing tales to share?  And then I hear myself.  And I question why am I insisting on making this all about me?

I am reading this book about the life of Jesus, and the author is quick to point out the historical and Biblical evidence of his humanity.  He says it much better than this, but in essence – Jesus walked, talked, slept, ate, learned, cried, laughed, got sick, etc.  I guess I have not spent a lot of time thinking about Jesus doing very ordinary things.  I tend to think of Jesus’ life as being one of performing miracles – healing the sick, giving sight to the blind, turning water into wine, multiplying the fish and the bread.  And yet, more than likely, the majority of Jesus’ life was nothing special (at least by our standards).  It was rather ordinary, mundane even.  But it mattered.  There were seasons to his existence, in the same way there are seasons in my own life.

So as the sun sets, and the waves roar on, I thank God for these quiet moments, these ordinary but precious days, and the chance to be still.  To sleep.  To eat.  To laugh.  To gaze.  To stand in wonder and awe.  To watch the tide go out and come back again.  All before my life drastically changes.  These are the days the Lord has made, full of moments – some miraculous, some mundane, but all full of meaning.

Lord, help me to be still and know you are God.

Pushing the Mountains

It's challenging to adequately sum up my experiences thus far in Kenya.  Sure, I can post photos, and tell short anecdotes, but there is just something about being here.  Being with the people.  Laughing together.  Learning from each other.  Sharing a meal.  Hearing stories.  And dreaming big.

Today, Laura and I walked all around Kibera.  You may have heard of Kibera.  It is one of the largest slums - definitely in Africa, and potentially in the entire world.  It is hard to get an exact number of the population, but those living and working there say it is close to 1.5 million people living in around 2.5 square kilometers.  When I was seeking out potential new partner clinics for Imani last year, I did not necessarily have any preference in terms of what slum they operated in.  I was more focused on finding a partner that was passionate about the community they served, provided health services, and was Kenyan born and raised.  I found that in Andrew, and in our partner, Makina Clinic.

Walking around with Andrew is kind of like walking alongside a celebrity.  He knows everyone.  He phone is always ringing.  He speaks to people in their mother tongue, as he knows 7 languages.  I told Laura it was like walking around the slum with Jesus - Andrew's heart for people is so big, and even though he had many opportunities to get out of Kibera, where he was born, he continues to stay and invest.  He is a dreamer, and hearing his passion and vision is contagious.

Today, he said "We (Kenyans) are stubborn.  We push the mountains."

He followed that up with "Alyssa....she is stubborn too."

Pushing the mountains.  What a great picture of what it feels like sometimes - trying to address such monumental issues, sometimes feeling that your efforts carry little to no weight.  There are times I do get discouraged - like when I heard about a cholera outbreak that occurred just a few weeks before I was to come to Kenya.  I felt helpless and defeated.  Sure, you can treat cholera.  With extensive fluid resuscitation, cholera does not have to be a death sentence.  Yet the epidemiology of cholera - where it came from - those issues are much more complicated to address.  Lack of clean water.  High population density.  Little to no sanitation system.  Families of 10 living in a small room.  How can one even begin to address these facts?  How can a small non-profit run by volunteers make a difference?

But I thank God for days like today.  Days were I am refueled, re-energized, and ready to fight.  To dream.  To push the mountain.  I refuse to believe that the situation is hopeless.  Just because I cannot help everyone does not mean I should walk away from the opportunity to help someone.  People matter.  One child rescued from being abandoned in the sewer matters.  One young woman who grew up in the slums, witnessed the horrors of Garissa, and is pursuing nursing matters.  One young man who used to rob people at gunpoint who now helps children with their homework matters.  One widow who now takes ARVs and encourages others to do the same matters.  And supporting those who are here, on the ground, doing this work, is a privilege and an honor.

So I will press on, as I continue to day-by-day discern the calling that God has placed on my life.  I won't give up.  I will push mountains.

Paradox

I find Kenya to be something of a paradox.  It is a place of immense beauty – the greenery, the flowers, the friendly & hospitable people, the spirit of perseverance, the widespread hope.  And yet, it can be a place of despair – the extensive poverty, the wide gap between the have’s and the have not’s, the devastation of disease, the lack of infrastructure, the widows and the orphans.  Just as in America, it is not either or.  It is both.  Good and bad.  Joy and sorrow.  Beautiful and ugly. 

