Gnocchi, Graduation, and Growing Up

It's going to be 100 degrees today.  As I just recently moved into an apartment, I am hesitant to get into the habit of resorting to the AC.  And today is the day I decide to try to make potato gnocchi - a food I thoroughly enjoy but am mildly terrified to try and make.  Currently, I have a huge pot of water boiling, the dishwasher running, and the coffeemaker brewing.  I am sweating.  I know it's probably insanity (possibly heat-derived) but I feel this sense of needing to set out and accomplish a task.  Sure it's no marathon or Mount Everest, but it's something I have wanted to do for a long time now and I am tired of waiting for a better time to do it.



A year ago, I graduated from university and from nursing school.  I remember feeling a huge sense of relief....nursing school at times was my Mount Everest, my mountain to conquer.  And when you are standing in the middle of dozens of your peers all gowned and capped....you do feel as if you have scale great heights.  All the times you doubted, all the late nights and early mornings, all the exams and papers....all of that led to one moment.  And you are in the presence of your closest friends and supportive family.  It all builds up to that climax....and then, as quickly as it came, it's over.  You are left with a sense of "well now what??"  I remember packing up my apartment, which my roommates and I referred to as "The Oasis", and feeling a sense of devastation.  Life as I knew it was over.  No more school (at least not the way I knew it).  No more clear sense of direction and goals.  I was losing my sense of community - the family I had created, the home away from home.  Within 24 hours, graduation had turned from one of the happiest moments to one of the most unsettling and painful.  I wondered if this was the side of fairy tales that no one tells us - that after the "happily ever after" without having to overcome obstacles, battle dragons, and wait for your Prince Charming, that life loses its zest.

The truth is - life after graduation has been a new adventure, with lots to celebrate, new mountains to scale, and new friends to be made.  Actually, I probably have done more in this past year in terms of "firsts" than I have in all of my school years combined, most notably getting my first real job as a nurse and starting a non-profit organization.  Neither have been easy, although both have been incredibly rewarding and provide an ongoing adventure.  Yet I still have this sense of what next - do I just keep working and putting money in the bank?  Do I put my time and energy into making my apartment a home?  Should I be trying to promote Imani more so we can have a greater impact in Kenya?  Am I suppose to be settling down and finding a mate?  (notice the last question is at the bottom of my priority list :)  I think I keep trying to find a single solution.  Some days I think okay maybe I should go back to school and then I spend a couple hours looking into Master's programs.  Other times I think okay, I need to spend more time on Imani and really start planning for the months ahead.  And then there are the days I just want to forget I am an adult and spend a few days in Disneyland or watch episodes of Gilmore Girls that I have seen multiple times.

School is a security blanket.  As much as you hate it and wish it were over, it is what shapes the average American for 13-17 years of their lives.  I think most people naturally transition the role school played to their jobs....a new structure, something you wake up in the morning to do, a group of people who become like a family, a place where you have some sort of purpose.  For those who have a family, I think those responsibilities, especially raising kids, provide those same functions as well.  I guess I am still trying to figure out my place and my purpose.  I don't just want to be a nurse.  I don't just want to be the director at Imani.  I want to explore the world.  I want to meet new people.  I want pursue my other passions of writing, crafting, nannying, gardening.  I want to make gnocchi.

The beauty of writing (at least for me) is I can have conversations with myself, and in the process of doing so, I find glimmers of peace and serenity.  I feel not quite as crazy, and have this secret hope that maybe someone will read this and think I thought I was the only one.  So here's to living life....not just as a student or a nurse or someone who loves Kenya, but as an individual, as a human being, as a child of God.

Notes on Nursing: Reflections from a Sleep-Deprived Nurse

Disclaimer:  I am writing this after working a 12.5 hour night shift, and I now have been awake for around 19 hours.  Why are you writing a blog right now instead of sleeping???  you may be asking yourself - and the best answer I can give, aside from insanity, is that writing for me has always been an outlet and a place to be real and vulnerable.  My thoughts, observations, and perhaps even wisdom come from being in the moments of raw emotion.

