Porch Parables

Frequently, the Holy Spirit speaks to me in symbolism. I asked why once and the response was something like, "I speak to everyone differently, but you like parables." God speaks our language. Amen!

The Puppy Parable

I came outside to have my devotional this morning. Caramela, the sweetest boxer puppy this side of the equator, was overjoyed to see me. She knows me and knows that I am the source of her joy. For many days now, she has been tied down - not by me, but by others due to her own shortcomings. This sweet puppy has yet to learn not to pee on the floor. As I came out to untie her so that she can spend time with me she became very excited and jumped and wagged her tail. Caramela's been lonely through the night, and spending time with me is what she needs. But she was still tied down, and that leash tangled her with many problems. One of those was a glass jar left out to be recycled. As she pranced the jar crashed to the floor; I had to sternly tell her to stay away so that she wouldn't harm herself on the shards. I settled down on the bench and invited her to join me. "Yes," I thought, "this is how it is supposed to be."

I was surprised when a few short minutes later, another dog passed by and Caramela joined the crowd to bark and chase after it. "What happened my dear? I thought this was our time." She came back and wandered all around me - to the left, right and even below my chair - but she didn't come back to me. Then, she found a piece of glass that I had missed. It was sticky and still sweet and she began to lick it. In my surprise that she didn't yet understand that this glass was harmful, I waited a moment before going to retrieve her. As I placed her back on my lap I was torn between hoping that she hadn't been hurt, and hoping that the glass had cut her so that the next time she would trust me and know that the sweetness was only a deceptive sheen. As we sat, I could feel how much faster her short heartbeat is than my slow rhythm. I have a soft spot for her, and I want her to be well.

The Porch Parable

Another day, I was in the midst of caring for grandmother, when two children rode by one bikes. Seeing a fruit tree heavy with cashew fruit just a few feet from my fence they slowed. In this country, my light skin marks me as foreign, and the people will assume that I do not know the language and culture before they will assume that I do. We looked at one another for some moments. Grandmother called, "I think they want some fruit honey." Indeed, they were not the first to stop and gape at our overripe tree while I was working in the garden. Shades of red show in the tree and the crimson pear shaped ones are the best. But the family doesn't much like this fruit tree that just happens to be in their garden - another two feet and it would have been out on the street for all - so the fruit falls uneaten to the ground where the gardener sweeps it up for the trash heap. People had come by the other day to ask if they could do the work of harvesting it. They would sell them in the street and, like the many other who sell bananas and coconuts, would have provided for their families. But our family was busy with its own affairs and I said it would be better for them to come back another time.

So I looked at the boys, and they looked at me; I knew that I could communicate, but felt rather shy seeing these needy strangers. I had many things to do yet that day, but their request was a small one so I honored it. Not really knowing which fruit would be best, I passed over many large, crimson but cracked fruits and finally settled on two small, pinkish but perfect fruits which I tossed over the fence to them. Only later would I learn that those cracked fruits which might make me sick would not harm the local people steeped in the local water from birth. The younger boy caught one, then the second and I was happy to see that this child knew enough to share with his brother. They took a bite and began to ride away. "God bless you!" I called out as they rode away.

God will have to, because I didn't.

Laura in on the Action!

My Haitian sisters!

Mary Lily and Me

These photos were pretty easy to upload since we just took them on the mac but I've got some great ones from my camera coming up soon!

Every dog pee pees the way he knows how (haitian proverb)

Well, I've made it to Haiti and as I've been told, the experience is nothing like I expected (haha).

I've heard so much about the joy and friendlieness of the people and the deforestation of the land. The first is true and obvious; the second is true and not so obvious. The country is so much more beautiful than the Dominican Republic; the mission base (school and pharmacy) we're working on is in the slums... on ocean front property. Today I watched a man in a traditional canoe keep bailing it out.

There's a part of me that is completely stir crazy. I've seen 1 (delightful, but still 1) patient. And yet, the Lord is good. My joy, of course, is in the people. Laura, 15, and Mary Lily, 5 are my buddies at the children's home we're staying at. Laura has a quick smile and we manage to communicate through a crazy mix of French (6 years later, some little bits are still in there), English, Spanish and Creole in that order. Mary Lily is so hungry for love; I've tried to keep that balance between showing her that she is loved and knowing that I will be leaving on Monday and that its wrong to make that too difficult for this tiny child.

Oh, and I've gotten my hair done in cornrows. Solidarity? Maybe, that's my intention at least, but it was also just fun (if painful) to have Laura do my hair. I was going to let it just fall out, since I look pretty goofy but Mary Lily redid it for me today. Ah well; there are pictures; Tia will be jealous I'm sure.

The best part of today was spending some time on the beach with the kids. Its literally right next door to this house as well. We had to climb through a construction area because they walled off the old stairs. In the US everyone would be all about the beach, but here's its mostly pebbles and trash. The kids can't swim and there are stinging sea urchans anyways so we didn't go too deep but we did mess around in the surf (not my original plan). I'm really holding to Tony's words, the missionary from here in Haiti, that the most important thing for a missionary is "flexibility." He told me about a missionary doctor that God took through 3 continents learning languages - and never doing medicine until he finally got back to the states. I pray that isn't in God's plan for me, though that flexibility is a lot harder than I would have expected.

I've also talked with Monolo a local pastor a bit while we were en route from Gran Guave back to Petite Guave (the Happy House). I was interested to hear that he didn't know anything about Zanma Lamnasti (Partners in Health), though my accent could be part of the problem.

The country and people are beautiful, but I couldn't be in Haiti long term. It isn't where my heart is called, though I do hope that God chooses a beautiful place like it for me to work. I'm glad Ed Lockett has been called here.

Finally I think the most beautiful thing is seeing the missionaries from the US, DR and Haiti all really working together; getting supplies, people, dreaming and laughing together. In this mission field it really is all one big family. I've been made part of it so quickly and without ever thinking to take that title on myself. I guess I have though, amen.

The family and house

Well the truth is that I don´t have much to report from yesterday ... I must have done something stupid because I was totally wiped out while I had some Montezuma´s revenge.  Yea Ciperoflaxin!  Today I´m back to normal.  I slept for most of the morning, I have never been so grateful to have my own room, then by evening I was feeling better.  Abuela (grandma) and I sat on the porch and I read to her from Patch Adams´s book about his institute.  The lights and water were out and I wasn´t really thinking ahead so when it got dark I bumbeled around for a while before I found the candles and matches.  Luckily for me Diane is all about decorating and the stove is gas, so I knew right where to look for the matches.  

