Dalaina May's Blog: Jungle Reflections, page 2
January 14, 2013
Dead Babies and Grace
I know some people use all the awful things in the world as proof that a loving God doesn't exist, but, for me, it just shows how fallen the world really is. It's simply a really crappy place sometimes.
In Tsoroja, the evidence shows up in the form of dead babies... I am really tired of dead babies. Evelyn, Diana, the nameless one, and, tonight, baby Jenny. Dan said tonight that I would get used to it eventually. I know he didn't mean that it would stop affecting me - if it ever does, it's time to leave - just that it is so common here that eventually I will
just stop being so surprised by it. But I really hope that I don't ever get used to it. I hope that I remain so soft and expectant of grace that the brokenness of the world always surprises me. I want to cling so tightly to hope, that each time I witness a tiny life snuffed out by mankind's fallen world, I am shocked and devastated.
Sometimes, though, it really sucks. I feel my heart hardening in discouragement, and I wonder is there really anything that I can do that makes a difference. Is there any way to show grace in brokenness and offer mercy and hope to despair? And then I remember Jonny, a fat little 3 year old that should have died of malnourishment years ago. And Clever, a healthy nine month old that would have died before he was a month old if it weren't for a nebulizer. And Davin, a premature baby who simply should not have made it. And many more whom I won't ever realize what would have happened if they hadn't had access to medical care, inadequate though it may be.
The Bible says that God holds the world together and that in Him we live, breathe, and have our being. That's why I think that death is really the natural state of things; it is life that is the exception.
Jonny, Clever, Davin and all the others are living evidence of grace and hope. God's mercy sustains their lives as it sustains the world until all is redeemed and restored into what it was intended to be. The question I face is where will I focus? Will I stare at brokenness and pain or will I keep my eyes on grace? Will my focus be on the fallen world or will I fix my eyes on Jesus, the life giver and life sustainer?
In Tsoroja, the evidence shows up in the form of dead babies... I am really tired of dead babies. Evelyn, Diana, the nameless one, and, tonight, baby Jenny. Dan said tonight that I would get used to it eventually. I know he didn't mean that it would stop affecting me - if it ever does, it's time to leave - just that it is so common here that eventually I will
just stop being so surprised by it. But I really hope that I don't ever get used to it. I hope that I remain so soft and expectant of grace that the brokenness of the world always surprises me. I want to cling so tightly to hope, that each time I witness a tiny life snuffed out by mankind's fallen world, I am shocked and devastated.
Sometimes, though, it really sucks. I feel my heart hardening in discouragement, and I wonder is there really anything that I can do that makes a difference. Is there any way to show grace in brokenness and offer mercy and hope to despair? And then I remember Jonny, a fat little 3 year old that should have died of malnourishment years ago. And Clever, a healthy nine month old that would have died before he was a month old if it weren't for a nebulizer. And Davin, a premature baby who simply should not have made it. And many more whom I won't ever realize what would have happened if they hadn't had access to medical care, inadequate though it may be.
The Bible says that God holds the world together and that in Him we live, breathe, and have our being. That's why I think that death is really the natural state of things; it is life that is the exception.
Jonny, Clever, Davin and all the others are living evidence of grace and hope. God's mercy sustains their lives as it sustains the world until all is redeemed and restored into what it was intended to be. The question I face is where will I focus? Will I stare at brokenness and pain or will I keep my eyes on grace? Will my focus be on the fallen world or will I fix my eyes on Jesus, the life giver and life sustainer?
No More Than I Can Handle?
About a year ago, my friend Sarah pointed something out to me that one of her friends had pointed out to her. Her friend is a mom of a very autistic child and was overwhelmed with all that she had to juggle. She said to Sarah, "God never promised that He wouldn't give us more than we can handle. My life is way more than I can handle on my own, and that is why I need a Savior."
The conversation was a huge smack in the face for me and my independent way of thinking. I mean, I like the idea that God's put in me all I need to succeed in life... on my own. But the more I think about it, the more I have come to believe, like Sarah's friend, that it is a load of garbage that we self-sustaining Americans tell each other in a lousy
attempt at comfort. (Interestingly, I have never heard this quote from anyone but other Westerners.)
