I recently completed four weeks on obstetrics, logging 12 normal deliveries and two c-sections. I enjoyed it, observing the normal labor course and learning to recognize what falls off the normal curve. I also gained experience in coaching and encouraging women in labor and in pushing and caught a good number of what a friend of mine calls "slippery little buggers." Really, though, I most enjoyed the almost magical moment that usually happens after the birth when the new mom and the baby are enveloped in a happiness that far outweighs what she went through to get there. It so overshadows the previous pain that she usually temporarily forgets that she still has to deliver the placenta. :)
In the course of OB, though, I was reminded that labor and birth are frequent images in Scripture, vivid reminders of how much closer everyone in a community used to be to the pain and blood and delight involved in bringing a new life into the world. This ranges from comparing the prophet or people's pain to the "pangs" of a woman in labor (e.g. Isa. 21:3) writhing "in agony" (Micah 4:10) to descriptions of the Father himself crying out in suffering, gasping and panting, "like a woman in childbirth" in his heartbroken response to the people of Israel's unfaithfulness (Isa. 42:14). This vivid familiarity with the birthing process was even such that the prophets could differentiate between the more intense and longer-lasting pains of a woman's first birth (e.g. Jer. 4:31) vs. subsequent ones. God also recognizes the vulnerability of a woman in labor, promising explicitly to call women in labor back (along with the pregnant, blind, and lame) to the security of Jerusalem and home after the pain of exile among strangers (Jer. 31:8).
The image of birth is used for various "children." In Deuteronomy, Moses calls the people of God to account for deserting and forgetting the God who "fathered you," "who gave you birth," calling to mind the great suffering God has endured in loving and calling and pursuing and wooing such a forgetful, faithless people to give us a new identity in the world as his children (32:18). In Isaiah 26, the people confess that they have "writhed in pain" as in labor but have given birth to wind - to something insubstantial and effervescent - instead of to "salvation," to "people of the world" (vv. 17-19). Most often, however, it is Israel who is pictured as God's child, as far from being forgotten or forsaken as the baby at a mother's breast whom she has borne (Isa. 49:14-16).
The imagery of birth is picked up most fantastically in the New Testament with the incredible story of the birth of God himself as the helpless newborn Jesus to Mary, recounted in Matthew 1 and Luke 2. It is also recorded in its cosmic significance in the revelation of John as the birth of a male child "who will rule all the nations" (Rev. 12:1-2,5). It is clear from the New Testament account that Jesus represents the true Israel, the one in whom all that Israel was meant to be is encapsulated (e.g. OT images for Israel being applied to Jesus with him fulfilling their purposes) and in whom the prophecies and promises are and will be fulfilled. He is the one Man who is truly God's Son, who reflects the Father's image, his heart, his holiness, his love, his compassion, and his justice.
And yet, the apostle John's poetic account of the coming of Jesus begins to hint that there is still even more to the story. Not only, he says, did "the Word become flesh" and make "his dwelling among us." Not only have we "seen his glory," the glory of the one "who came from the Father." But we also have the opportunity - nay, more! - "the right to become children of God." This is not something physical, he clarifies. We are not children born "of natural descent" but "born of God" (Jn. 1:12-14). That picture of Israel being God's child can still apply to us (us!) even though Jesus has come and shown us just how far we as the people of God have gotten off track, how little we bear the image of our Father. We can still be the children of God.
John uses this imagery most in the New Testament, both in his gospel and in his epistles, describing what it means to be a child of God - not continuing in sin (1 Jn. 3:9) because we are of God's seed, loving one another because love comes from God (1 Jn. 4:7), being "born of water and the Spirit" in Jesus' words explaining what it means to be "born again" (Jn. 3:3-5). Peter, too, picks up the language, explaining that we have been born again "not of perishable seed, but of imperishable, through the living and enduring word of God" (1 Pe. 1:23).