         Abuela remindes me of Omi a lot.  She´s had a stroke and cannot use her left arm, and she´s just the sweetest little lady.  The only major difference is that she´s terrified of the dogs ... and the family has 3!  She´s OK as long as they aren´t too close, but I tell you what, its hard to help a scared little lady.  The other thing that really remindes of Omi is that apparently she was much harder to live with before her stroke.  Now we talk about God and I try to read her the bible every day.  Her favorite book is the Psalms, and I try to stick with the Psalms of praise.  She´s so grateful it almost makes me sad, there are a lot of family politics surrounding her care.  She probably only has a few years left so should she just be able to do and eat what she wants or does she need closely monitered care involving walks and healthy eating.  I´m of the second opinion.  We´ve went on a walk earlier this week and I think she really enjoys the time outside, because when she´s left to her own devices she just sits and watches whatever is going on around her.  I try to keep her updated on the family news, and I´m always amazed by how much medicine she knows.  Every time I talk about a new disease, like dermatitis, she knows  some little tidbit like that its an autoimmune disorder.  She´s really paying attention to the doctors around her.

The youngest son Lucas (Luke) wants to be a vet, so the house is full of animals.  They have 3 dogs (one is the sweetest little boxer puppy that likes to sit on my lap while I do office work), two guinee pigs, and two birds.  The kids are still learning to be responsible with them and that causes quite a few problems.  The puppy still isn´t potty trained but sleeps in the house and she can escape through the fense, and the boys (9 and 11) tend to give the dogs just one bowl of food to share which has led to 2 dog fights while I´ve been here.  Asi es la vida.

Lucas, 9, is full of energy.  He loves to play games like 500 with me and run around.  He´ll also tell you like it is.  I´ve tried to get him to tell me exactly what my errors are in Spanish, but so far all I´ve gotten is :you don´t know what you´re saying:.  Ah well, I´ve got my grammar manuel from Dr. Mata´s class and I knew I needed to pull it out.

Issac, 11, is the showman.  I would love to get him invovled in a theather group because he´s always preforming and quick with a taunt.  I´ve taught him a few card games, rummy, speed and 21 and he´s getting pretty popular at school for knowing new fun things from what I hear.

Annika, 16, is harder to read.  Well, I guess I´m really just saying she´s 16 and therefore not as interested in hanging out with me.  She smiles when I tease her, but mostly just does her own thing.  She´ve very social, always on the phone or whatnot.  And she has a cute little med student boyfriend, 18, who is just starting with the Chemistries and Biochem.  I´m not going to lie, part of me is ridiculously jealous that med students get to start at 18 here.  But then, the pay is low and the profession is dominated by women, so I´ll leave the US alone on that one.

I spend most of my time helping Diane with her errands.  She´s completely overwhelmed and I hope that by being here, I´ll give her enough time that she can relax and enjoy spending some time with her family.

Fran(cisco) hasn´t been around much since he´s been leading groups in Haiti, but I definately think Diane is rigth when she says that he has a pastor´s heart.  Its so obvious that he dotes on Diane and the kids.  I´ve got this amazing series of photos of him when we were looking at this piece of property yesterday.  He has his friend´s baby and he´s gone off to sit in the shade and he´s showing him a flower.  Then Issac goes over and sits at his Dad´s feet and both of them are playing with the baby.  The light and the plants around them are amazing.  Later, I was able to get a few similar ones with the baby´s family and I´m trying to upload those photos so I can email them the copies, but as you might guess the internet is fairly slow here so you have to be patient.

The other major developement in life here is that the Sabados are considering doing some major fundraising to buy a new guest house since the current one only sleeps 30 and they´re often over full.  Also they´d like the new property to give them a place to run the first hospice in the country.  Diane has been watching one particular compound outside of the city for a few years and it was just repossesed by the bank so its for sale for a fraction of its value.  We´ve already been to the property 3 times and the grounds are exquisite, a real feat of gardening, but when we finally got the realator and went inside yesterday it was pretty obvious that the house was too small for the vision we talked about.  There are possibilities like builiding another house on the tennis court which would definately be a lot bigger than either the guest house or their home, but I´m uneasy with it.  If God wants me to help them fundraise to buy that property as a place of rest for the dying it really could be a beautiful thing, but its too grand for my own long term dreams.  The boys and Diane are all for it, but Annika is worried that it will make it difficult for her friends to visit and that the support staff, who she is also good friends with, won´t be able to come to the new property.  Fran is also concerned that the property might be too much pomp for what they are wanting to do, but concedes that it does seem that there are many signs from God regarding it.  The property is already named Rancho Evangelica, (which I later learned means Evangela´s Ranch not Evangelistic Ranch which would be Rancho Evangelisitica), the property is being looked after by a Pastor and a grounds keeper named Santo (Saint) and one of the other pastors has had several prophetic dreams before and believes that she dreamed about the pool earlier this week.  But as she says, God has to confirm it. I will say, I was really impressed by how the Sabados are handeling the prospect of buying a new piece of property.  They called in 3 other pastors that they are involved with here in the DR to consider the property and pray for discernment.  I´m not sure if that would even have occured to me.  One in particular, pastor Ric, Fran called a man of prayer and it was clear that he is a leader in the community.  I hope that with much guidance and prayer, the right choice will be made.

Backlog the Beginning

Travel and Arrival

Of course first days in country are always long and its difficult to know what is important.  Still the song that continues to ring through my heart is simply “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here!” 

The day started early; 5:45 to put get up and get out.  Two hours on the road and we were in Orlando.  Palm trees are being planted all over and it is the most naturally beautiful airport I’ve ever seen.  You have to take an elevated glass train over a few ponds and some forest to get from the security checkpoint to the terminal.  I wonder how much longer that will exist; it seems like such a clear security hazard.  You can imagine anyone willing to brave the possibility of alligators bush-wacking his way onto the tarmack.  All the same, it was a relief after growing up next to Harts Field Jackson International.  That Atlanta airport is literally over a mile long to access the furthest terminals.

At gate 82 I met up with Paul Emery; he is in country to arrange shipping for the 8 shipping crates of relief supplies that have been donated to the church.  I was amazed to see how empty the plane was.  I had the entire row to myself and three other empty rows in front of me.  I briefly considered joining the rest of the passengers, but then awoke from my delusion.  It has only been 3 weeks since the first earthquake, but it looks like the first world is already loosing interest.  News, like all forms of entertainment, must be bite sized and fixed within the week.  Oh honey, that is soo over! 

With ample room and a nice cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee the two hour flight was soon over.  Diane graciously meet Paul and I at the airport.

In the car, they quickly delved into the heart of their work for the next several years if not decades: coordination of relief work to Haiti.  Its a type of thinking I recognize, when your heart is truly in service there are few people that you can truly brainstorm with, so when you find one of those people the talk is instantaneous and deeply gratifying.

 As you would expect some groups in Haiti are doing well IHOPs relief workers for example, but some are making questionable choices.  I’m not surprised.  I’ve been in the church and specifically involved in ministry with the poor long enough to know that there are often dissenting opinions among the workers.  People do this kind of work for their own reasons.  They take it home with them, they wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares about it, they may take home a paycheck but it is never what the world would say comperable services are worth.  So hearing the frustration in Paul’s voice and the affirmation from Diane did not rattle or even surprise me.  I’ve spoken similar frustrations as recently as last week in my own ministry.  But frustration must bring us to our knees.  We must pray that God will soften hearts to do the right thing.  When doctors are needed they should come.  But when unskilled laborers come to learn to build a wall around donated supplies the rob men of jobs.  Rather than

To me this feels like the Shane Claiborn quote “I used to ask God what He was planning for my life, but now I just look for what God is doing in the world and see what I can do to help.” 