I am a nurse.  It's not the only thing that defines who I am, but it does dictate a large portion of my life and influences my perspective on the world.  Although I have wanted to be a nurse for many years, I did have some other aspirations as a young child.  In kindergarten, we were asked to draw a picture of what we wanted to be when we grew up.  I drew a picture of me serving food as a waitress, and when questioned why I chose that job, I replied "because I want to give people food."  Author, teacher, and magazine editor were some other options before I "settled" on nursing around age 12.  (Yes, little Alyssa was in many ways similar to 23-year-old Alyssa).  Why did I want to be a nurse?  Well, I wanted to help people of course!  I actually did have somewhat of an idea of what nursing was like, as I volunteered in a hospital, but I still held onto that idealistic view of what a nurse is - a compassionate, calm, and capable individual who never grew weary of caring for the sick, a Mother Teresa-type.

It only takes one shift on the unit I work on to shatter that ideal.  As kind of a person I might like to think I am, there are families that just suck the goodness right out of you.  As far as being calm and collected goes, more often than not I am frazzled and my mind is constantly running, all the while attempting to be physically (& mentally & emotionally) present with each patient.  Nursing is exhausting.  Some times you just don't feel you can give anything more of yourself, and in those moments, you must find the strength to do it anyway.  Although a lot of the world seemed to panic when some of Mother Teresa's private letters and writings revealed doubts in God and bouts of depression, I found it comforting and reassuring to know she was human and she was real.

I love my job.  I really do.  Yes, there are definitely things to complain about and parts of the "system" drive me absolutely crazy.  But I truly feel it is a privilege to be able to go to "work" to love and serve people in some of the most difficult times in their lives.  When you tell someone you work in pediatric oncology, you often hear "I could never do that" or "God bless people like you."  I cannot speak for other types of nursing and I believe that every helping profession role has it's challenges.  But it is a hard job.  Watching children go through treatment for cancer can be heart-wrenching.  The chemotherapy destroys their body...pretty much any body system is vulnerable to side effects.  Then there are the emotional and mental hurdles....losing their hair, taking medicine all the time, not being able to go to school, the pokes, the pain, the nausea.  But it is in these moments where you see the fighters, the team players, the heroes.  Strength emerges in the midst of obstacles, and there is joy and celebration in the smallest of things.

And sometimes, they don't make it.  I have been a nurse for almost 9 months now, and a handful of kids I have cared for in some capacity have died.  Yet the past couple nights really are the first time I really have had to care for someone who is actively dying.  I use the word "actively" because this individual is actively participating, they are alert and oriented x4 for the most part, yet it only takes one look to know their body is shutting down.  The process of dying isn't very peaceful and witnessing the anxiety, the discomfort, the pain of a teenager as they attempt to come to terms with hand of cards they have been dealt, it just breaks, actually demolishes, your heart.  All of a sudden your strong sense of faith is flooded with questions and doubt, and even though you believe the next life is a million times better than this one, you can't even begin to make sense why the transition between the two causes so much suffering.

Sometimes I cry.  For my patients.  For their families.  And for me.  But it's the day I can no longer cry that I fear the most.  The tears represent some emotion, some feeling - they mean I am still alive inside and in a small, simple way, my pride subsides, my weaknesses surface, and I cry to God for comfort.  And He shows up.  For my patients.  For their families.  And for me.  Showing up to work at the hospital is my job, but loving on people is my passion, my calling.  There are moments when I start to stress about what my life is going to look like in 5, 10, or 20 years.  Am I suppose to invest here in my hometown or move halfway across the world or try and maintain a balance of the two?  But God patiently always brings me back to this - whether at Children's or in Kenya or wherever else the Lord takes me, I have endless opportunities to love and to serve, and that is what I was created to do.