The use of birth imagery doesn't even stop there, however. It is used of us as believers, too. We now also have the opportunity to participate in this imagery as something beyond the child of God that is born. We are also part of the birth process. This appears in Romans 8 where creation and we ourselves groan "in the pains of childbirth" as we "patiently" await redemption and adoption with "eager expectation" and with hope (vv. 19-25). Paul describes himself enduring "the pains of childbirth" so that Christ may be formed in the his spiritual children, the Galatian church (Gal. 4:19-20). We have the opportunity to participate in that formation so that we as God's children may more closely resemble our elder Brother, God's Son. The apostle John also picks up the imagery as he quotes Jesus comparing the pain of the disciples' temporary separation from Himself to the pain of a woman giving birth to a child. Just as a woman giving birth quickly "forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world," however, he promises that the disciples' joy will far outshine their present pain (Jn. 16:19-22).
These pictures mean more to me as I think about the women in labor I have seen. The pain of separation from God is more vividly pictured, as is his pain over us when we turn away from Him. The process of birth and the precious fragility of a newborn is all the more poignant for the fact that the Maker of mankind was once so very breakable. The immediate and consuming joy on a mother's face as she is handed her little one, able to hold him for the first time and automatically comforting and cuddling the wailing infant, helps me to remember God's tender care for each of us and his delight over new children's births as his children. The satisfaction in participating in the labor process and seeing it through to the birth encourages me to keep holding up my end of participating with the Holy Spirit's work of forming Christ in me. The way in which the weariness, pain, bleeding, and risk are all ever so worth the baby at the end enable me to await with more hope and eager expectation my and our own redemption and adoption.
"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade—kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God's power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time" (1 Pe. 1:3-5).
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
gardening
I've spent a fair amount of time gardening recently, particularly since the lack of rain over the past week or two has required my early rising to water for about 45 minutes prior to our 7 am orientation day starts. Despite growing up eating fresh vegetables from our large garden all summer, I never realized how much regular work a garden was (thanks, Mom!).
In particular, though, as I learn to garden, I've been thinking about weeding. In many ways, weeding is simple - as long as you know what is supposed to grow there, everything else is pretty much weeds. It is satisfying that even if I don't recognize the weed, I have learned to recognize my small sprouting plants and so can confidently uproot the weeds and allow my plants to flourish. My mom says we enjoy weeding because it is like medicine - taking out the bad stuff and leaving room for the good to grow. I just never thought it would be so much work to keep the bad stuff under control. It grows so easily and quickly while the good stuff seems to grow relatively slowly and require a lot of careful watering and tending.
After spending three hours on it yesterday, I was thinking about the parallels in the rest of life. How much effort do I put into weeding out bad things in my life - disciplining myself not to make bad choices, to use my time wisely, to stay connected to people when it takes effort, to study when I'd rather read or relax watching clips on YouTube? How quickly weeds spring up in my life! How much easier they are to pull out when they're small and when I stay on top of the weeding than when they're better rooted! Do I know and love the good things I want to grow so well that I can easily uproot the bad things that would choke them out?
Conversely, how much effort do I put into planting and tending good things - good habits, healthy relationships, my understanding of and love for God, friendships that challenge me to grow, self-discipline - in my life? Do I carefully pick out seeds that will lead to fruit I will enjoy and do the things (i.e. plant them at an appropriate depth and keep them well watered) that will give them the chance to sprout and then deepen their roots? Do I delight in the small, fragile green growth of my seeds long before they grow fruit or even flowers (a one-inch stem and two leaves for my zucchini were so exciting that it took me far longer than it should have to prune them back to the two plants/hill they should be)? Do I mourn the seeds that didn't sprout and vigilantly fight the enemies (weeds, slugs, insect borers, etc.) that would destroy my plants? Do I prop up the ones with weak stems like I do my tomatoes, making support for their weakness because they will then be able to grow and bear fruit?
Far too often, the answers to most of these questions are "no." I have learned that it takes oft-surprising effort and discipline to get the literal fruits of one's labors in a garden. Since I think God delights no less in good fruit in my life (and mourns the bad), may I learn to be a good gardener of my own life and choices as I likewise seek to raise a healthy garden with lots of vegetables for later in the summer. May I remember always that God works alongside me, breathing life into both me and my plants, delighting in every small growth and working towards fruit we can both enjoy.