God is moving here in the island of contrasts.

To me, the island today seems the island of colors.  The city is alive with ancient trees – half of them blooming, and most balconies seem to have flowerpots.  It’s a small thing, and in the best parts of town I’m certain, but so much more beautiful than the cities I’ve known in America where the tree are small and sickly – filled with mistletoe.  The powerlines look like hair in the drain; what could you do if just one went out?  And the traffic makes me very nervous.  I will be grateful if I never have to drive here.

Once we got to the correct district, we began asking for directions; the first few policemen knew the way, but we still couldn’t find it.  The next few said only “drive another block and ask the next policeman.”  It was finally a well dressed passerby who knew the way.  The main street we were on wasn’t marked but he knew the way and even offered to go with us to help us find it.  What a generous gift of his time.

Our first stop this evening was to visit a closed restaurant.  The owner, Victoria, is part of a political women’s group with Diane.  Diane had never spoken about her work as a doctor, but suddenly found herself the center of their last meeting as the group began looking into ways to support Haiti.  Woman after woman in this group of 180, mostly expats from here and there, steps forward.

“Could someone use tents?”

“We have tarps”

“Do you need medical supplies?”

The Lord provides.

Victoria’s restaurant had the grandeur of possibility.  Three stories of arches with the floor plan centered around a glass celinged patio brought to mind the ageing Southern mansions of my home.  The business had failed, and now halfway into remodeling it to be a home, the couple decided that the 1.5 million dollar (yes, dollar) home was no longer worth the investment.  There was a catch in the still glamorous New Yorker’s voice as she showed us around; the floors were covered in dust and the walls had patches of plaster here and there.  Her seven year old daughter slowly rode a purple tasseled tricycle around the emptied space.  The visit gave a box of pots and a family sized tent for Haiti.

Dinner was sushi and good conversation.  Half way through the waitress spilled the soy sauce on Diane’s kakhi pants.  I offered to run to the car and get her a pair to trade so she could wash them out before the stain set but she just shrugged and said, “its just not a big deal.  I can still use them, or maybe God wants me to buy new pants.” 

Later the power would shut down for a minute or two “thats normal, but hey, it won’t mess with the sushi!”

Fran, short for Francisco, and Issac would join us later.  Diane’s husband and son; the otherwise vegan family was thrilled to get out for something different.  As for me; I’m thrilled to be in a house that eats healthfully after my last year of less than perfect choices and living in Argentina – like texas, but with shorter cowboys – a few summers ago.  Issac is11, I think, and dug into his tuna tartar.

Next on the errand list was a stop in what must be a nicer barrio to pick up some donated tarps for Haiti and guniee pigs for the children.  Lucas, 9, want to be a vet.  In Peru, the guinee pigs would be a delicacy.  But here, he is free to name and love them. 

The houses are all fenced here, and the flowers are glorious.  Trinidad

Once we got to the correct district, we began asking for directions; the first few policemen knew the way, but we still couldn’t find it.  The next few said only “drive another block and ask the next policeman.”  It was finally a well dressed passerby who knew the way.  The main street we were on wasn’t marked but he knew the way and even offered to go with us to help us find it.  What a generous gift of his time.

Mercifully, relations between the two halves of this one whole island are the best they have ever been.  Imagine what it would be like if there was a massive natural disaster near the Mexican border of Texas.  Just as many Southern Americans see latinos as uneducated, dangerous people who take the worst jobs and speak a strange language, Dominicans tend to view Haitians. 

            Here we are dreaming new dreams and I know that by God’s grace and with His timing I have landed in the perfect place for me.  Some of my happiest times in college were dreaming with friends who loved Mercy Health Center.  Now, not even 12 hours in country, I stood with Paul and Diane and heard the thoughts of my heart spoken by others.  “The church in America is dying.  She is so focused on the Disney World consumerism and serving those idols that we have forgotten or ignored many of Christ’s teachings.  I am as guilty as any other.  Fear and pride are my foolish burdens.  Instead of serving the poor as we were called we pay the governement a pitance to do an incomplete job.  But what if we equipped leaders with mentoring, discipleship, language training and practical experience in missions?  What if we learned to be a people who could follow?  My brothers, I tell you Christ gave us the perfect example of following His father’s will and we can do no differently.  This experience will be my preperation for medical school.

            It is wonderful to see the adults as concerned with the pedestrian moments, with donated pots and tarps as my fellow college kids and graduates are.  The sad truth is that my last humanitarian, social justice, or whatever you want to call it ministry was composed of two groups of leaders: the kids doing the photocopying, phone answering and even cleaning while the adults did the administriatorial duties that to which I still do not aspire.  Neither group knew the other.    

            One of the most hopeful moments tonight was hearing from Paul that Passage Church, the black church partnering with Paul’s church, Grace, gives him hope for the innercity.  White Americans understand how to do missions abroad, but hit walls of frustration in our own inner city.  Black churches, he says, know how to minister to the inner city, but have similar problems abroad.  That makes perfect sense with the body of Christ that I know.  You are a hand; I am a foot, and God’s Kingdom depends on us all.  

?Como te 'ta'?

Saturday: Day 3

Missionary life feels like a strange mix of a crazy night in clinic at Mercy and a vacation. I get to wear tevas and shorts, no one wears makeup (praise God!), but there is so so so much to do! Anyone who has seen me be the crazy secretary at Mercy knows what I mean. You get so into the groove of things that you just don't stop. Diane, the missionary hosting me, feels it too. In the last two days I've hardly seen the woman stop. Believe it or not, this amazing doc got up at 3 AM just to make breakfast for a group of other missionaries. When I got up at 8 she had been up all morning working and aside from a few hours of nap in the afternoon she worked until 11 PM in the office here with me. I guess residency preps you to do that kind of stuff.

My quiet time with God means so much now; instead of being a discipline its like water at the end of a long run. I read the book of James last night. Its so short, but was so perfect for my mood. Normally I read slowly, but reading last night was just being wrapped into strong arms saying its OK. God is so real here. This afternoon the internet and copier inexplicablly went out for a few hours. Thats not surprising really, but the funny thing was that we didn't have to do anything to fix it. I kinda felt like it was God saying "take a break!" So I took a quick nap and then went out back to pick mangos for the kids at Abuela (grandma's| school. Well, school might not be the right word for it; in all honesty its really just an older lady who looks after the neighborhood kids for the day and really lights into anyone who dares to hit one of them. Sadly, abuse is really common in Latin America. The Sabados help support her; afterall, getting the kids off the street and loosely organized is better than them never having anything to do -- thats a real breeding ground for trouble.