Kenya Reflections Part II: The Mzungu

It is not uncommon when traveling to a developing country to see the world with new eyes.  But seeing the disparity, the hunger, the sickness, the corruption is not enough.  It is like being a witness to a crime and deciding not to testify.  Though there are many challenges (and numerous failures) of charitable work, I believe saying and doing nothing is almost always worse than doing something.  I have not always "done it right."  One occasion immediately comes to mind.  It was during my first visit to Kenya in 2006.  I went with a rather large church group, and we were in a much more rural part of Kenya.  One day, we put on a carnival for kids in the surrounding area.  Mistake (or 'learning opportunity') number 1 = trying to replicate a very American event in a foreign country.  I was assigned to "toss the ball into the cup" game - the one where there are small prizes in the cup and if you land the ball into that cup, you win the prize.  Even as I type this, I am laughing because it just was not a good idea!  So I am setting up this game, and of course the kids are already flooding the area and I failed at my attempt to have them line up.  In the midst of trying to regain some order, the kids begin to stop the prizes, which were mostly candy if I remember correctly, and all of a sudden, I have been trampled by a herd of children diving for candy.  I was the dog at the bottom of the dog pile.  I couldn't see anything, I couldn't move, and I remember thinking....We were so stupid!  Why didn't we think this through???  These kids probably haven't eaten all day, so can I really blame them for trampling me to get a Tootsie roll??  And then I heard a man shouting and the snapping of a whip.  (I can barely type this without crying).  Upon realizing the American girl was at the bottom of a pile of hungry Kenyan children, one of men that were hosting our team took action.  A few harsh words and the crack of the whip to rescue me.  Though he kept apologizing, it was me that was ashamed and embarrassed.  These kids had never been to a carnival ..how were they suppose to know you had to stand in a line, wait your turn, and play a game?  All they knew was that they were hungry and there was something to eat.  This encounter likely portrays these kids as uncivilized and out of control, but that is only looking from an outsider's perspective.  The truth is these children were joyful, affectionate, resilient, and longed for attention and love.  Had we Americans truly reached out and met these kids where they were at, assessed their needs, and engaged in a culturally appropriate activity, I may not still be haunted by the memory of that day and the sight of the whip corralling the children.  I wish I had reached out and held them in my arms.  I wish I had taught them the Hokey Pokey.  I wish instead of pieces of candy I could have given them clean water, three meals a day, and a clean pair of clothes.  Wishful thinking, perhaps, but I knew if I ever went back, something had to change.

Funny thing...I had every intention of this being a blog about health care and the clinic.  But God tends to put things on my heart that burn so strongly, I cannot put them aside.  Several months ago, I finally read the book, When Helping Hurts.  It was one of books I always wanted to read, but hadn't ever gotten around to actually doing it.  I was under the impression that this was a book about how helping others can be emotionally taxing and how to keep oneself from carrying the burdens of the world.  Of course it would be a sort of self-help book about MY needs, right?  Well, I soon found out that is not at all what the book is about...to the contrary, the book is about how people who are trying to help actually hurt the people they are helping...ouch!  But God always knows what He is doing, and it was exactly what I needed to read and address during this season of life.  How do you go to another country, step into a different culture, see the things you see, and do something about it....while at the same time refrain from making judgments, imposing Western ideals, appearing superior, and acting out of pity....it's definitely not easy and I will say on behalf of the Western world, especially the Christians, we have not always done it very well and have consequently burned a lot of bridges.  A line from the book where the author is telling a story about Uganda...."Finally, there was me, the mzungu, and all which that word represents: money, power, education, money, superiority, and money."  While in the U.S. I may look borderline ethnic due to my mixed background, in Africa, I am white.  I am a mzungu.  No question.  I use to feel really guilty about that, and there are moments I still do.  But during my stay in Kenya this go-around, God really put it on my heart that guilt is not a desirable or fruitful emotion, and that there nothing wrong about being American, rich, or educated - but that there was something wrong with feeling superior, hoarding wealth, or using education solely for personal benefit.  It was a really freeing realization, and gets at the heart of why I started Imani.