In particular, though, as I learn to garden, I've been thinking about weeding. In many ways, weeding is simple - as long as you know what is supposed to grow there, everything else is pretty much weeds. It is satisfying that even if I don't recognize the weed, I have learned to recognize my small sprouting plants and so can confidently uproot the weeds and allow my plants to flourish. My mom says we enjoy weeding because it is like medicine - taking out the bad stuff and leaving room for the good to grow. I just never thought it would be so much work to keep the bad stuff under control. It grows so easily and quickly while the good stuff seems to grow relatively slowly and require a lot of careful watering and tending.
After spending three hours on it yesterday, I was thinking about the parallels in the rest of life. How much effort do I put into weeding out bad things in my life - disciplining myself not to make bad choices, to use my time wisely, to stay connected to people when it takes effort, to study when I'd rather read or relax watching clips on YouTube? How quickly weeds spring up in my life! How much easier they are to pull out when they're small and when I stay on top of the weeding than when they're better rooted! Do I know and love the good things I want to grow so well that I can easily uproot the bad things that would choke them out?
Conversely, how much effort do I put into planting and tending good things - good habits, healthy relationships, my understanding of and love for God, friendships that challenge me to grow, self-discipline - in my life? Do I carefully pick out seeds that will lead to fruit I will enjoy and do the things (i.e. plant them at an appropriate depth and keep them well watered) that will give them the chance to sprout and then deepen their roots? Do I delight in the small, fragile green growth of my seeds long before they grow fruit or even flowers (a one-inch stem and two leaves for my zucchini were so exciting that it took me far longer than it should have to prune them back to the two plants/hill they should be)? Do I mourn the seeds that didn't sprout and vigilantly fight the enemies (weeds, slugs, insect borers, etc.) that would destroy my plants? Do I prop up the ones with weak stems like I do my tomatoes, making support for their weakness because they will then be able to grow and bear fruit?
Far too often, the answers to most of these questions are "no." I have learned that it takes oft-surprising effort and discipline to get the literal fruits of one's labors in a garden. Since I think God delights no less in good fruit in my life (and mourns the bad), may I learn to be a good gardener of my own life and choices as I likewise seek to raise a healthy garden with lots of vegetables for later in the summer. May I remember always that God works alongside me, breathing life into both me and my plants, delighting in every small growth and working towards fruit we can both enjoy.
update
So it's been a while since I posted, and I had some thoughts I'd like to share or at least have the chance to process externally. I hope to continue to do this throughout the year ahead (albeit much less frequently than during my previous travels) as I start residency. If you don't want to continue to follow along, let me know, and I'll see if I can figure out how you can come off the list. :)
I graduated from med school at the end of May and moved the same day - with much packing and hauling help from Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa - to Lancaster for my new residency training. I enjoyed starting a garden and putting in flowers and landscaping in the surprisingly large backyard of my housemate's rowhouse prior to the start of orientation June 14. I also have gotten to attend First Friday downtown in Lancaster, go to two free downtown movies (part of summer series), and begun getting to know my fellow interns (via hosting dinner and later dessert and other local activities), a couple of whom live happily about two blocks away. :) We've had a busy orientation schedule between ACLS, ATLS, EKG learning, computer training, HR paperwork, and even a day at the ropes course. I've enjoyed the chance to ease into figuring out where stuff is in the hospital, making connections with my class and other residents, and settling into the city. I start in the hospital July 1 on night float for OB (5 pm-7 am Monday-Friday for two weeks), so you can keep me in prayers for that!
I graduated from med school at the end of May and moved the same day - with much packing and hauling help from Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa - to Lancaster for my new residency training. I enjoyed starting a garden and putting in flowers and landscaping in the surprisingly large backyard of my housemate's rowhouse prior to the start of orientation June 14. I also have gotten to attend First Friday downtown in Lancaster, go to two free downtown movies (part of summer series), and begun getting to know my fellow interns (via hosting dinner and later dessert and other local activities), a couple of whom live happily about two blocks away. :) We've had a busy orientation schedule between ACLS, ATLS, EKG learning, computer training, HR paperwork, and even a day at the ropes course. I've enjoyed the chance to ease into figuring out where stuff is in the hospital, making connections with my class and other residents, and settling into the city. I start in the hospital July 1 on night float for OB (5 pm-7 am Monday-Friday for two weeks), so you can keep me in prayers for that!