The Sabados are really looking after that whole neighborhood as well. There's a girl who has atypical dermatitis - an immunological condition. He parents are doing well relatively speaking; they run a minimart out of their house for the neighborhood. Sitting in their backyard, it was easy to romantisize being a missionary doctor. Diane spent 30 minutes or so explaining the treatement - bathing with mineral oil and no soap, and dietary changes away from , and politics, and well, everything. I even had time to ask about some of the flowers - Trinidad y Viela de Novia (girlfriend's veil). Their yard was beautiful; it had grass and trees shading a place for the kids to play, chickens, a pot of stew that I hear tastes like pumpkin pie (maybe next time I'll know) and the whole family was spending their Saturday there. Seeing how much time families spend together and how much they really depend on each other makes me think that we're missing something in America.

This next piece is going to sound a bit formal; its from a thank you letter for financial donations that I've been getting ready to mail out today, but I want to record this story here and there's lots more to say... but writing is officially cutting into sleeping!

Our ministry here in the Dominican Republic continues to flourish. We have the opportunity to treat a gracious young man named Augustine. Three months ago, Augustine was a successful chaufeur until a gang attacked and robbed him of both his health and his livliehood. With both arms fractured and one infected with an antibiotic resistant strain of bacteria called MRSA, feared in both the US and abroad, Augustine has been forced to depend on his extended family’s charity to support his wife and two children. As I write, Augustine is in reconstructive surgery and we are hopeful that God will bless him with the return of 90% of his arm function and a cure for the infection.

The most poignant moment with Augustine was last night. After the team of docs put him in a quick drying cast (they really are cool) and discussed how to switch around certain ligaments to restore function (surgery is sounding good), Augustine went home to get his ready for the next day. I assumed that the team would pick him up. To beat the crowd to customs they were planning on leaving at 4 AM. The team was going out to Cotos food court - a french style Walmart - for dinner so I declined to go. Pizza just isn't necessary - total tangent here, but God totally took care of me when he put me with a family dedicated to eating well too - so I took the car back to the Sabado's house. We had made the trip like 5 times that day in the light, but in the dark everything looks different. I took a few wrong turns but I made it in the end. Well, its a good thing I just wanted to go change and read because 30 minutes later I hear "hey, hey" coming from the gate. Paul Emery - former missionary kid, my ticket over here, and the happiest man I've EVER seen in an airport just because he hates the US and loves serving - was upstairs so I let Augustine in the gate and got Paul; really just to be safe. After a few minutes we all agreed that it made the most sense for Augustine to stay at the guest house with the team - why should they have to go fetch him afterall and Diane had already OKed it, so I got to have about a hours worth of conversation with my peer while we got everything set up for him. How cool eh? It was really interesting to get to talk to a 22 year old and see his worldview. He was really excited to hear stories from the US - disneyland as Paul calls it - but I wanted to break down some of those great expectations so I just said that it had good points and bad points like every country but that I didn't really like how little value it placed on the family and how individualistic it was. I really took him off guard with that.

Time to sleep! Hold on to the Lord tightly!

Perfect Timing

I could not have left today.

My father ran out of his medication Sunday night, like most people, he figured that one night would not make a difference and that he would just refill the prescription the next day. One sad truism, though, is that the body continually adapts. After several years of taking his heart medication at set intervals his body had come to depend on it; yesterday morning he woke feeling odd. My father has an unusually strong heart - both literally and figuratively. So his normal resting heart rate is normally in the 30s; yesterday it was 105.

I woke to my mother's voice: "your father isn't feeling well; we're going to the emergency room."

This wasn't the first time.

So I spent the day doing small errands and looking after the family dog.

I also took apart a tree.

It sounds awfully dramatic doesn't it? You probably imagine me, ax in hand tears streaming down my face, screaming with every swing of the blade.

Actually, it took the whole day.

Over Christmas, I planted a vegetable garden for my parents. We have never been that big on the gift giving and had decided to do our own version of the Advent Conspiracy. My parents new house is on a fairly shady lot and I've spent several days taking down branches to make more pasture for Mom's horse - Raz - and clear space for the garden. So yesterday I took down a fairly young Blackjack Oak. Unlike my mother's adored Live Oaks with spreading branches and majestic arches, Blackjack Oaks are gnarled and quickly covered in tick infested spanish moss.

Cutting down a tree by hand takes some time, taking it apart and making stacks of wood from it requires a mind-numbing methodicalness. It is slow, repetitive work that allows a lot of time for prayer but requires enough attention that you can be lost in contemplation of the next step for hours.

It was exactly what I needed.

"'Have faith in God,' Jesus answered. 'I tell you the truth, if anyone says to this mountain, "Go, throw yourself into the sea," and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen, it will be done for him. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.'" (Mark 11:22-24).

I confess, I still don't understand this verse. But yesterday I prayed and I worked. But I did not worry.

Oh yea, and I asked God to let me keep working, because I needed it and it was kind of drizzling, and it was supposed rain. But it didn't.

My father came home in time for dinner too. Now he is at the cardiologist and its raining. But I'm writing - not doubting.

Provision

Yesterday Nicolette gave a beautiful talk at Grace giving the details of the provision of supplies for Haiti. Here is my furiously noted transcript:

______________________________

Nicolette takes the stage nervously. I immediately recognize her lithe frame and funky black glasses. Nicolette is a Shands Neurological ICU (Intensive Care) nurse. She spends her days with some of the most heart-wrenching patients in the hospital, so when she says that her mission trip to Haiti last year with Ed Lockett really touched her heart, she says its from the perspective of one who has already seen much suffering. As Haitian politician and intellectual Georges Anglade once said "If we can just move Haiti from misery to poverty, we'll have done a lot."

The experience really touched Nicolette's heart and since then she has felt a strong connection to the "Island of Contrasts." So when the earthquake hit on January the 12th, she didn't even consider whether or not to sign up with her home church, Grace United Methodist, to volunteer in whatever way she could. The magic letters RN -registered nurse - behind her name brought her to the attention of the World Missions staff and it wasn't long before she found herself with the title of Medical Coordinator and in charge of securing donations of supplies -- and no idea what to do about it. But as Pastor Denny pointed out, "God doesn't call the equipped, like the stuttering Moses, he equips those He calls."

Not really expecting much, Nicolette asked her boss if she could put a box in the staff room to collect donations. A friend offered to go down to Supply and Distribution Services - a floor something like a library of racks and racks of medical supplies and department in its own right - to ask if they could have a cardboard box for donations.

"What for?" asked one of the workers.

"We're collecting supplies for Haiti."

"Oh, I think I have something for you. Meet me at 10:00 tomorrow at the loading dock with 2 vans."

Nicolette could hardly believe her ears. The next day she would hardly believe her eyes.

"From here on over is for you, for free." The supplier gestured to an entire wall of boxes - easily a semi-truck's worth of materials.

Nicolette clearly couldn't take it all, so she began furiously sorting. Gangrene and crushing wounds were most common so that would mean priority on bandages, antibiotics and IV fluids.

"Oh hey, I've got a man over there, Mr. Turner, who wants to help you." Nicolette looked over to see a semi-truck pulling up. "He says that if you box it he'll load and move it."

"Wow, we could certainly use it, but I'm not sure that we have space for all of this stuff."