Typically, I am not overly moved by "cliche" sayings that inscribed on various merchandise, plastered on social media, and found on the inside of Hallmark greeting cards.  Yet there are a few quotes that never get old for me, and have managed to hold onto their intended meaning and ability to move and inspire.  Mother Teresa's quote...We cannot do great things on this Earth, only small things with great love...is one of them.  "Small things, great love" has been like a personal mantra for me the past few years.  It has continued to remind me that it is more important to evaluate where your heart is than how much you have accomplished.  It reiterates the message that anyone can do small things, and therefore, everyone can make a difference.  Since I founded Imani Care International in July, I have received a lot of personal praise.  I know people mean well and I appreciate the encouragement.  But I didn't start a non-profit organization to add it to my resume or to be a better Christian.  I did it because I had to.  Let me explain that a bit.  No, no one told me I had to do this.  In fact, for a long time, no one even knew this was on my mind!  I was scared.  I normally just stick to the things I am good at, and I wasn't sure this was one of those things.  I didn't want to fail.  I didn't want to let down the people in Kenya, but selfishly, I did not think I could bear exposing the depths of my heart to the world and not have anyone else "catch the vision."  But God persisted, that still small voice the Bible talks about?  Well, God still uses it because He gently nudged me and eventually my heart softened, my anxieties waned, and my faith multiplied.  This dream was no longer my dream...it was God's plan.  Looking back on the past 8 months, I just smile because God is so faithful and so present.  Occasionally I get a bit stressed and overwhelmed, but I am constantly being reminded that Imani really is just a small extension of God's work and presence around the world.  And to be a part of it is more rewarding than anything else.  

Am I trying to say everyone should start a non-profit or go to Africa?  No, not necessarily.  But it is my hope and prayer that we don't sit on the sidelines and bear witness to the realities of our world when we all have some capacity to do something small with a lot of love.  You know what meant the most to the people I spent time with in Kenya?  It wasn't the medical supplies I brought or the fact that I am from California (and therefore a celebrity) or the possibility that I could fix all their problems.  It was that I came and was willing to spend time with them, in the clinic, and in the slum.  That a mzungu from "the best state in America" would fly on many planes to come sit with a bedridden patient in the slum.  It wasn't heroic.  It was a simple act of love.  

P.S.  I promise I will write more about the clinic & healthcare in Kenya soon :)

Trip Reflection Part I: Culture Shock

The title of this blog [Alyssa’s Kenya Adventure] is quite a fitting description for the 2 ½ weeks I spent in Nairobi last month.  I find it difficult to give a quick answer to the question “How was your trip?” because travelling halfway around the world to visit a health clinic is a bit different than going on a vacation.  In this first blog installment, I will attempt to bring you to Nairobi and give you a taste of the beauty, the challenges, the sights, and the people.  Enjoy.

 

The road the clinic is on

Let’s cover some of the basics of traveling to Kenya.  It takes around 21 flight hours and over 30 hours travel time to get to Nairobi, Kenya from Fresno.  Don’t forget to add in the 10 hour time difference!  For the most part, I actually enjoy airports and airplanes.  I like to think I have certain aspects of the traveling process down to a science…like going through security.  In terms of going through customs, it is relatively easy and I bought my tourist visa at the airport for $50.  My luggage arrived, which is always a small miracle.  I was greeted at the airport by Peter & Francisca Inoti, my host and the founders of the clinic.  And the adventure began…

Peter & Francisca and 2 of their 4 sons

My host family live in a modest, middle class home in a section of Nairobi called Imara Daima.  {No, I did not stay in a grass or mud hut, though they do exist in other parts of Kenya}  Imagine a suburban subdivision, though add in a few more animals and a few less luxuries like washing machines and kitchen appliances.  I was spoiled with my own room and bathroom, as their two youngest sons were away at boarding school.  Most days we had running water and electricity, though this was not a given.  I slept underneath a mosquito net and brushed my teeth with the bottled water I saved each day.