It is my fifth time here.  I still am a foreigner and a tourist by most accounts, and I will always be a mzungu (white person/Westerner).  Yet there are moments when I am acutely aware of how my coming back matters.  My Kiswahili is very minimal, yet even speaking a few words instantly breaks down barriers.  I am better able to recognize and articulate cultural norms, and tend to see more similarities with the Kenyans I meet than differences.  Sometimes I stare at the world on a map and think of how there are so many places in the world that I want to visit.  And then I think how will that ever happen when I am always saving my time and resources for another trip to Kenya.  This is a selfish view, of course – one that is focused more on a bucket list than on God’s calling or building relationships.  Luckily, every time I return to Kenya, God changes my heart, and gives me renewed eyes.  I regain the ability to see His hand at work, and my small role in it. 

 

I realize taking on the mantra “small things, great love” or “dream big” runs the risk of becoming cliché.  Yet I find both of those phrases to be more than just a nice saying or something to put on a T-shirt.  In the grand scheme of things, the work Imani is doing in Kenya is small.  We are not eradicating diseases, alleviating poverty, or providing clean water.  Yet in our few days here, we have witnessed how small things can change the course of one’s life.  One of the boys who was given the task of killing Andrew, the founder/director of Makina clinic, was offered the chance to have a life outside of drugs and violence.  He ended up being our “bouncer,” showed us around Nairobi city centre, and works at the clinic as security.  We met a lady who is one of the home-care clients at Makina.  She is a widow, cares for 8 children, and is HIV+, but has been doing well on ARVs (anti-retrovirals, treatment for HIV) and makes a small income selling groundnuts.  One of the children we met at the Children’s Home was found in a sewer, but is now clothed, fed, and taken care of.  The trajectory of these individuals’ lives, and many others like them, are not small things.  By supporting places like Makina, Imani plays a role in these stories.

I am blessed to be here.  There are challenges, yes, but ones that I will gladly take on to be able to express to our partners and friends that we value the work they do and desire to have a relationship.  Sure, it is not easy to travel all the way over here, to arrange housing and transportation, to become accustomed to the time change, the food, the culture – but it really is the only way to live out the “partnership” part of our mission.  We often say we desire to “come alongside” the Kenyans, and it means something to physically be here.  To stand next to them.  To walk the roads they walk.  To eat the foods they eat.  To laugh together.  To share.  To pray.  To love.

To all of you following this, and to all of those supporting Imani, I say Asanta sana, Kiswahili for “thank you very much.”

Goodbye Craycroft

Well, it is over.  Somehow the past three years completely flew by, and I just cannot really believe it.  My co-workers completely spoiled me - a delicious, Mexican-themed potluck, a gorgeous and tasty chocolate cake Maria made, a thoughtful card and gift, and lots of laughs, hugs, and fake crying/whining :)  I love these people.  We have seen each other at our best and our worst.  We have met and cared for some amazing kids.  We have worked together in life-threatening emergencies. We have learned and grown into better healthcare providers.  We have attended funerals.  We have laughed, and we have cried.  Thank you for loving and caring for me until the end.  You are a hard bunch to leave.

Working on Craycroft (the name of the my unit, which houses a mix of oncology, hematology, nephrology, and endocrinology patients) was a gift.  It was a paradox most of the time.  Challenging and enjoyable.  Exhausting and rewarding.  Heart-breaking and life-changing.  There were nights when I left and cried the whole way home.  There were shifts where I left with my heart filled to the brim, unable to imagine doing anything else as a job.  But mostly it was somewhere in between.  One thing that never fluctuated was the support, encouragement, and teamwork of my co-workers.  I could not have asked for a better group of people to work with.  I know there will be nursing jobs out there for me, jobs that I may even love, but I will never be able to replace the people I have worked with.  The following is a collection of lessons learned, memories made, and a little humor (okay sarcasm) in between.  Disclaimer: If you do not work on Craycroft, you may not fully appreciate this.  

Things I Will Not Miss

• A new fever in the middle of the night with a double lumen Broviac
• Floating!!!
• Working on nights when Starbucks isn't open and resorting to cafeteria coffee
• When patients (or their parents) use the call light like a game show buzzer
• Bedside monitors when they are completely unnecessary
• Resident orders.
• Calling certain doctors at night....I won't name any names.....
• Getting a call from lab that you screwed something up
• PEWS
• The smell of Cefepime pee or C diff poop
• When Meditech goes down
• Upstream occlusion with bubbly fluids.  