"Yea, I understand. But he says he'll donate the use of his warehouse too."

Later she would realize that they needed a fork life and dock plate as well, and Mr. Turner would go on to gladly donate not only those items but 5 days of his services as almost 100 volunteers from both Grace at Forth Worth - a predominately white church - and Passage Church - a predominately black church with a large Haitian population came together to organize the supplies for the workers in Haiti. 21 pallets of rice and beans from these churches, another two semi-trucks of medical supplies and labeled simply "third world" were also donated by Mr. Turner and his wife who had been collecting them through the years for just such a time as this. All of these materials would be boxed into 20 foot containers to be shipped by barge to those who found themselves so desperately in need of compassion and grace.

After even just the use of his truck, Nicolette and Grace church would have been thrilled to promote the generosity of Mr. Turner and A1 Shipping - his personal business. But he was adamant that he wanted no form of recognition. In fact, I only found out his name and that he owned a business by interrogating another volunteer after the fact.

_______________________________________

¹"Be careful not to do your 'acts of righteousness' before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.

²"So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. ³But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing,⁴so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

Matthew 6:1-4

Quickly Answered Prayers: The Problem and The Solution

Yesterday the UK Telegraph (but not the US media) reported that due to policital indicision over who would pay for the care of the refugees - the US or the State of Florida - airlifts of critical patients were stopped. Today they were resumed; praise God! Here are the details.

Haiti earthquake: US stops military evacuations to American hospitals

Source: UK Telegraph
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/centralamericaandthecaribbean/haiti/7121504/Haiti-earthquake-US-stops-military-evacuations-to-American-hospitals.html

Doctors tending seriously injured victims of the Haiti earthquake have warned they will die needlessly after a dispute over hospital bills and capacity halted medical flights to the US.

US military flights of patients to Florida, only two hours by air from Port-au-Prince, and other states have been suspended leaving hundreds in need of urgent surgery which cannot be performed with the facilities available in the Haitian capital.

Barth Green, a senior Miami surgeon working at Port-au-Prince's airport, said at least 100 of his most critically injured patients, many of them children, could die within days unless evacuated.

There were "hundreds of thousands of critically injured and severely disabled Haitians, and we're only trying to send a few hundred to America", he said.

"We have to resume these flights. Letting them die, that's not America."

However, US military officials said they had to suspend flights because American hospitals were increasingly unwilling to accept the patients, many suffering from head and spinal injuries, or severe burns.

The officials blamed the suspension on a dispute between the US federal government and Florida's state government over who should pay for the medical care.

Charlie Crist, Florida's governor and a possible future Republican presidential candidate, last week asked Kathleen Sebelius, the US health secretary, to activate the federal National Disaster Medical System, which pays for the treatment of disaster victims.

He warned that his financially troubled state's "health care system is quickly reaching saturation, especially in the area of high level trauma care".

A spokesman for the governor later said the state needed "a plan of action and reimbursement for the care we are providing".

President Barack Obama has promised Haiti America's "full support" and the US has despatched thousands of military personnel,donated £188 million in aid and evacuated a435 patients for medical treatment.

The perception that it cannot provide urgent medical assistance to a few hundred more desperate cases without bickering over money caused embarrassment at the weekend.

While admitting there was no solution in sight, the White House insisted the airlift suspension was due to "logistical issues" such as hospital capacity rather than funding, while Mr Crist's aides said they knew of no local hospitals which had refused to accept patients.

A spokesman for the Florida Division of Emergency Management said Mr Crist's request was prompted by problems of poor co-ordination and limited resources.

However, local health officials have made clear that cost - or at least reimbursement - remains a pressing issue for them.

Civilian flights from Haiti have not been stopped but doctors say military planes are much more effective as they are larger and better equipped.

The White House said federal officials were trying to expand hospital capacity so they can make more room for critically injured patients aboard the USNS Comfort hospital ship anchored off the coast of Haiti's capital.

The United Nations meanwhile began a major distribution of aid in the Haitian capital and aims to feed two million people. Under the scheme women will be given vouchers for rice to feed their families.

Nine Americans were arrested in Haiti at the weekend after trying to take 33 children out of the country. A Baptist group's bus carrying children aged between two months to 14 years was stopped at the border with the Dominican Republic where they were destined for an orphanage.

Haiti's government last week suspended international adoptions amid fears that parentless or lost children are more vulnerable than ever to child trafficking.
_________________________________________

Solution:
U.S. to Resume Airlift of Injured Haitians
Source: NYT
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/01/world/americas/01airlift.html?hp

WASHINGTON — The White House said Sunday that it would resume a United States military airlift of Haitians seriously injured in the Jan. 12 earthquake, reversing a five-day suspension that doctors worried would strand patients with devastating burns, head and spinal cord trauma, amputations and other wounds.

The flights were halted on Wednesday after Florida officials complained that their hospitals were overwhelmed and that they needed a plan for reimbursement for the care they were providing. Federal and state officials worked through the weekend to address concerns enough to restart the medical evacuations.

“Having received assurances that additional capacity exists both here and among our international partners, we determined that we can resume these critical flights,” said Tommy Vietor, a White House spokesman.

With an estimated 200,000 people in Haiti dead and a similar number injured, the halt to the evacuations quickly evolved into a roiling controversy distracting from the enormous efforts made by the United States to help. Aid groups complained that the suspension was putting lives at risk, while officials from Florida to Washington provided conflicting explanations and disclaimed responsibility for the decision.

Gov. Charlie Crist of Florida wrote to the Obama administration last week warning that “Florida’s health care system is quickly reaching saturation” and requesting that the National Disaster Medical System be activated to help with the cost. The military suspended the flights, saying that Florida hospitals had stopped accepting patients.

But Mr. Crist adamantly denied that and, as Florida newspapers dubbed it the “airlift scandal,” said he never wanted to stop taking the injured; he only wanted more help.

The White House, acutely aware of the lessons from Hurricane Katrina, stepped in to resolve the problem. Thomas E. Donilon, the president’s deputy national security adviser, led an effort all weekend to address the capacity issue; among other things, the government persuaded other Caribbean nations to help with urgent cases.

Mr. Vietor said the issue of who would pay for treating evacuated Haitians was not the reason for the suspension of the flights, only the concern about whether Florida hospitals could handle the additional patients.

“This wasn’t about cost,” he said. The matter of reimbursement raised by Florida officials is a separate concern, he added, saying, “we’re having ongoing conversations about that issue.”

Until their suspension, the flights had transported hundreds of gravely injured patients, all but a handful to Florida. David Halstead, an official with the Florida Division of Emergency Management, who is coordinating the state’s rescue effort for earthquake victims, said by telephone that Florida has treated 530 Haitian patients and that 190 remained in its hospitals.

“The rest of the states combined have accepted four patients, and it’s not that other states aren’t willing,” he said. “We can certainly accept patients, but there has to be a plan.”

In Port-au-Prince, doctors welcomed the news of resumed airlifts, which they called vital for some of their neediest patients.