A typical day…

-Wake up around 8am.  I was glad there didn’t seem to be any rush to get out of the house!

-Shower (sometimes running water, sometimes a bucket), get dressed…I typically wore a long skirt and T-shirt (how I still managed to get hit on was truly a mystery!), spray myself with mosquito repellent & sunscreen, and slap on a little makeup

-Breakfast.  Some menu items included boiled sweet potatoes, mandaazi (fried bread), hard-boiled eggs, mango, bananas, bread, and always tea.  Their tea is heavy on the milk and sugar, and light on the tea.  I always struggled to drink even half a mug-full. 

-Head to the clinic around 10ish.  Kenyans are not time-oriented, so it is best not to expect a schedule or to make specific plans.  They live about a 15 minute walk from the clinic, though sometimes Peter would drive us, as he ran errands throughout the day.

-Spend the day at the clinic and eat lunch from the lady who runs a small restaurant across the way

-Sometimes in the afternoons, I would go with Peter into town to run errands or to pay someone a visit

-Go home sometime in the evening, anywhere between 5 and 8, depending on how busy the clinic was, if it was raining, if we were going to walk or take a matatu…

-Rest while dinner was being prepared…some days I took a nap, other times I journaled or read Les Miserables

Dinner

-Dinner around 9:30 or 10.  I came to appreciate the process of cooking a meal from scratch, including the slaughtering of the meat.  The dinner menu varied but typically included some sort of meat stew (chicken, goat, rabbit), some cooked vegetable (cabbage, kale, spinach), and either rice or ugali (maize flour & water combined to make a sort of paste) or my favorite, chapati….a “Kenyan tortilla”

-After dinner we typically would have long discussions about politics, culture, healthcare…or watch the news or Kenyan soap operas

-11ish…Off to bed….I was always exhausted!

Aside from Sunday (which is treated like a holiday), this was pretty much was daily life.  There was an ease about it, though I will admit not having a set plan was frustrating at times!  I came to realize that although my life at home is arguably busy in that I juggle my time and energy between many different things, I also am incredibly spoiled that I do not have to spend nearly as much time on necessary tasks like preparing food, washing clothes, washing dishes, walking places (or sitting in AWFUL Nairobi traffic), and constant cleaning (as everything is seemingly always dirty).  Life for the average Kenyan is much less about trying to do as much as possible in 24 hours than it is about 1) surviving and 2) spending time with people, and a close third…going to church.

I wish I could have blogged in real-time, but I did not have ready access to Internet.  I did keep a journal, so I wanted to share a few excerpts from that.

                Sometimes I think ‘why are people so afraid to go to a place like this’ and then little by little, I am reminded of some of the things that take some getting used to….like sleeping under a mosquito net, or wearing clothes that cover as much of your body as possible, even if it is hot and humid.  Or that running water is a luxury and hot running water is royalty.  That the roads are bumpy and the traffic rules seem more optional.  That you need flip flops in the bathroom and that dinner may be something you have never seen and you will not only eat it, but have seconds.  That even though people speak English, sometimes you have no idea what they are saying.  But I feel at home and at peace.  I love the smells, the activity, the way Kenyans have adapted to their circumstances.

                I just witnessed the epitome of globalization.  Francisca was holding a live, bound chicken (aka dinner) in one hand and digging through her purse for her cellphone with the other…while we were climbing in a matatu already full of ~18 people.

             

The chapati I made all by myself!