Things I Learned

• Sometimes there are no words you can say to the parents, but you willingness to stand there in that silence means a lot
• Kids are incredibly resilient and do beat odds.
• There is no good reason why kids die from cancer.
• Patience.  Lots and lots of patience.
• Teamwork and not keeping score.  You never know when you are going to need someone to help you out.
• I am capable of far more than I ever thought I was.
• Stressful situations magnify everything.   I have seen them bring some people together, and tear others apart.  
• When in doubt, ask for a second opinion.  Or third.  There are no stupid questions (okay there are a FEW stupid questions :)
• Having co-workers you trust and respect makes a huge difference.
• Emergency situations suck, but they remind you that you really do play a role in saving lives.
• Life is precious - don't take it for granted.

You Know You Work in Craycroft When....

• you go to other units and cannot stand the beeping monitors and that everyone is on isolation.
• the charge nurses are the best - willing to help out, available, and have your back.
• it is normal for all the kids to be bald.
• giving blood, platelets, and chemotherapy are daily occurrences.
• only a handful of people are comfortable starting a peripheral IV because everyone has central lines.
• you just have to laugh about families requesting "a room with a better view" 
• the plan of care is dictated by the patient's hemoglobin, platelets, and ANC
• you have attended patients' funerals.
• everyone works together - answering call lights, admitting patients, responding to emergent situations, etc.
• you have the best co-workers ever.

It's been a good go.  Goodbye Craycroft.

Why I Make Jam

I have made jam probably a total of 6 times.  Although no one formally taught me, growing up, I remember receiving homemade jam from my grandma and my Aunt Sandra.  When I went berry-picking one summer I lived in Seattle, I had more raspberries than I knew what to do with.  The idea of making jam surfaced, but after some initial research, I realized I was not prepared to actually can jam, and settled for freezer jam instead.  But I vowed that it was a skill I would one day acquire.  Not long after, I saw a Groupon deal for a home canning class, and before I knew it, I was sitting in a class with mostly women 2-3 times my age, learning the basics of canning.  I loved it.  I took notes, careful to remember all the tips the instructor offered, as she effortlessly prepared jam in the front of the room.  After class, I immediately went to the store and bought the basics – a large pot, some mason jars, a funnel that perfectly fits on top of the jar, and a “jar grabber” to pull the jars out of the boiling water. 

So one night during my senior year of college, I was desperate to do anything that wasn’t studying or writing care plans.  Most would probably go out for the evening, making plans with friends.  I decided I was going to make jam.  And in our tiny apartment kitchen, I did.  It was not a seamless, effortless process.  I was unorganized and inefficient.  But I made jam.  By myself.  And the moment I heard that first jar properly seal with a little “pop” – the time consuming, tedious process in the hot, tiny kitchen was all worth it.

Fast forward to this past month.  I knew I would be moving.  I knew I would be leaving work.  And I knew I had quite a bit of frozen fruit, just ready to be made into a delicious batch of jam, waiting in my freezer.  I decided I would make jam as a gift to my night shift co-workers, a way to say goodbye and I love you and here’s something to remember me by.  I knew it would be another one of my projects, and require time and energy I really did not have a lot of, but that did not deter me.  I would make jam.

Outside of work, I am known as being the nurse.  At work, we are all nurses, so we have to distinguish each other by other characteristics.  In addition to being the girl who goes to Africa, I am known for baking things, not using my AC, drinking a lot of coffee, and making jam.  Writing that makes me smile.  Growing up, I always felt I did not have any noteworthy talents or abilities – at least nothing that could be showcased in a talent show.  I did not sing, dance, or act – and my athletic abilities were mediocre at best.  I wish I could tell 12-year-old Alyssa not to worry, that our passions and gifts and things that fill us with joy are not limited to performances or sporting events.  The world needs dancers and actors and athletes and leaders and intellectuals – but they also need care-givers, travelers, risk-takers, and jam-makers.

Making jam takes commitment.  It requires a fair amount of planning and preparation.  Each time I make it, I become a little more efficient, and slightly more confident.  The process is a sensitive one – each step building on the success of the previous one.  There is a lot of waiting – for things to boil, for things to cool off, for the timer to go off, but it is absolutely worth the wait.  Being a part of the entire process, from start to finish is incredibly rewarding.  Looking at the finished product sitting on the counter is the best high.  I made that.  I created something that will be enjoyed both now, but also for months to come. 