I decided to do a little study to see if my hunch was right - that this was just an often mis-quoted Scripture. The passage is from 1 Corinthians 10:13 which says,"No temptation has overtaken you but such as is common to man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, so that you will be able to endure it." (NASB) I read the passage in several versions and also looked at the passage as a whole. Yep. It's about the rampant sin in the Corinthian church, not life's bumps and bruises.
But what about Philippians 4:13: "I can do all things through Him who strengthens me ."? (NASB). YES! Through Christ anything is possible - the mountains move and the dead are raised. "God won't give you any more than you can handle" leaves the power of Christ out of the equation and us on our own to fight our battles. They are just supposedly battles we
can win.
Try telling that to my friends Drew and Jen who are in the middle of a war with their 4 year old son against leukemia. They are people that I hold high as an example of faith under fire, but I would venture to say that they would never in a million years claim to be able to "handle" what is happening in their lives on a daily basis. When they are holding tight to their suffering child strapped to a hospital bed by an iv, it's more than they can handle. At that point, it has to be in God's hands(and where else would anyone want it to be?).
The whole point is Jesus (really, it all seems to boil down to this no matter where you start from). We will all have trails and struggles, in fact, we are promised them. Whether the attack is from Satan, our own flesh, or just a product of this fallen world, our comfort is not in knowing that we won't experience any hardship that we can't handle. That
reeks of pride and self-sufficiency. Our comfort and our peace comes from knowing that we aren't the ones ultimately responsible for winning the battle.
The conversation was a huge smack in the face for me and my independent way of thinking. I mean, I like the idea that God's put in me all I need to succeed in life... on my own. But the more I think about it, the more I have come to believe, like Sarah's friend, that it is a load of garbage that we self-sustaining Americans tell each other in a lousy
attempt at comfort. (Interestingly, I have never heard this quote from anyone but other Westerners.)
I decided to do a little study to see if my hunch was right - that this was just an often mis-quoted Scripture. The passage is from 1 Corinthians 10:13 which says,"No temptation has overtaken you but such as is common to man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, so that you will be able to endure it." (NASB) I read the passage in several versions and also looked at the passage as a whole. Yep. It's about the rampant sin in the Corinthian church, not life's bumps and bruises.
But what about Philippians 4:13: "I can do all things through Him who strengthens me ."? (NASB). YES! Through Christ anything is possible - the mountains move and the dead are raised. "God won't give you any more than you can handle" leaves the power of Christ out of the equation and us on our own to fight our battles. They are just supposedly battles we
can win.
Try telling that to my friends Drew and Jen who are in the middle of a war with their 4 year old son against leukemia. They are people that I hold high as an example of faith under fire, but I would venture to say that they would never in a million years claim to be able to "handle" what is happening in their lives on a daily basis. When they are holding tight to their suffering child strapped to a hospital bed by an iv, it's more than they can handle. At that point, it has to be in God's hands(and where else would anyone want it to be?).
The whole point is Jesus (really, it all seems to boil down to this no matter where you start from). We will all have trails and struggles, in fact, we are promised them. Whether the attack is from Satan, our own flesh, or just a product of this fallen world, our comfort is not in knowing that we won't experience any hardship that we can't handle. That
reeks of pride and self-sufficiency. Our comfort and our peace comes from knowing that we aren't the ones ultimately responsible for winning the battle.
Marta
*We flew my "sister" Marta from the village to have surgery in Pucallpa. This was written that night while I stayed with her in the hospital.*
The public hospital in Pucallpa is by no means comfortable. It is hot - well over 90 degrees and humidity to match it. The women in the gynecology wing are stacked six to a room with about a foot and a half between each bed. There is no sense in who ends up in which bed. In fact, in our room there are two new moms next to two other women who are in the middle of miscarriages.
The building itself is cement block,absorbing the hot sun during the day and slowly releasing the heat even as the temperature outside drops a little in the evening. The floors are filthy despite the odor of bleach that permeates everything. The furniture is ancient rusted metal and the walls are in desperate need of a coat of paint.