Friday, April 30, 2010
calling
I went on these international rotations partially hoping that God would use them to direct me regarding my future work overseas. Where should I go? With what organization? To what people group?
To my disappointment, I didn't find a particular sense of leading from God on these issues as I was traveling. I struggled with this a bit along the way. Should I have done these rotations? Am I simply experiencing some of the hard parts of living cross-culturally (initial language- and culture-learning, minimal relationships with nationals, the adjustment phase again) with few of the rewards of staying in one place longer-term? Am I missing out on something God wants to be showing me?
As I read On Being a Missionary on the flights back home, the author talked about the issue of calling in missions. Every child of God has a calling from God, a calling to go and serve others, to love and obey God, to learn to live in healthy relationships with others where we slowly learn to put others' needs above our own, to submit to each other in the Body (Church) and to honor others' gifts and abilities and cover for their weaknesses in love. But all who go to serve cross-culturally should also have an additional sense of calling to go there, whether a gradual sense building over time or a one-time supernatural experience of calling, which is necessary to sustain them through the difficulties involved.
I do have that sense, I realized, or I have at a number of times in the past. I don't need to manufacture a new and repeated sense of calling when I don't feel particular direction from God. The choice simply becomes: will I be obedient to the calling God has already revealed to me to live and work cross-culturally and internationally at some point in my future for a number of years? This realization was a relief to me. After all, the larger question of whether I will be obedient to God's will for me is simply the question of the Christian life: will I allow God to be God and trust that his goodness will lead to His plan for me being the best possible route for my life? That is a choice I have made many times in the past and can continue to make now, trusting that the details of his calling on my life will become clear as I choose to follow wherever he leads.
from: http://www.flickr.com/photos/35692109@N03/3531523716/
To my disappointment, I didn't find a particular sense of leading from God on these issues as I was traveling. I struggled with this a bit along the way. Should I have done these rotations? Am I simply experiencing some of the hard parts of living cross-culturally (initial language- and culture-learning, minimal relationships with nationals, the adjustment phase again) with few of the rewards of staying in one place longer-term? Am I missing out on something God wants to be showing me?
As I read On Being a Missionary on the flights back home, the author talked about the issue of calling in missions. Every child of God has a calling from God, a calling to go and serve others, to love and obey God, to learn to live in healthy relationships with others where we slowly learn to put others' needs above our own, to submit to each other in the Body (Church) and to honor others' gifts and abilities and cover for their weaknesses in love. But all who go to serve cross-culturally should also have an additional sense of calling to go there, whether a gradual sense building over time or a one-time supernatural experience of calling, which is necessary to sustain them through the difficulties involved.
I do have that sense, I realized, or I have at a number of times in the past. I don't need to manufacture a new and repeated sense of calling when I don't feel particular direction from God. The choice simply becomes: will I be obedient to the calling God has already revealed to me to live and work cross-culturally and internationally at some point in my future for a number of years? This realization was a relief to me. After all, the larger question of whether I will be obedient to God's will for me is simply the question of the Christian life: will I allow God to be God and trust that his goodness will lead to His plan for me being the best possible route for my life? That is a choice I have made many times in the past and can continue to make now, trusting that the details of his calling on my life will become clear as I choose to follow wherever he leads.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
names
I have always enjoyed having a unique name and knowing what it meant (one whom God has promised) and its origin (Hebrew, the story of my birth, etc.). And part of encountering another culture is learning new names and how to pronounce letter combinations you thought couldn't go together. :)
In Zambia, I had a different problem: not smiling at people's names, picked in some cases - I am sure - for how the parents liked the way the word sounded in English even if they didn't know what it meant. Or they simply name their children Tonga words with interesting meanings. Here are some I wrote down along the way:
English: Agrippa, Cleopatra, Only, Obey, Fines, Modern, Favourite, Purity, Precious, Pritness (Prettiness)
Tonga: Linda (awaited precious one), Trouble, Change-of-sex (as in a girl after a number of boys or a boy after a number of girls), Same-sex (opposite of above)
So even our names carry something of culture in what is appropriate to name your child. :)
In Zambia, I had a different problem: not smiling at people's names, picked in some cases - I am sure - for how the parents liked the way the word sounded in English even if they didn't know what it meant. Or they simply name their children Tonga words with interesting meanings. Here are some I wrote down along the way:
English: Agrippa, Cleopatra, Only, Obey, Fines, Modern, Favourite, Purity, Precious, Pritness (Prettiness)
Tonga: Linda (awaited precious one), Trouble, Change-of-sex (as in a girl after a number of boys or a boy after a number of girls), Same-sex (opposite of above)
So even our names carry something of culture in what is appropriate to name your child. :)
patient stories, 2
Here are some patients I don't want to forget.