I partook in an activity that people have been doing for years and years.  Canning used to be a necessity, a way to ensure food during the winters, to bottle up the best of the harvest to be enjoyed throughout the year.  Sure, we can now just run to the grocery store and choose from dozens of products on the shelf.  For just a few dollars, you can save yourself a ton of time and energy and often even money.  But in my opinion, you miss out on a beautiful, creative experience.  The chance to make something, the end product nothing less than a work of art in my mind. 

And so, I made 35 jars of jam this past week – strawberry, strawberry nectarine, and strawberry apricot.  I kept one jar for myself; the rest will be distributed to my fellow night-shifters.  A small token of my appreciation for their support, guidance, reassurance, and companionship the past few years.  I cannot think of a more jam-worthy bunch. 

So why do I make jam?  To create.  To invest time and resources into a process that ends with a delicious treat to enjoy and to share with the people I love.  Homemade jam does not say I picked up this generic gift last minute out of obligation.  It screams I put my heart and soul and sweat and the better half of my morning into this precious jar – guard it!  Savor it!  Enjoy it!  I made this for you because I specifically thought about you and how you would enjoy this.  You matter!  You are worth it!  

Letter to Imani

April 27, 2015

Dear Imani Family,

I want to share some upcoming changes that will be taking place in my life, and how those will affect Imani Care International.  After months of deliberation, considering pro’s & con’s, prayer, and seeking the wisdom of others, I have made the decision to relocate to Seattle, WA.  (I previously lived in Seattle from 2008-2012 while I attended university.)  There are a number of reasons behind this decision, but ultimately, it came down to choosing the place I felt would allow me to best pursue my passions, re-prioritize, and live amongst a community in a similar life stage.  I have given notice at work, and my last day at Valley Children’s will be June 1.  I will then travel to Nairobi, Kenya, and as I will not be employed at the time, I am taking advantage of the opportunity to spend 6 weeks there.  As we partner with three clinics, having a few extra weeks than originally planned in-country will allow me to spend ample time with each clinic.  I will return to Fresno at the end of July, and physically move to Seattle sometime at the beginning of August.

What does this mean for Imani?  There are still many unknowns, but I can assure you that Imani is not going anywhere.  It will continue to operate as a tax-exempt, charitable organization in the state of California.  Eventually, I would like to pursue adding Washington as a state of operation, but Imani’s home base will remain California.  The board of directors will continue to physically meet through the end of 2015.  In 2016, board meetings will likely be a combination of conference calls, Skype, and meeting in person.  We will still have our annual event, Harvest of Hope, as planned this fall.  It will be on Saturday, November 14 at the Clovis Veteran’s Memorial Building.  Our mailing address will continue to be our P.O. Box in Clovis.

It is my hope that this move will eventually allow me to spend more of my time and energy on Imani.  It has become increasingly difficult for me to work full-time night shifts at the hospital while running a non-profit.  I will continue to work for profit outside of Imani, but hopefully, I will have the opportunity to work fewer hours in a less demanding position.  I would love to see Imani continue to flourish and grow, and expand our community in the Seattle area.  I look forward to being in a city that is a hub for global health, and provides many networking opportunities.

I so appreciate your encouragement and prayers during this season of change.  As with most major decisions, it is bittersweet.  It will be difficult to leave my job, and to leave the security of the life I currently live in California.  I am more than willing to answer any questions or curiosities you may have.

Thank you for your continued support of Imani.  What started as a crazy dream has grown to be a thriving organization that is impacting the lives of those living in the slums of Nairobi.  I look forward to sharing with you after I return from Kenya this summer.

Blessings & Gratitude,

Alyssa Singh

Executive Director, Imani Care International

Bittersweet

Bittersweet.  I think it is fitting that this is not only the title of my favorite book, but also the only word that seems to even begin to capture the expanse of emotions I am wading through.  There is joy and excitement and anticipation….for new adventures, for reunions with friends, for the prospect of something new.  The chance to take my hand of cards, return them to the deck, shuffle, and see what the new hand will be.  Of course, this is scary, too.  The unknown, the questions I have no answers to, the risk factor.  Yet I must take this step of faith.  Because of this:

It’s not hard to decide what you want your life to be about.  What’s hard, she said, is figuring out what you’re willing to give up in order to do the things you really care about.

–from Bittersweet, by Shauna Niequist

So what am I even talking about, you may be asking yourself.  Well, here’s the short version:

I am moving back to Seattle.  I am going to leave my current nursing job on June 1, move out of my apartment, spend 6 weeks in Kenya, and then physically move to Seattle. 