“Keeping them in this environment, it’s like you’re sentencing them to a life of misery,” said Dr. Brian Crawford, a volunteer with the International Medical Corps, a relief and development group in Santa Monica, Calif.

He said he hoped that many states, not just Florida, would find a way to share the burden of Haiti’s broken bodies and minds.

He said he had one particular patient in mind: an 11-year-old girl who suffered a severe spinal fracture during the earthquake. She ended up a paraplegic, he said, and a few days ago Dr. Crawford transferred her from the General Hospital here to a charity hospital outside the city, which he hoped would lead to a flight out.

“This could be an open window for her,” he said, referring to the airlifts. “Hopefully it will be.”

The White House said patients were being identified for transfer and evaluated by doctors to ensure that they can handle the flights. In addition, the White House said that the government was arranging for in-flight care for children in need, and that Florida was designating which hospitals could receive the influx of patients. Mr. Vietor said the flights would probably evacuate “a couple hundred of the most severely injured patients.”

Ultimately, though, evacuations are not a long-term solution to the problem. Dr. Barth A. Green, co-founder of Project Medishare for Haiti, a nonprofit group that has been evacuating patients, said the American government has decided to create “a world-class trauma hospital” at the Port-au-Prince airport along with private relief groups. At the same time, a 250-bed hospital for post-operative care and rehabilitation will be completed, and after that a second 250-bed facility for rehabilitation.

“Things are the way they should be again,” he said. “We’re in sync. We are going to show Haiti what we are capable of.”

Confusion disrupted a smaller humanitarian effort involving Haitian children. A Baptist church in Idaho, whose members were among 10 people detained for trying to take 33 children out of Haiti, said Sunday that the team was “falsely arrested” and that the church was trying “to clear up the misunderstanding.”

A statement on the Web site of the church, Central Valley Baptist in Meridian, Idaho, said the team traveled to Haiti to rescue children from orphanages destroyed in the quake. The children, the statement said, were headed for an orphanage across the border in the Dominican Republic. Haitian officials detained the church members out of concern the children might be susceptible to trafficking and said some of the children might have parents.

Peter Baker reported from Washington and Joseph Berger from New York. Damien Cave and Shaila Dewan contributed reporting from Port-au-Prince, Haiti.
_______________________________________

Praise God for His faithfullness!

To Scientists, Scematics Teach Truth

Source: The Washington Post

Keep praying!

Visions of EKGs dancing in my head

Well I've made the 6 hour drive down to Gainesville Florida; its funny to think that flying down to the DR will take 1/3 of the time it took to drive home. The US is huge as far as countries go. Hispanola (Haiti + the DR) is about the size of Virginia.

This morning at 1my mom and I helped about 20 volunteers from church sort supplies that were donated by local hospitals. Gainesville has a medical school so there are lots of hospitals nearby; the church had so many supplies donated that we had to rent out a warehouse complete with palates and hydraulic lifts to hold it all.

From 10 this morning to 2:30 we got through about half, 80, of the boxes to be sorted. IVs, tubing, EKG supplies, OR supplies, meds, gloves, syringes are dancing in my head. I didn't realize it until we were done, but my parents have spent the last two days doing the same thing with donated clothing. The group had great camaraderie. I spent a lot of time with a 3rd grader named Abraham; I thought of him and his brother as my little ducks. They had tons of energy and loved helping so I'd do the hard stuff and delegate anything that was easy to them. I was glad that I got to give their mother a break. She seemed very tired when we got started, but after an hour or two everyone was really in the groove of working together.

It was drizzeling as my mother and I walked into the warehouse. A combination of the rain, backseat driving and my short fuze for such behavior had made us snippy, but we were able to forget those feelings as the enormity of our task confronted us. Gainesville has a medical school so there are lots of hospitals nearby; a few tenacious nurses from Grace Church so many medical supplies donated that we had to rent out a warehouse complete with palates and hydraulic lifts to hold it all. What began as 11 pallets on the 22nd had bloomed over the past week to cover two entire walls of the warehouse. Never mind the two truck loads (almost $40,000) of rice and beans purchased from the general fund and the generous donations of $27,850 from the church body over the first weekend following the disaster.

Walking in, I met Nicolette - a spunky nurse in black underarmour and glasses - a combination of sporty and sensibility I will hold in deep respect in the future. She and another kind and efficient (harried?) nurse who I would think of as La Dame en Rose would become our tutors in med-speak and answer questions on everything from EKG lead lines to depends.

Still, it was an older married couple who were the keepers of the keys and beningly in charge. The reminded me of the Anderson's from A Bigger Vision Winter Shelter in Athens Georgia (http://www.biggervisionathens.org/). They've retired and now they have devoted their time to doing God's work. Beautiful eh? White haired and wiry, with a smile on my face and a song in my heart; that's the way I hope to go.

After handshakes and a hand waving tour we set down to work. The wall of boxes was 5 rows deep and taller than my head. Little did we volunteers know, but it would shortly regenerate itself like Lucy Ricardo's chocolate conveyer belt with donations collected by a sister church. If we had taken the time to contemplate it; that act could have brought despair, but working for others rather than for ole' George Washington changes your perspective. From 10 to 2 there was simple to much to do to philosophize over mundane topics like quantities. There was always another rack of tubing to carry, or IV fluids to move or the bane of my existence - loose, though covered, needles to sort out of crates that could well have been may of hay.

The initial step was to come up with some sort of organizational plan. Five pallets were laid out to wrap the new stack of full boxes we would be generating. IV fluids, Operating Room, Respiratory Tubing, Medicines, and First Aide would be our main categories, with each box packaged as specifically as possible. After two years volunteering at Athens Regional Health Center and two years coordinating 30 other volunteers at Mercy Health Center I found that I was comfortable in the give and take of a specific goal with loosely defined delegation.

Move these boxes there, sort out the stuff and bring them back to almost the exact spot you started; repeat. Intuiting that the organizational job would be the most difficult; I promptly started on the moving side. It wasn't 15 minutes before a tired looking lady with an extra large navy shirt covering her petite exterior shepherded in three excited elementary aged boys.

Long volunteerism has taught me the value of a willing worker and I could see that the boys liked the idea of helping me carry things. Besides, Joshua, a black boy in highschool, was already working and joking with me so I seemed less threatening than the other white women who made up the majority of the first wave of volunteers - but by no means the majority of the volunteers throughout the day. Or maybe, hopefully, those lines are more blurred here in the racially diverse Gainesville than in my hometown Athens where racial mixing still has the excitement of an avante guard activity - a sad but atmosphere from a University that was only fully integrated in 1986. How refreshing to see those walls come down in service.

"Do you boys know what we're doing?"

"Packing medicine for the Haiti earthquake victims."

"You're right! Where's Haiti."

Abraham points in the vague direction of South.

"Well you're doing great work by helping them!"

That "good job" was all it took and the boys were racing to beat Josh in carrying boxes.

"I'm strong see?"

"Definately!"