   Today I attended church, and I couldn’t help but think with all these churches in Nairobi, how many are actively engaging with their communities?  Maybe most of the parishioners are low income themselves.  Of course, I could ask the same question of churches in Clovis/Fresno and what ministries they are doing for the homeless, for the poor, for the mentally ill, for the sick, etc.  I guess it seems like if we are really acting as the body of Christ and living the life we say we believe in…shouldn’t our communities be noticeably transformed?  I am wrestling with many questions that I have been asked over the past few years…why not invest in your home community?  Why spend so much money on travel & trip costs when that could be used in the U.S.?  Shouldn’t Kenya take care of their own?  Aren’t they going to become reliant on donor support?  I must say all my critics have some valid points.  And at this point, I don’t have any good answers.  I personally think it must be both – I would be a hypocrite if I wasn’t willing to love and serve people in my town or at my job.  But I guess I can’t just say ‘oh that’s too bad’ regarding the things I have witnessed in Kenya – whether it is my responsibility or not.

Much more to come…I will describe the clinic, the patient population, and the incredible work that is done there in the next post, so stay tuned!

Hope Remains

Look at this picture for a moment.  What do you see?  What words would you use to describe it?  

When I saw this children's shoe lying on the ground in Kenya, I immediately thought of a glass case of shoes I had seen years before at the Holocaust museum, a whole display of everyday items that had been recovered...including a large pile of children's shoes.  I'm not sure what it is about the shoe, but I felt a sense of hope - that in the midst of the dirt and the trash, this shoe had remained as a reminder of the precious lives of children I was interacting with and what beauty and joy they gave to the world they lived in.  I remember also thinking that this image (for me at least) embodied these words of Anne Frank..."I don't think of all the misery but of the beauty that still remains."  As I quickly snapped the photo, it continues to tug at my heartstrings every time I see it...reminding me of the hope, of the beauty that can exist in such sorrow and filth.

Several recent events have left me struggling to find resolution and meaning and purpose.  As I was catching up with a friend I met volunteering in Kenya, I was saddened to find out that Edwin's health is failing.  I met Edwin at Hope School, which is one of the places I volunteered at several times.  Although it is not in Nairobi, the conditions surrounding the school are very similar and the school is an effort to provide the kids a place to congregate, to be cared for, and to learn as an alternative to wandering through the village all day.  It was a place of much joy, and to find Edwin you just had to listen for his laughter and look for his infectious smile.  I am told Edwin is in the hospital with malaria, typhoid fever, and pneumonia, in addition to being HIV+.  Honestly, I don't know what his chances are - likely that would depend on how well his immune system is holding up.  For now, that is all we know, and as we Westerners desperately beg for more information, we are reminded that not all of the world is instantly connected and that even technology falls short.  I am left with one option: to pray.  Though it is the best option, the nurse and the caregiver in me struggles to find peace, begging God to spare His life.

Much closer to home, I am watching a patient at work suffer too.  I think how many thousands of dollars have gone into the care of this boy over the course of years - he has received all the best Western modern medicine has to offer, and yet in His case, his outlook doesn't look any better than Edwin's.  Perhaps it is because I have seen it with my own eyes, but my prayers are for comfort- that his pain would end, that his weary body would get to rest.  As I remember some of the conversations we have had in the past several weeks, I am reminded of his strength and determination and kind-spirit.  Both little guys have shaped the person I am today, and been lights in the darkness of their circumstances.

