Friday, May 15, 2015

This Definitely Qualifies!

Ever had a situation so unusual you don't know how to label it? Pretty much sums up the culmination of events experienced this morning! Mine started with a poor decision--but I had no way of knowing how very poor it was . . .

We have been away at Musana Camps this week. We returned yesterday afternoon. Suitcases  and backpacks were unpacked and contents completely filled the laundry baskets to overflowing.

No worries. Aunt "T" was scheduled to come to our rescue today. She washes laundry for us.

She arrived on time and began to work. A few minutes after starting her work she informed me that her sister was in the hospital and she needed to go see her. I asked when she might need to go and she answered, "Oh, any time."

It didn't sound urgent to me, so I just gave her a bit lighter work load so she could leave a little earlier today.

She worked for 2 1/2 hours and we took a break. During tea and bananas she received the call that her sister had passed away. I ran to the porch to console her and pray. I informed her that I would take her to the hospital to be with her family.  She finished her tea, informed a friend of the news and we began our journey.

I was feeling horrible for my now obvious POOR decision to not urge her to abandon the work we had for her and instead go to the hospital to be by her sister's side!

I had some money in my pocket to give her once we got to the hospital. Body transport is the responsibility of the deceased's family. Once I gave my condolences to the mother, son and others I planned to give the money to help with the transport later in the day.

We arrived at the women's ward and I properly greeted the mother and gave her my heartfelt sorrow for her loss. I prayed with her and wept with her. Then I turned to the son of Aunt "T" who received me and then insisted that I accompany him to the bedside to view the body.

Oh, the thoughts that ran through my mind as we slowly walked past the host of onlookers. "They are all looking at me. Fine. I've been through that a million times. But, I AM GOING TO VIEW A BODY. WHAT DO I DO AT THE BEDSIDE IN THIS CULTURE??? LORD BE WITH ME!"

We rounded the corner and he marched me directly up past the nurses at the bedside and stood me near the head of the bed. Then he told me, "Aunt, This is my mother."

I was shocked. Then I realized the truth that Aunt "T" is actually his maternal aunt, not his mother.

His eyes brimmed with tears but he was not sobbing or wailing. He simply stated the fact. I asked if I could pray for him. He agreed, but I sure felt that my words fell short. I trust my God, however, to give him what he needs and I prayed that this young man would know God as Father. I looked again to the woman. My eyes played a trick on me as I thought I saw her abdomen slightly rise and fall with a breath. "No way," I argued with myself. I looked for awhile longer and saw no more movement.

We finished praying and I stood there with my hand on his shoulder.

Suddenly, I was drawn out of my intense focus on the son and the overwhelming nature of the moment and I heard the beeping that had been there all along. I looked over and saw the blood pressure machine registering 90s over 60s and the oxygen saturation machine getting readings in the 80s.

I breathed deep. "Excuse me," I queried the nurses, "this woman doesn't seem to be dead."

A smile broke out on the face of one. "No," we are currently working on her, she is not dead."

"Are you going to tell the family that? They believe she is dead!"

I turned to the son, "Your mother is not dead! Look, she is breathing!"

He looked in anger at the nurses and spewed something I didn't understand in Luganda.

I took him out to tell his grandmother and Aunt "T".

You would have thought I raised the woman from the dead myself! Everyone who had stared at me earlier now stared again, but with big smiles on their faces. I rejoiced with them and prayed and then excused myself.

Apparently, another visitor had gone in and wrongly assessed the situation for himself. Without asking any staff for confirmation, he decided the woman was dead and announced such to everyone.

I have to admit the whole scene was surreal. From deepest sorrow to elation in a matter of minutes. Whew!

So, my morning began with a poor decision, but parlayed into me being present and part of what turned into a joyful time.

Yes, the events of my morning definitely qualify as an extreme and rare experience. I'm still catching my breath when I think back on it!

The woman has 10 children, all from different fathers. The oldest is the son I interacted with at the bedside. The youngest is two months. The woman has a chronic liver disease is all I have been told. Please pray for her life, her children and for her salvation.

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Put Your Oxygen Mask on First

You’ve bought the tickets, planned, anticipated, packed, hauled it all to the airport, and finally you’re sitting in your not quite comfy 2’ x 2’ space. As the stale air blasts from overhead, you fight it’s force and with a little twist regain some semblance of a calm environment.

The calm of all attendants assisting those trying to shove oversized bags in small overhead compartments, giving plastic smiles and seatbelt tugs to each passenger, preparing the cabin and securing doors amidst passengers who can’t find their seat or  kids either too excited or scared to settle down.