With the five of us moving boxes to the to be sorted area we soon outstripped the ten or so volunteers wading through seas of what seemed like a strange mixture of a household junk drawer and toolbox. My mother took the leadership role here and correctly identified the boys and I as the source of the majority of the new boxes.

"Alyssa you've got to stop brining us new boxes. We're overwhelmed. Come sort."

A quick glance in her direction showed a clear backlog, but it also revealed too many people in too small a space, so I escaped in a nearby corner filled with the familiar world of IV fluids to begin my sorting. Like spring ducklings the boys melted away into other tasks & toys, but my new friends would not abandon me for long.

IV bags were a comfortable choice for me. A few years back, I volunteers for the Anesthesia Departement at Athens Regional Medical Center. It was rumored to be one of the prime spots - they actually had work for you and you got to see the tail end of 5 or 6 surgeries every week. The rumors proved true; it was well worth getting in line 3 hours early to secure 1 of the 3 spots several hundred pre-health sciences students would vie for. Unlike my previous posts, Anesthesia was fun. I wasn't just making charts or photocopies; I was decked out in full OR regalia from my hair net to my boot covers and I couldn't have been happier. The techs knew how to delegate too. If it was a slow day, we laughed. And if was a busy day I learned on the job - fast. So the muted tones of lactated ringers, heparin, sodium chloride, potassium chloride and normal saline were comfortable friends of mine. Even if the boxes they filled weighed more than 30 pounds.

Plus the fluids were for the most part separate from the jumble of other donated items. A fact that let me feel productive while the initial organizational structure was being developed for the rest of the items. By the time I had found and sorted almost all of the fluids the nurses had a brisk sorting system worked out and I happily fell in place.

((((WRITE ABOUT SORTING HERE)))))))

Later I would tell Abraham's mother how pleased I was to see her teaching her children so young the importance of caring for our neighbors. The tension in her earlier had evaporated and we staged a thinly veiled conversation about how football players at the University had to get good grades or they wouldn't be allowed to play for the benefit of a staring Abraham. It take a village.

The best part of the day was seeing the racial walls crumble; that's something I hope to see more of in my lifetime. We were easily half black and half white - with a latino and eastern european immigrant mixed in as well. But everyone was just enjoying the feeling of doing good work for others. I heard a quote once that "we have succeeded in creating a society where we have neither true work nor true play" a quick google search isn't giving me the author but it you know it please help me give the author his credit. And it's true, isn't it? We don't often get the chance to do manuel labor and see its immediate result. Its very gratifying.

I also got to talk with Paul Emery (the pastor who has helped put together my DR trip) and Denny Heiberg. Denny did some pastoring; I guess my parents had told him how upset I was when it looked like the DR stuff had fallen through and he reminded me who is in charge and that its not worth getting upset since God often repeats the same plan of provision throughout believers' lives. He's right of course, but mostly I just felt chagrinned. It was fun talking with Paul as well. He was a missionary kid and its great to see his eyes light up when he talks about helping people. He must have said 3 or 4 times now "can you believe that they pay me to do this?"

And now Psalm 126:2

"Don't you know He enjoys

giving rest to those He loves?"

Yes!

The Best Laid Plans

Six months, six months, the thought of six months without direction terrified me more than the thought of seven more intense years of school. I'm from good German stock. My grandmother Omi, moved in with my

mother at 82 to help her take care of me -- as an infant. I laughed at her as a child, who would choose to work so hard all the time. Now I go home for Christmas and wear out a saw taking down limbs for my parents. Work? I can do work. But wait?

Waiting is harder.

So it is with surprise that I find myself at the end of two months of waiting and a bit nostalgic for it. December was for my parents and January was for my friends. After eleven academic semesters (most people graduate in eight) I can finally sign my name: Alyssa Anderson BS.

So what do you do with a BS in Biology and six months to kill? Pretty much what you do with a BA in English.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4GwrEuULwY&feature=related

From the musical: Avenue Q

What do you do with a B.A. in English,

What is my life going to be?

Four years of college and plenty of knowledge,

Have earned me this useless degree.

I can't pay the bills yet,

'Cause I have no skills yet,

The world is a big scary place.

But somehow I can't shake,

The feeling I might make,

A difference,

To the human race.

Oh yea, I'm also qualified to teach other people to take the MCAT (Medical College Admission Test). Aside from that, pretty much all a BS does is qualify you to be a lab tech (read: automatic test-tube cleaner) and get an advanced degree. And there is that guy I know who shots the birds that land on the runway at Hartsfield Jackson International and tests them for bird flu, but I don't really think I'd like that. And guns scare me.

So as I faced down the prospect of six months as a waitress (better than the test tubes, believe me) I was presented with a glorious opportunity. Paul Emery's official title is "Missions Outfitter;" this former missionary kid spends his days planning for people to go on short and long term mission trips. http://www.gracefl.org/pray-for-paul-haiti-relief-team. Though I have never been a member of Grace Church, my parents moved recently, they introduced me to Paul and he immediately introduced me to the Sabados.

This married couple is a pair of missionary doctors who work with two other couples of missionary doctors in the Dominican Republic: Quisquea La Bella. I'm not quite sure of the exact number yet, but I hear that at least one of these doctors is also a pastor. What intrigues me most about this core group of doctors is that they have been there for the last 20 years. It is a sad truth that short term medical missions are big business in South America. Some groups do some real good, but many it seems, exist to assuage guilt and pad resumes. After spending the last two years in a free clinic in Athens Georgia that provides an excellent level of care, follow up services, and access to any specialist necessary, I found that such flight-by-night clinics left a sour taste in my mouth. Many of my friends do not even realize that I have been to Panama. So as I thought about medical missions, still my close to my heart after my extremely positive experiences at Mercy, I was very selective. Finding a group like Corazon del Siervo that is run by doctors who live in country permanently and even went to medical school there was a breath of fresh air. Corazon del Siervo http://www.corazondelsiervo.org is their organization and out of that heart they have agreed to take me on as intern/nurse/nanny or whatever else is needed for the next five months.

What impresses me most about this family is their total dependence on the Lord. I (of course) was ready to be there for the whole 6 months before I start medical school but my parents are (wisely I expect) a bit more reserved. So as we're talking with Francisco Sabado on the international phone Mom wants to make sure that I don't overstay my welcome or get in the way. Out of respect for her more than agreement I ask Francisco if they have space for me. His response? "Of course or God wouldn't bring you." What's more its taken me 4 emails to finally get even a mention of money from them. But that clearly is not what this family is about. Here's a copy of my last email from them:

If you could bring camel bag water backpacks for each of my kids. Luke wants blue, Isaac wants red and a pink one for Annika. If they have a few front pockets for granola bars or snacks, etc. that would be great. I will pay for them. I think they have them in the sporting goods at Walmart, but if not the sporting good store will have them. (If you dont know what they are, ask Paul). Thanks so much.

Of course these will not be the questionable ones from Walmart; I've seen them leak myself, and they will be a gift. I had a great time picking them out on Amazon yesterday -- though pink is surprisingly impossible to find. We had to compromise with sky blue. But these will be nice day packs that'll hold a lunch and sweater in addition to the water bladder. I'm also planning on getting a few carabeans for the daisy chains so the kids can lash stuff down, and I want to hide a few granola bars in the packs for them to find.