A 5-year-old little girl was brought in by her aunt for 15 months of abdominal distension, a cough, and headache. She was orphaned a year and a half ago when her mother died. Nothing else really came up on the history, so I took them back to the little room where we do examinations if the patient will lie down or if it requires privacy. In examining her belly, I found the reason for the abdominal distension: a huge abdominal mass in the right side with a groove between it and her liver, extending to several cm past the umbilicus and down into the pelvis. My heart just sank as I reviewed my short differential diagnosis for an abdominal mass in a 5-year-old: Wilms' tumor, neuroblastoma, possibly something renal...
I saw them several times over the course of the next few days with various lab results (a normal CBC, negative HIV, normal creatinine and LFTs) and then the ultrasound results: complex, multicystic, intrahepatic lesion. At that point, my differential failed. She had already been treated for parasitic disease, so we referred her on to the University Teaching Hospital in Lusaka. I emphasized with the concerned aunt how important it was that she be taken and seen as soon as possible. The little girl was by this time sitting comfortably on my lap as her aunt and I talked about the results and possibilities. Then we prayed together, and I sent them off with the referral letter.
Another was a 41-year-old mother of twins (G12P9). I saw her for almost two weeks on maternity waiting on the ward for the pregnancy to come to term and then waiting because her twins were breech (twin A) and transverse (twin B) and so wouldn't probably deliver at home on their own. I used my Tonga phrases for the cardinal obstetrics questions with her every few days on rounds (any vaginal bleeding? any rupture of membranes/leakage of fluid? is the baby moving well? any contractions?) and she would smile and respond with the hoped-for answers (no, no, yes, no) for almost two weeks until she finally did go into labor. Then I actually got to be there to see the breech vaginal delivery (all on her own!) of the first and internal podalic version (turning the second baby using the foot) with breech delivery of the second twin. I helped with resuscitation, assessed the Apgars, and checked the new-again mom for postpartum hemorrhage since she was high-risk with twins and high parity (number of pregnancies). She did well, and I was happy to be part of the whole process and see it through to the end!
Another maternity patient I remember was a married 15-year-old G1P0 (first pregnancy); apparently most girls go to high school or get married young, so I saw a number of pregnant 15- and 16-year-olds who were married as well as a few who were not. I was rounding in the evening and was helping to count for her to learn how to push the baby effectively (something not usually done in Zambia from what I can tell - the counting, not the pushing). She made a little progress but not much, so I ended up seeing my first Zambian vacuum-assisted delivery (when I couldn't even see the head at all whether she was pushing or not). It was successful, though, with the nurse pumping the vacuum while the doctor pulled on the head, and we were glad she didn't have to get a C-section. When I rounded the next day and checked on her and the baby, both were doing really well and she lit up with a smile to see me. She spoke a little English, so I think she had understood my counting and encouragement the night before and was happy for it.
A final patient was a 6-year-old boy I admitted to men's ward (the cutoff for peds being six years due to high rates of disease/malnutrition in younger kids). I was worried about nephrotic syndrome (post-strep GN) with complaints of a sore throat two weeks ago, facial and feet swelling, abdominal pain, and headache. The urinalysis turned out to have only trace protein, though, and the child continued to spike fevers through penicillin and then amoxicillin and looked sick, never smiling at me whenever I came up to check on him. So we ended up deciding to do a lumbar puncture (spinal tap) to make sure he didn't have meningitis. I did my first pediatric LP, which was relatively direct (for which I was grateful), and we started him on stronger antibiotics (cefepime, having run out of ceftriaxone for meningitis). By the time I was leaving, he looked a bit better and gave me a crooked smile. :)
A 5-year-old little girl was brought in by her aunt for 15 months of abdominal distension, a cough, and headache. She was orphaned a year and a half ago when her mother died. Nothing else really came up on the history, so I took them back to the little room where we do examinations if the patient will lie down or if it requires privacy. In examining her belly, I found the reason for the abdominal distension: a huge abdominal mass in the right side with a groove between it and her liver, extending to several cm past the umbilicus and down into the pelvis. My heart just sank as I reviewed my short differential diagnosis for an abdominal mass in a 5-year-old: Wilms' tumor, neuroblastoma, possibly something renal...