What the short version leaves out is the long process of coming to that decision.  The weighing of the pro’s and con’s.  The roller coaster of emotions.  Searching for the courage to face my fears and take a chance, without knowing all the details.  Trusting that God has a plan, even if I cannot see it.  The pre-mature mourning of leaving my work family and the security of having a good job with a comfortable income.  The prospect of once again being able to share daily life with friends who are in a similar life stage.  The hope of being able to give Imani more time and energy.  The sadness of leaving my family, when being near to them has been such a blessing the past few years. 

When I made a pro/con list back in January, I listed everything I could possibly think of.  In the end, it was dead even.  A tie.  Completely neutral.  I kept praying for God to give me a sign, to show me the way, to slam one door in my face and fling another wide open.  Instead, I got to the crossroads, with two paths to choose from, and the sense that I got to choose.  That this was not a right versus wrong type of decision.  I had to decide which path I wanted to take, and trust that God would continue to work in my life either way.  It was tempting to just surrender, and decide to stay put.  To not chance it.  Why give something up when there was no guarantee that things will be better somewhere else? 

It came back to this – what’s hard is figuring out what you’re willing to give up in order to do the things you really care about. 

The things that I really care about: authentic, deep relationships; Imani and Kenya and the slums; being a part of a community; caring for other people; loving people as Christ loved us; having people over and feeding them; writing; children; travelling.

What am I willing to give up to build my life upon that foundation?  Are the things I really care about where I am currently investing the majority of my time, my skills, and my resources?  I think the most honest answer was “kind of.”  Sure, I occasionally have people over for dinner.  I spend a lot of time on Imani on my days off.  My job allows for a lot of care-giving and opportunities to show love.  Yet I also spend a lot time recovering.  A lot of time “vegging” because of the constant stress, flip-flopping of schedules, lack of sleep, and juggling two jobs.  A lot of working stretches with few days off in between in anticipation of a trip or event.  Not a lot of balance.  More of a go-go-go, crash, go-go-go, crash.  I want the ebb and flow of my life to be less tumultuous. 

Moving to Seattle is not going to change the pace of my life.  It will not magically have less stressors, or change my desire to want to push the limits.  But the act of moving, the act of relocating is kind of like a reset button.  A chance to start over a little bit – to bring forward some pots that have been on the back burner long enough.  To rearrange.  To re-prioritize.  I think it is the perfect time for this….my roots are not so deeply embedded that I cannot be transplanted. 

As the fear and anxiety creep in, I must remember the words I have heard many times in the past months: this does not have to be forever, and “you can always come back.”

I am so grateful for the almost 3 years of being back in California post-college.  I have gotten to live with and spend so much quality time with my parents and my sister.  I have worked at an amazing place with an incredible group of co-workers.  I got to start Imani, and watch it flourish and grow in ways I never expected.  And if those things were not enough, I got to travel and go on many adventures.  I do not take any of that for granted.    

So I will smile, and I will cry.  I will laugh, and I will get scared.  There will be celebration, and there will be mourning.  There will be joy, and there will be sadness.  I will embrace the bittersweet nature of this time.

Bittersweet is the idea that in all things there is both something broken and something beautiful, that there is a sliver of lightness on even the darkest of nights, a shadow of hope in every heartbreak, and that rejoicing is no less rich when it contains a splinter of sadness.

                                                                       –from Bittersweet, by Shauna Niequist

Bulletproof Vest

Have you ever considered purchasing a bulletproof vest???

Not the question you expect to be asked while opening your mail at the post office. 

It all started because I was wearing my Imani shirt.  I find this funny, because I often joke that wearing an Imani t-shirt is my “uniform” for the days when I am not working at the hospital.  I worked last night, napped today, got up, showered, and put on my Imani shirt, the black one that says “DREAM BIG” on the front, and has our logo on the back.  I went to the post office to check Imani’s PO box, and was standing at the counter, opening the mail.

A middle-aged man walked behind me, and stopped to ask me about my shirt.  I gave a brief explanation of what Imani is and what we do, my elevator speech so to speak.  He proceeded to share about his connections to Kenya, and began to ask more questions.  Each question I answered seemed to lend itself to a follow-up question.

Why Kenya?  When did you first go there?  So you fell in love with Africa?  Where did you go to nursing school?  Do you know my cousin’s wife Carol Redfield (which I actually do – she was one of my nursing professors)?  Are you aware of the current issues going on in the country?  Is Kenya safe? 