As my trip to Kenya quickly approaches (less than a month), my emotions are becoming more raw and my heart vulnerable.  Though it has been about 18 months since I have been in Kenya, many of the experiences I had remain vivid and I often relive them in my mind.  I was watching some of the footage from the Carnival ship disaster and saw a woman holding up the red biohazard bag that passengers had been given to defecate in.  At first, I was horrified...thinking to myself, these people paid all this money to go on vacation, to go on a cruise and to not have to worry about anything; this is inhumane, this is an outrage!  However, I quickly was taken back to the Mukuru slums in Nairobi and how the concept of "flying toilets" is a daily reality, as they have no choice but to use small plastic bags as a sewage system...not for several days, but indefinitely.  And they don't get to sue anyone.  They don't even get shown on the news or written about in the paper.  That has been a huge part of my heart for Imani...being able to share the stories and experiences of people who otherwise are never heard and who believe the world has essentially forgotten about them.  I cannot change all of their circumstances, I cannot ensure all of their needs are met....not even their health needs, BUT I can affirm that they have intrinsic worth and that there are people in this world who care about them.  And for every one thing I may have given to them, the people of Kenya have blessed me hundreds of times over.  Without a doubt.

I didn't choose Kenya - Kenya chose me.  And in the midst of tragedy, disease, inhumane living conditions, corruption, violence....hope remains.

Happiness is...

Today I feel happy.  I am not sure exactly what it was about today, but it's one of those days where I have found a lot of joy in even the smallest of things.  I am not sure if it's a song or what, but something related to Charlie Brown has this series of statements that begin with "Happiness is..."  and that is what has inspired this post.

Happiness is....

• Seattle.  Tomorrow bright & early I will be en route to the city I have come to love.  Though I am very happy to be living & working in California, Seattle is like a second home.  The cityscape as you drive in from the airport, the waterfront views, the cool, crisp mornings, watching the rain come down from the warmth of one of many coffee shops, when the sun finally shows its face and all of Seattle comes out with it.  But all that is secondary to one thing: the people.  When I moved to go to college, I did not know anyone.  Four years later...I had to say goodbye to dozens of people who have shaped and changed my life forever.  Reconnecting with people you love has to be one of the best things in the world.  
• Mail.  Anyone who knows me knows how much I love mail.  When I have worked the night shift and am sleeping during the days, sometimes I will wake up around noon, momentarily, to go check and see if the mail has arrived.  I am also guilty of keeping the door open (with the screen door) so I can hear the truck when it turns on our street and being "upset" on holidays because the mail isn't delivered.  You would think with all the hype that I must get a substantial amount of exciting mail...though I do probably get more snail mail than most, there are many days when I get nothing of substance.  Still those days I get a card from a friend or a package covered in stickers - it makes my day.  Hence why I send a lot of mail.  That realization that someone took the time to write a message or assemble a package or pick out a postcard....find your address...track down a stamp or took a trip to the post office...it just makes you feel incredibly loved.  Though I know the world continues to move full speed ahead into the digital age, I am fighting it.  Even with Imani, I am convinced the 46 cents is truly a small price to pay to remind someone they are loved.
• Laughing for no good reason.  I can tend to be rather sarcastic, and truly do enjoy a little wit and a good laugh.  I worked last night and at one point in the middle of the night, I was looking at my status board that lists the patients I am taking care of and happened to see they were all listed as Fall Risk.  I couldn't help but share with the other nurse I was working with, "Hey, you know what I just realized?  None of my patients can walk."  And we burst into laughter.  I guess it was just the sudden realization that even though the 4 kids I was taking care of had completely different diagnoses and ranged in age from toddler to teenager, somehow they all had something going on that was affecting their ability to walk.  To most people, this is not the slightest bit funny and maybe even somewhat offensive, but the point is I am learning not to take myself too seriously and laughing with my coworkers definitely helps get through the stressful times.
• Everything fitting in your carry-on suitcase.  My mom has always been a huge advocate of rolling clothing and packing strategically.  After moving away from home for college, I learned the art of packing as I traveled and moved a number of times.  Although I could afford to pay the extra $25 to check a bag, I was determined to at least try to fit everything I needed into a carryon suitcase and a purse.  The moment you realize you packed everything AND have room for an extra shirt or two....a huge sense of relief and accomplishment (and the added bonus of not having to wait at baggage claim upon arrival).
• A good parking spot.  My sister always says: "A good parking spot equals a successful shopping trip."  [Of course if we lived in a city with real parking issues....a good parking spot would be more like winning the lottery!]  But there is something about arriving at your destination and spotting that open spot that gives you a little boost of endorphins...and today I was blessed with a lot of good parking spots.
• A home-cooked meal.  I was inspired to cook tonight.  Despite the fact I don't cook a whole lot since I started working night shift and moving home, I do genuinely enjoy cooking.  I decided to make feta and spinach turkey burgers...it's really quite simple but they taste like you put a lot more time into it :)
• Having true friends.  I have always been blessed with wonderful friends.  No, I was never the most popular, I didn't have the hot boyfriend...or even a boyfriend at all, I wasn't a star athlete, but I always have had friends who loved me for who I am, who have been there through thick and thin.  To have friends who care about you all over the country and even the world, it's a wonderful feeling.  Investing in my friendships is a top priority and taking a step back to see what a wide circle that has been cultivated over the years...it's a pretty cool thing.