I've also been crashing cramming my medical spanish again. It's been a semester and my Spanish feels so rough! Thankfully there are some awesome free podcasts; I really like "Medical Spanish Podcast" (original eh?) its put out by an internal medicine doc, Molly Martin, who really knows her stuff. Yesterday I was working on patient histories: family info, nationality, alcohol and tobacco usage etc.

And of course Juanes is running in the background of all this while I write and do last minute packing. Tonight I teach my last Princeton class, meet up with friends for dinner and tomorrow its off to Florida for the week I promised my folks before leaving. I'm already so stir crazy! I can't wait to get there!

Prologue

Mercy was my crucible and Argentina the spurs in my side. The path to medicine, for me, was not a pre-determined fate, but a prolonged process of self exploration that took almost the entirety of my undergraduate degree.

I came to the University of Georgia an obvious Biology major – a choice I’ve never questioned. But what to do with that major, ah, what a conundrum. That question was so vexing that by the time I reached my fourth year I called it my screen-saver – if there wasn’t anything else going on upstairs that was what I thought about.

In the space of just my freshman year I spent a six month stint in a research lab, quickly jumped to the student newspaper to try my hand at science writing and then just as rapidly moved on to an internship with the American Red Cross Blood Donor Services. Research was too solitary, science writing too political, and the Red Cross to easy and repetitive. I settled for a time on the idea of being a Physician’s Assistant. And though I added the Anatomy, Abnormal Psychology and such classes required for the degree, I never could bring myself to drop the pre-medical classes that I wouldn’t need, like Physics, Biochemistry, and Cellular Biology.

But it was the Mercy Healthcare Clinic in Athens that finally gave my subconscious room to speak. I had initially rebelled from medicine; the only female doctor I knew in my hometown was decidedly unpleasant, and the overbearing mother of a former boyfriend to boot. Having been raised in a decidedly anthropological family with a German mother and a linguist-by-hobby father, I had developed a taste for languages and their ability to allow one to think in a completely different frame of mind. At the end of my junior year I began translating for Hispanic patients before a whirlwind summer that would bring me almost a year of indecisive nervousness. With a few of the leaders from Mercy, I spent a few days in Tennessee at a conference for medical professionals serving the poor, uninsured, and marginalized – Mercy’s mission. Meeting so many women that shared my delight and wonder for the complexity of the human body, understood my personal values and were excited by their lives and professions cracked my confidence that being a physician’s assistant would be enough for me.

Shortly thereafter I had the opportunity to study in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I really must laud our in country contact, Marcela, for her amazing treatment of all of the students during our stint there – especially her political maneuvering that allowed three of us to obtain internships at Hospital Garrahan – what is considered the premier children’s hospital in the country. Moreover, the system is socialist, so not only did we have the opportunity to shadow doctors treating such diverse diseases as elephantiasis but we also encountered patients from virtually every country that Argentina boarders – to say that free healthcare encourages travel is to put it mildly.

I came back to finish my final year feeling uneasy about my road to Physicians Assistant school. I started the first semester a ball of nerves; should I drop organic chemistry II or anatomy? In other words, how strong was my commitment? Again and again, I would convince myself that being a Physician’s Assistant was the most rational thing for a woman and then a week later wonder about medical school again. After a week of trying to do both, I realized that I could not manage both classes and finally dropped the organic class. But I was never satisfied in my anatomy class. Though we went into greater depth than I’d ever experienced before, it obvious that were being told but half the story and that the other students did not share my love for the material. Having the opportunity to work with cadavers seemed a weighty and important responsibility to me. I was finally living the dry run for actual practice! Everything about them was so different from the models sitting just to the side of the bench. And yet, at the end of each lab discussion when we were allowed two precious hours to study with the cadavers, I found myself alone with the Teaching Assistant. Quickly it became a joke, and an shortly thereafter a tutoring session. I loved my work; I thirsted for more, and I wondered.

Going into what should have been my last semester, my internal debates escalated. Even if being a PA was rational for a woman, was it rational for me? Could it satisfy me, when my anatomy class, a class I wouldn’t repeat in PA school but would already be expected to know, did not?

I met with my advisor and he smiled as he looked at my schedule. I had a semester left with my HOPE grant and Charter scholarships footing the bill while all I needed to graduate was PE. Given free rein to study whatever I wanted I promptly filled my schedule. Medical Spanish, anthropology of health care, epidemiology in the school of public health, and anatomy II were to fill out my last days at the University. My schedule both excited and worried me. My teachers were all well recommended, the topics were the most interesting that I had ever been given the opportunity to study, and yet, I was uneasy. What did my selections say about my career path?

Though I did not have any single revelation, many moments stick out as road signs leading to my final choice. Translating at Mercy gave me ample opportunities to shadow both doctors and PAs side by side in the same night. Moreover, I was enchanted by the process. I had long ago fallen for my time at Mercy, and now one of my main points to the thirty some-odd volunteers I manage each week is “know when to make yourself go home!” The longer I spent at Mercy, the more the idea of knowing only half of what I would need to run a practice grated at me. Of course there are many pathologies that are not understood by science, but if I could know, wouldn’t I want to? As my studies in anatomy deepened I was able to identify reasons behind the procedures: he’s checking for Trouseau’s sign, he’s ruling out aplastic anemia, she’s concerned about a calcium deficiency; my yes grew in intensity until it was a mental scream.

The nail in the coffin for PA school came about over Christmas break. Being a self starter has lead me down what may appear to be tangential side-roads that have actually been a large part in forming my character. If I want something, I figure out how to get it. That tendency has lead me to learn ballroom dance, become a ropes course facilitator, ride an elephant, walk over hot coals, and hike 18 miles of the Grand Canyon in one night. I take advantage of every opportunity offered to me. I’ve met Dr. Bruce Aimes and been invited to hang out backstage with Cirque du Soleil performers. So when I had a month off for Christmas and didn’t bother to follow up on any of three leads I had with PA’s in the area who were amiable to students shadowing but instead went looking for books on the MCAT, I realized that I had already made my decision.

Remembering with irony that Cortez also burned his ships, I dropped the last class I would have needed for PA school and set about the anxiety-ridden task of rearranging my schedule during drop-add. Then I walked over to my closet and once again put on the long white lab coat I had been so fond of in Buenos Aires. I walked to the mirror and looked at myself with a goofy grin – the kind of grin its hard to get out of me.

I looked short.

At five foot eight, what is today’s standard run-way height for models, and living in a society where heels are easier to find than flats, I have seldom felt short. But medicine continues to give me that impression. It is something much larger than me; it’s a marathon, a Mount Everest, an impossibility without an iron will and an almost desperate vision.

Though I don’t yet know if I’ll be able to claim Everest, I have accepted a place in the Medical College of Georgia Class of 2014. Finally the goal has crossed the horizon, and there is no ship to flee in.

But then, what else would I use a ship for but firewood?