I saw them several times over the course of the next few days with various lab results (a normal CBC, negative HIV, normal creatinine and LFTs) and then the ultrasound results: complex, multicystic, intrahepatic lesion. At that point, my differential failed. She had already been treated for parasitic disease, so we referred her on to the University Teaching Hospital in Lusaka. I emphasized with the concerned aunt how important it was that she be taken and seen as soon as possible. The little girl was by this time sitting comfortably on my lap as her aunt and I talked about the results and possibilities. Then we prayed together, and I sent them off with the referral letter.
Another was a 41-year-old mother of twins (G12P9). I saw her for almost two weeks on maternity waiting on the ward for the pregnancy to come to term and then waiting because her twins were breech (twin A) and transverse (twin B) and so wouldn't probably deliver at home on their own. I used my Tonga phrases for the cardinal obstetrics questions with her every few days on rounds (any vaginal bleeding? any rupture of membranes/leakage of fluid? is the baby moving well? any contractions?) and she would smile and respond with the hoped-for answers (no, no, yes, no) for almost two weeks until she finally did go into labor. Then I actually got to be there to see the breech vaginal delivery (all on her own!) of the first and internal podalic version (turning the second baby using the foot) with breech delivery of the second twin. I helped with resuscitation, assessed the Apgars, and checked the new-again mom for postpartum hemorrhage since she was high-risk with twins and high parity (number of pregnancies). She did well, and I was happy to be part of the whole process and see it through to the end!
Another maternity patient I remember was a married 15-year-old G1P0 (first pregnancy); apparently most girls go to high school or get married young, so I saw a number of pregnant 15- and 16-year-olds who were married as well as a few who were not. I was rounding in the evening and was helping to count for her to learn how to push the baby effectively (something not usually done in Zambia from what I can tell - the counting, not the pushing). She made a little progress but not much, so I ended up seeing my first Zambian vacuum-assisted delivery (when I couldn't even see the head at all whether she was pushing or not). It was successful, though, with the nurse pumping the vacuum while the doctor pulled on the head, and we were glad she didn't have to get a C-section. When I rounded the next day and checked on her and the baby, both were doing really well and she lit up with a smile to see me. She spoke a little English, so I think she had understood my counting and encouragement the night before and was happy for it.
A final patient was a 6-year-old boy I admitted to men's ward (the cutoff for peds being six years due to high rates of disease/malnutrition in younger kids). I was worried about nephrotic syndrome (post-strep GN) with complaints of a sore throat two weeks ago, facial and feet swelling, abdominal pain, and headache. The urinalysis turned out to have only trace protein, though, and the child continued to spike fevers through penicillin and then amoxicillin and looked sick, never smiling at me whenever I came up to check on him. So we ended up deciding to do a lumbar puncture (spinal tap) to make sure he didn't have meningitis. I did my first pediatric LP, which was relatively direct (for which I was grateful), and we started him on stronger antibiotics (cefepime, having run out of ceftriaxone for meningitis). By the time I was leaving, he looked a bit better and gave me a crooked smile. :)
culture, take 2
On my flights back and in layovers, I started reading a book I have owned for a number of years but never got to read, On Being a Missionary by Thomas Hale. His chapter on culture shock/stress made me think again about my entry on cultural differences. I recognize much of his symptoms of culture shock in myself over the past eight weeks particularly: discouragement, critical spirit, self-pity, pessimism, etc. I know and knew at the time that I was experiencing some stress from the difference in cultures. It simply costs more emotional energy to do simple things like going to market when you have to say no to several people who want money or a job, ignore some propositions or comments, try to figure out what I'm going to do with the few vegetables available that my stomach won't reject, and then gauge whether the price I'm offered is a fair one or whether I should barter a bit and if so how much to offer and whether the seller speaks English...