And then…

Have you ever considered purchasing a bulletproof vest?

I smiled, maybe even smirked a little bit, and said no.  And here’s where things got a bit interesting.

His follow-up question:

Do you look both ways before you cross the street? 

             

Yes, I do.

So why would you not take the proper precautions when you are in a country where you are a direct target and the vest could save your life?

I won’t try and recall word for word the rest of our 30 minute conversation.  I also want to say that this man was well-educated, articulate, and respectful.  However, things definitely got a bit heated.  Here’s a bit of a window into some of the things we discussed, and why I walked away from the interaction with peace and blessed assurance.

Is Kenya safe?

I think this is a topic I have touched on a little bit.  My first response is generally, “well, it depends on who you ask.”  It also depends on what your definition of safety is.  I have never felt afraid to travel to Kenya.  I cannot fully explain why that is, and despite what this man bluntly called “my naivety,” I can only attribute this absence of fear to God.  I know there are terrorist attacks.  I know that being an American Christian female does increase my risks.   But there are always risks.  Some you actively choose – like driving a car, and others just happen – like getting diagnosed with cancer.  It was such a powerful reminder to me that safety is not a guarantee in this life when I arrived in Nairobi last June, and the very first thing I read on my phone was a text message about the shooting at SPU, my alma mater.  What a sobering moment of realizing that on that day, the place I had lived, attended classes, and considered a home, a private school in a nice neighborhood, was more dangerous than being half way across the world in East Africa. 

Have you ever considered purchasing a bulletproof vest, knowing the risks you are encountering?

I shared that if I felt I needed a bulletproof vest to travel to Kenya, I would never go in the first place.  I also said that my faith in God was my bulletproof vest, which I was subsequently told was “blind faith.”  This man proceeded to share several stories, which he felt exhibited the problems with having total faith in God, and not using reason or wisdom.  One example was people who do not take any medications and refuse all treatment when they are sick.  (I think he knew as a nurse I wouldn't be able to argue that one!!)  He compared me to a child who does not know the dangers of the world, who would run in the street into traffic, unaware of the realities of danger and death.  He also told me that there are groups of people out there just waiting to capture or attack people like me. 

In some ways, he is right.  God says that we should emulate the faith of a child.  "Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it."  Luke 18:17 ESV

And yes, there are most definitely people out there who want to hurt others.  Yet I am fully aware of the realities of death.  Part of my job includes taking care of children who are dying.  And I do believe that God works in all sorts of ways – through medicine, through common sense, through the wisdom of others, but He also clearly asks us to exhibit faith and to not store our treasures here on Earth.

It’s like the boy scouts – Prepare for the worst, and hope for the best.  Maybe our paths crossed today so that you could think about whether you are taking the proper precautions and making adequate preparations.

Anyone who knows me (and granted, this gentleman does not know me beyond this encounter) would say I am someone who prepares.  I like plans.  I like to know things ahead of time.  I am also very aware of how my personality can prevent me from fully engaging in a trusting relationship with Christ.  It is an ongoing struggle for me to surrender my plans, my ways, and to fully rely on God.  I am the person in the group project that would so much rather just do it all myself, than to have to rely on someone else. 

I realize now that I never told him that Imani means faith.  Faith to me is believing in something without having the 100% satisfaction, money-back  guarantee.  Faith is not contingent on our circumstances or whether things turn out the way we want them to.  I believe that God is always present and at work in the world.  I trust that as I walk closely with Him, He will guide my steps, yet ultimately I will still be the one walking.  Sometimes when you are at a crossroads, you know for certain which road to take, and other times, I think God leaves decisions in our hands, continuing to be a part of our journeys no matter which path we take.

So my post-post office conversation thoughts….

1. Traveling to Kenya is a risk I am fully willing to take because God continues to put that call on my heart.  I have always experienced complete peace that whatever happens during my travels, I am exactly where I am supposed to be.  If I were going to die for something, it would be spending time in Kenya with people I love and care about.

2. I don’t want anything bad to happen.  I don’t think anyone really does.  I tend to be a scaredy cat.  It takes a lot for me to even want to jump off a diving board!  But I do not want my life to be dictated by fear.  I know this life has no guarantees, and the only safety I can count on is that life on Earth is only a small part of our story.

3. Safety and security is not the same as peace.  I do not believe God always promises safety, but He does promise peace and His continued presence.

And lastly….where would one even buy this bulletproof vest :)