You know take off is imminent when flight attendants (or the safety video’s cartoon attendant) instruct you on how to secure your oxygen mask first before helping others. I always silently gasp at this point as Bible verses flood my mind with instructions on not looking out just for self but also for the good of others? (Philippians 2:4 if you want to see it for yourself.) Shouldn't I help others before I tend to myself??

Once I take a deep breath and ponder the wisdom in the instruction I accept that, OF COURSE, I have to be alive to actually best help another person. What help can I be if I am dead on the floor from a lack of oxygen? This makes sense. . . on the airplane.

But, in “real” life? Not so much, or at least I often live as if it makes no sense. I frequently fail to even think about securing my own oxygen mask before attempting to help someone else with theirs.

What IS my “oxygen mask”?

I've been pondering this deep thought for awhile now.  In recent weeks my schedule has been relentless and I've found myself worn. I love the activity and opportunity to serve daily here, but I am not good at pacing myself.

Adequate amounts of oxygen is my current theme because our life events have been seemingly more non-stop of late, if that is even possible. I am not sure how to define “of late” -- the past two weeks? No, months. Hang on, since January? Perhaps “of late” truly is just life here at New Hope. But, that is no excuse.

Just a few days ago I rebelled. I wore my pajamas until 11 a.m. I kept my windows shut and I didn't answer my phone until 11:15. I informed my kids that I was unavailable to visitors until after 11 and I just putzed around doing a little of this and that, and NOT feeling guilty about it. (That is one of the most important parts of the administration of oxygen--don't feel guilty about sucking in needed amounts of it!)

That morning helped me to regain peace; to draw more deeply from the truths of God as I spent extra time meditating on His Word, engaging in an extra long session of pilates and drinking a second cup of coffee while doing some leisure reading.

A few days later in a weak moment of frustration I vented regarding my need for a "time out" from the "busy, busy" as I sometimes call our pace, to a stateside family member who reminded me that it is also very busy in America. I agreed.

But, then I reflected on differences between the "busy" here and the "busy" there. Mainly, the significance boils down to what happens when I get home.

In America I can be busy out of the house in all kinds of activities and attending to the various needs of people, but when I get home to the house, I am home and all that "out there" stuff is not. There is my own space, the comfort of my private home, the quiet of my own house--and even if the kids are making noise, they are my kids and I can fall into a rhythm of rest despite the sounds of their activity.

Here? The house is my home, yes, but the private bit is absent. Given our climate, the windows are always open--and sounds freely waft both IN and OUT, folks. Given our community, I must 75% of the time be dressed appropriately and emotionally ready for visitors, because they are either in my house or imminently expected. I didn't pull 75% out of thin air, it is calculated given I sleep in whatever pajamas I want about 6 hours in a 24 hour period. However, my bathrobe, which completely covers all the parts of my body which this culture doesn't want to see, is always handy at the bedside in case we have an emergency visitor in the night--yes, this has happened.

This "always ready" status lends to a constant undercurrent of stress. It's kind of like being in the midst of selling your home and having to be on guard and ready for whenever the realtor might bring someone by. Except the house never gets sold and people just keep coming.

Please don't hear, "Waaa Waaa Waaa!"

Living in this open community is very rewarding and enjoyable (read: some types of  "busy" can actually be a catalyst for feeling true joy and peace), but that doesn't mean I remain 100% energized and ready 24/7 to be the ever hospitable hostess/mentor/medical resource, friend, teacher, etc. What it does mean is that because I enjoy our life here, I often fail to remember to ensure my oxygen mask is in place as I almost incessantly give oxygen others.

When we moved here nine years ago, some seasoned missionaries told us to take a weekend out at least every 6-8 weeks, away from the constant stream of "work"--most days we’re up at 5 a.m. and the phone starts nagging before 7 a.m. I usually fit in some exercise and always read and/or study the Bible and pray, but the relentless pace after those quiet moments is like a roll of steady high cresting waves refusing to give time for adequate breath.

New Hope is a unique ministry in which we live among, steps away from the children and other staff to whom we minister. For the first couple of years of serving here, we were so hyped up to be at New Hope that such advice on taking time out sounded ridiculous. Until I began to notice around the eighth week after a having a brief time away, I wasn't so jazzed anymore to meet visitor number five before noon at the door, and worse I didn't care if my less than enthusiastic attitude was recognized. Time to call for a reservation somewhere near a pool! We were slow to learn the actual wisdom of scheduled time away.