Hale goes on to talk about what to do for culture shock. His steps include recognition, praying for God's grace and enabling, adapting to the nationals except for ethics and faith, making a circle of friends, cultivating an attitude of exploration/adventure, maintaining friendships with other expats, and not taking yourself too seriously. I was struck as I looked over this list by how little of this I did. I was much quicker to judge and criticize than to ask God for his enabling to love those around me. I was much quicker to relate to the simpler relationships with expats than to invite over Zambian friends, even for the little hospitality (tea, games) I could offer. And this is me, who prides myself on enjoying the challenge of cross-cultural relationships and cultivating a good number of them, including among my closest friends. Have I been deceiving myself and simply requiring my friends to respond in ways that fall within my expectation or do not require challenge or change for me?
Hale speaks of the way in which Jesus gave up so much to be with and for us, to die in our place, to rise to give us a victory we could never earn but in which we are welcomed lavishly, generously, joyfully, grace-fully to share. He reminds the reader of how love is shown forth in one giving his life for his friends, and how those of us who serve cross-culturally in an attempt to show Jesus' love for others have a unique chance to give up our lives (our things, our culture, our status, our privileges, even sometimes literally our lives) to demonstrate that love. How little of that was present in my thoughts and attitudes, although I hope a bit more of it was present in my actions...
So this is my confession. I have far to go in learning to be like Jesus, who willing and without complaint gave up a place in heaven to be born in a stable, to work as a carpenter, to be rejected and ridiculed, to be humiliated in death and misunderstood in life. I do not love my neighbor well. Lord, help me to grow in this, particularly when dealing with the additional stresses of cross-cultural relationships. Am I willing to be misunderstood, to be rejected, to be unappreciated or ignored? Am I willing to have my medical judgment questioned, my competence doubted, what little knowledge I have worked to earn ridiculed? Am I actually willing to follow where Jesus leads and expect nothing in return?
I am reminded of 1 Corinthians 13, the so-called love chapter. Verses 2-3, 8a: "If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing... Love never fails." Lord, teach me to love like you do.
Hale goes on to talk about what to do for culture shock. His steps include recognition, praying for God's grace and enabling, adapting to the nationals except for ethics and faith, making a circle of friends, cultivating an attitude of exploration/adventure, maintaining friendships with other expats, and not taking yourself too seriously. I was struck as I looked over this list by how little of this I did. I was much quicker to judge and criticize than to ask God for his enabling to love those around me. I was much quicker to relate to the simpler relationships with expats than to invite over Zambian friends, even for the little hospitality (tea, games) I could offer. And this is me, who prides myself on enjoying the challenge of cross-cultural relationships and cultivating a good number of them, including among my closest friends. Have I been deceiving myself and simply requiring my friends to respond in ways that fall within my expectation or do not require challenge or change for me?
Hale speaks of the way in which Jesus gave up so much to be with and for us, to die in our place, to rise to give us a victory we could never earn but in which we are welcomed lavishly, generously, joyfully, grace-fully to share. He reminds the reader of how love is shown forth in one giving his life for his friends, and how those of us who serve cross-culturally in an attempt to show Jesus' love for others have a unique chance to give up our lives (our things, our culture, our status, our privileges, even sometimes literally our lives) to demonstrate that love. How little of that was present in my thoughts and attitudes, although I hope a bit more of it was present in my actions...
So this is my confession. I have far to go in learning to be like Jesus, who willing and without complaint gave up a place in heaven to be born in a stable, to work as a carpenter, to be rejected and ridiculed, to be humiliated in death and misunderstood in life. I do not love my neighbor well. Lord, help me to grow in this, particularly when dealing with the additional stresses of cross-cultural relationships. Am I willing to be misunderstood, to be rejected, to be unappreciated or ignored? Am I willing to have my medical judgment questioned, my competence doubted, what little knowledge I have worked to earn ridiculed? Am I actually willing to follow where Jesus leads and expect nothing in return?
I am reminded of 1 Corinthians 13, the so-called love chapter. Verses 2-3, 8a: "If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing... Love never fails." Lord, teach me to love like you do.
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