All night the women toss and turn, more from the heat and noise than whatever ails them. They fan themselves with whatever is handy until their hands finally drop, and they manage to sleep for at least a few minutes until a nurse comes in to check on something, flipping the lights on in the process, or a baby cries. There are two in the room I am in. In fact, they are part of the reason for the stifling stillness of the air. There is a working overhead fan, but the nurse refuses to turn it on because, she explaines to me, moving air might make a baby sick. (I manage not to make a snide comment about the babies being more likely to die of suffocation in here first.)
The garish fluorescent light in the hall is finally flipped off at midnight, but the sounds continue on, a lot of babies crying and people chatting and laughing right outside the open windows. We would shut them, but the noise is much more bearable than the heat.
Often through the night, I think about how silly it is that I am here at all, but the reality is that Martha's baby needs 4 different doses of medicine during the night, and even if Martha had a watch, I don't think she would know how to use it. And of course, if she needs anything, be it toilet paper or a new bag of iv solution, someone has to go buy it and bring it to her.
So here I am, polka dotted with mosquito bites and dreaming about my air conditioned bedroom. But honestly, I am thankful for the chance to show Martha that I care, that I am involved, even if it is just by fanning her so she can sleep and changing her baby's diaper. It's like my teammate joked earlier today, "This is what I became a missionary for, right?" Well... yeah, I think so.
The public hospital in Pucallpa is by no means comfortable. It is hot - well over 90 degrees and humidity to match it. The women in the gynecology wing are stacked six to a room with about a foot and a half between each bed. There is no sense in who ends up in which bed. In fact, in our room there are two new moms next to two other women who are in the middle of miscarriages.
The building itself is cement block,absorbing the hot sun during the day and slowly releasing the heat even as the temperature outside drops a little in the evening. The floors are filthy despite the odor of bleach that permeates everything. The furniture is ancient rusted metal and the walls are in desperate need of a coat of paint.
All night the women toss and turn, more from the heat and noise than whatever ails them. They fan themselves with whatever is handy until their hands finally drop, and they manage to sleep for at least a few minutes until a nurse comes in to check on something, flipping the lights on in the process, or a baby cries. There are two in the room I am in. In fact, they are part of the reason for the stifling stillness of the air. There is a working overhead fan, but the nurse refuses to turn it on because, she explaines to me, moving air might make a baby sick. (I manage not to make a snide comment about the babies being more likely to die of suffocation in here first.)
The garish fluorescent light in the hall is finally flipped off at midnight, but the sounds continue on, a lot of babies crying and people chatting and laughing right outside the open windows. We would shut them, but the noise is much more bearable than the heat.
Often through the night, I think about how silly it is that I am here at all, but the reality is that Martha's baby needs 4 different doses of medicine during the night, and even if Martha had a watch, I don't think she would know how to use it. And of course, if she needs anything, be it toilet paper or a new bag of iv solution, someone has to go buy it and bring it to her.
So here I am, polka dotted with mosquito bites and dreaming about my air conditioned bedroom. But honestly, I am thankful for the chance to show Martha that I care, that I am involved, even if it is just by fanning her so she can sleep and changing her baby's diaper. It's like my teammate joked earlier today, "This is what I became a missionary for, right?" Well... yeah, I think so.
Moms Everywhere
*Written as a speach for a MOPS group.
Ari Ococa. Aatoniji Pimetoquempi. That is Caquinte for "don't do
that so you won't kill yourself." It is the first Caquinte phrase I learned, and if you know my 4 boys, you know why. It is also a phrase that many of the Caquinte moms can relate to. Because really, a mother is a mother no matter where she is from. Yes, there are differences between "them" and "us."
For example:
The women in our village become mothers not in the hospital but on grass mats in their smoke houses assisted by their mothers and sisters. And most have their first child between the ages of 15 and
20.
Since there is no birth control, they keep having children year after year. It is not uncommon for people to have siblings much younger then their own children.
There is no professional medical care in the village, so nearly every woman I know has lost a child to some disease or another.
Their beds are not king-sized or queen sized, just a pile of blankets on the floor under a mosquito net.
Most have never seen a toilet, much less used one.