Remembrance

I am writing today from my heart.  I have no political or social motives, nor do I have any claim to the solution to the brokenness of this world.

One cannot help but be moved by the Sandy Hook tragedy.  As I have watched media coverage along with the rest of the country, tears have come as I, too, am devastated by this loss, especially of so many small children.  I was touched by an interview I heard with one of the teachers describing how she heard the gunshots and ushered her kindergarten class into the corner for “story time” and preceded to read them a book.  Heroes are uncovered when tragedy strikes, and for every horrific act, it seems a multitude of individuals respond by doing something good.  Though it cannot bring back lives that were lost or take away the pain and grief so many are facing, it does offer a glimmer of hope.

When reflecting on loss of life, I cannot help but think about Kenya and the hundreds of people around the world who die each day from malnutrition, disease, and war.  The difference between these lives lost is that no one will see their story on television, their pictures rarely make the papers, and their families will not receive an outpouring of support and condolences from a heartbroken country.  On one hand, I am grateful these daily tragedies are not consistently covered by the media because I am not sure any of us could emotionally bear some of injustices that people around the world face.  But by keeping these realities out of sight, we have reduced human life to statistics.  We vaguely know the impact of HIV/AIDS, malaria, decades long civil wars, sex trafficking, female genital mutilation, famine & starvation….but we are hesitant to allow ourselves to get emotionally involved.  I include myself in this “we”….even though I do deeply care about those suffering around the world, there are times I just cannot bear to read or watch anything about another place or another issue, because I already feel so burdened by the slums of Kenya.  I think this is where we have to trust that as we seek the Lord, He will guide our hearts to the places and issues and the people we are called to care about.  No idea where this line originates from but I like its concise, powerful message…..you don’t have to do everything, but do something. 

Imani Care International is my response to what I experienced in Kenya.  As many of you know, starting a nonprofit organization was not what I had originally planned or hoped to do.  Yet that was the direction God was pulling me, and once I surrendered my own ideas, I caught a vision for Imani and things really just began to fall into place.  Though a huge part of how ICI will help to support health in the Nairobi slums is through financial resources….I am equally, if not more, passionate about giving a voice and an awareness to individuals…amazing people I met who have given me so much as I pay witness to their lives of determination, sacrifice, perseverance, and faith in the midst of some pretty horrific circumstances.  Probably the thing I most look forward to about returning this March is to be able to hear more stories and affirm the humanity that we all share.  Not everyone can, will, or even should go to Kenya, but it is my responsibility to share those stories and to give remembrance to lives that are lost.  

I was jokingly asked how much it would cost for someone to get the clinic to name something after them.  The truth is…it’s not about the money, it’s about the relationship.  They are not some people in Africa I send money to from time to time.  They are a second family, people I talk to on a regular basis and share the joys and sorrows of life with.  Peter, Francesca, Hadijah, David…they are my friends.  I cannot wait to be reunited with them and look forward to sharing their stories with those who have generously supporting Imani.