However, I have also observed over the years that simply taking a weekend away doesn't automatically equal real rest.

This truth was highlighted for me again when I recently read Mark Buchanan's, The Rest of God. The read spurred my need to revisit what the oxygen mask is for me. He puts definitive words to my experience. The reality remains that I can’t truly help anyone if I am a struggling for the basics myself!

For me, “oxygen” is NOT simply going away for a weekend, putting on a movie and shutting out the demands. Depending on my choice of movie, I could actually emerge from the wasted two hours even more tired than I was before watching. It is also not getting sucked into a novel. Again, I could rejoin the real world more exhausted than before--especially if the novel was SO good I had to grab every moment possible to read a few more pages, (sometimes at 3 a.m.)

If movies and novels don’t suck the energy for real life out of you like they often do me, then don’t hear that I am criticizing your “oxygen”, I am simply saying it is not my best source!

Whatever it is that I am doing, either here at New Hope or away from it, I must be drawing from The Source throughout the day. And on the many days when there is not even a 20 or 30 minute pause, I can quickly get worn if don't look for ways to view each moment as a gift from Him. When I allow myself to see it as a drain on ME I forget that He has promised to never leave me--that He is the Father of lights and the giver of every good and perfect gift.

So, my personal nasal cannula has to deliver a large percentage of God's truth or I can’t breathe. That is, God’s word has to be the major input from morning til evening EVERY day. I often grab the Word when I am meeting with someone so I can share truth. I look up scriptures when I teach the kids and we’re on a subject that needs some extra input from the Creator Himself. I do better in the kitchen if I listen to music which speaks truth and life and creates an environment of worship as I cook. And daily I spend at least part of my first hour of the day in His word.

Still, the physical exhaustion sometimes takes over and I have to rest in ways that will rejuvenate my physical strength.

We have a habit in the Britton house of taking 30 minutes each day after lunch to lie down. I have always told the kids, "You don't have to sleep, but you have to be still and quiet." When they were young they thought this was great, "No nap for me!" But, you know what happened, of course, still and quiet often leads to sleep. And these days I find it doesn't take me very long to drift off. Even just five or ten minutes can give me the extra energy I need to make it through the afternoon.

But, it is not just lying down or sleeping that can help ward off physical exhaustion. In fact, escaping through sleep can become a problem of its own. What I am talking about is stopping the movement, the activity, the incessant upright stance and going horizontal for the purpose of letting the body recover.

Daily exercise is also a proven input to increase your output. I quickly find that without daily exercise I begin to drag myself from event to event with the background mantra, "I'm so tired, I'm so tired, I'm so tired."

I have also realized over the years that drinking adequate amounts of water is key in my energy level (and it helps keep headaches at bay.)

But, please don't see what I've listed as a list of what to do. Don't even see it as my complete list of what I do for an oxygen mask.

I am still learning. Remaining open to God's prompting to rest in Him expands our ability to actually observe Sabbath. And not settling into rigid exacts of what that means for you or anybody else keeps it alive unto Him rather than dead in our attempts to control it.

Spiritual, physical and emotional health are all a part of our oxygen needs. And for those of us in Christ, these real needs are met in Him. Our actual inborn desire for significance, security and acceptance are all met in Him.

Basic oxygen needs: His Word, His truth, the constant awareness of His presence. And after the inflow of such into our innermost beings the outflow to others becomes less strenuous. Because then our interaction with His creation becomes His work through us not our work for Him.

I'm not seeking perfection as I secure my oxygen mask, I am seeking health that I may honor Him and bring Him glory.

Even today, Geoff and I left the house at 5:30 a.m. for Kampala. I grocery shopped and he dealt with machine business for the maize mill. In times past I would have spent a lot of time complaining about my very full days leading up to today, which made me tired and brought nighttime processing of days' events (read, I didn't sleep much last night due to worry). But, I focused on the good today--a simple exercise in appreciating the rain, the boda boda rides I took from place to place, the free and yummy coffee I was able to take 30 minutes to savor in the middle of the morning and the great salad and sandwich I had for lunch with my man. Thankfulness for all the small things gives a  perspective afforded by joy in God and is a needed blast of oxygen!

I have written a lot of words in this space. Yet, I haven't given an abundance of specifics. I pray you are able to glean what you need.

I pray that we all can become increasingly adept at securing our oxygen masks. May what we give to others be from a place of rest in Him rather than from our own restless striving.