Their husbands work hard to put a roof over their heads and food on the tables, only for them it is literal. The men build the houses, fish in the river, and hack out gardens in the jungle.
To make a meal, the Caqunite women don't go to the grocery store to find food; they hike for a couple of miles to their gardens where they gather whatever they need for the coming week.
But there a similarities too:
When they are stressed and overwhelmed, just like us, they go talk to their mom or girlfriends and get advice.
Like us, the Caquinte worry about their children. Though instead of being scared of car accidents, kidnapping, and pedophiles, Caquinte women worry about malaria, dysentery, and deadly snakes.
They work hard to be good wives. They have dreams for their children. They love to laugh.
Our ministry among the Caquinte tribe is multi-faceted. We are not medically trained, but we provided some medical care for the community.
We are helping them ease into the modern world bit by bit because there is really no way for them to avoid it any longer. But the most crucial role we play is introducing the Gospel to them and showing them what it means to have a relationship with Jesus. You see, we all are looking for peace. For us, peace from a chaotic world. For them, peace from fear of evil spirits. We are all looking for unconditional love and joy that
doesn't fade. Though our families and friends do supply us with great love and joy, we all know that it can never be enough. As some of the Caquinte are now discovering, a relationship with Jesus is the only thing that can satisfy us eternally.
In our tribe, everyone is related, so no one uses names, they use kinship terms. Our family has been accepted as a part of this family, so these women in a sense really are my mothers, my sisters, and my
daughters. I am honored to share my life with them, and I hope they learn something from me as I have already learned so much about strength, sacrifice, and perseverance through them.
Ari Ococa. Aatoniji Pimetoquempi. That is Caquinte for "don't do
that so you won't kill yourself." It is the first Caquinte phrase I learned, and if you know my 4 boys, you know why. It is also a phrase that many of the Caquinte moms can relate to. Because really, a mother is a mother no matter where she is from. Yes, there are differences between "them" and "us."
For example:
The women in our village become mothers not in the hospital but on grass mats in their smoke houses assisted by their mothers and sisters. And most have their first child between the ages of 15 and
20.
Since there is no birth control, they keep having children year after year. It is not uncommon for people to have siblings much younger then their own children.
There is no professional medical care in the village, so nearly every woman I know has lost a child to some disease or another.
Their beds are not king-sized or queen sized, just a pile of blankets on the floor under a mosquito net.
Most have never seen a toilet, much less used one.
Their husbands work hard to put a roof over their heads and food on the tables, only for them it is literal. The men build the houses, fish in the river, and hack out gardens in the jungle.
To make a meal, the Caqunite women don't go to the grocery store to find food; they hike for a couple of miles to their gardens where they gather whatever they need for the coming week.
But there a similarities too:
When they are stressed and overwhelmed, just like us, they go talk to their mom or girlfriends and get advice.
Like us, the Caquinte worry about their children. Though instead of being scared of car accidents, kidnapping, and pedophiles, Caquinte women worry about malaria, dysentery, and deadly snakes.
They work hard to be good wives. They have dreams for their children. They love to laugh.
Our ministry among the Caquinte tribe is multi-faceted. We are not medically trained, but we provided some medical care for the community.
We are helping them ease into the modern world bit by bit because there is really no way for them to avoid it any longer. But the most crucial role we play is introducing the Gospel to them and showing them what it means to have a relationship with Jesus. You see, we all are looking for peace. For us, peace from a chaotic world. For them, peace from fear of evil spirits. We are all looking for unconditional love and joy that
doesn't fade. Though our families and friends do supply us with great love and joy, we all know that it can never be enough. As some of the Caquinte are now discovering, a relationship with Jesus is the only thing that can satisfy us eternally.
In our tribe, everyone is related, so no one uses names, they use kinship terms. Our family has been accepted as a part of this family, so these women in a sense really are my mothers, my sisters, and my
daughters. I am honored to share my life with them, and I hope they learn something from me as I have already learned so much about strength, sacrifice, and perseverance through them.
Jungle Reflections
The personal blog of Yielded Captive's author, Dalaina May, from her life in an Amazonian tribe.
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