To Save A Life

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

I was walking home from my matatu (local transportation) and on the other side of the road walking the opposite direction I saw one of my good friends. He texted me later that night and said something like, “Sorry, when I saw you today my mind was in Heaven.” I naively thought he was being silly and trying to make me laugh. So I sent a “haha” back. His response left me speechless for a few minutes. His text said, “Yeah, haha. Sounds like a joke but its for real, just before that time I got a call that my friend from Kibera (one of the biggest slums in Africa) was killed. Mob justice. So you know what was running through my mind.”

His friend that he grew up with was killed. He is dead. Gone.

My friend later told me the story of what happened to his friend. He was innocent. It was simply a case of being with the wrong people, at the wrong place, at the wrong time. There was a big event going on and some of the guys he was with tried to steal something from one of the people at the event. But he was not involved.  The crowd saw that they were trying to steal something. Everyone in the group got away. But in the chaos, the crowd found someone who they assumed was involved. My friend’s friend. They assumed that because of a lack of justice in our justice system the only way to stop the thievery was to take the matter into their own hands. They stoned him to death.

He did not survive.

I was not able to save his life. I did not have the ability to save him. If I had known what was going to happen, things could have been different. I would have had my friend warn him to stay away to save his life. But I did not know. I was totally oblivious. At the time I was doing horse riding therapy with my wonderful special needs children. I could not save him because I did not have the knowledge needed to save him.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

My Facebook status: When I prayed that God would make me a blessing to someone this morning I had no idea that would involve saving a little girl’s life. Thank you Lord for adrenaline and enabling me despite my pounding heart. She is the most precious little girl ever. She has special needs and is unable to talk. She was drowning in a basin of water. I was changing another little girl’s clothes but I heard something like gurgling. I just thank God that I heard the little noise she was able to make. I ran over as fast as I could. By the time I got there she was already completely under the water. When I got her out of the water she was gasping and threw up the water. I was so terrified. But God is so good. At the time it was happening, it was like there was this fire inside of me… not fear. It was an emotion a little like anger. I was going to do whatever it took to save my baby. God just gave me the strength to do what needed to be done to save her. I didn’t even think. But it was once she was in my arms that I was so scared. I knew she was safe but I couldn’t stop shaking. Again, my favorite quote, “His strength is greater than my weakness.” It was totally God. Not me.

Now, imagine something with me…just hypothetically.  Imagine I saw all this happening… and stood there and watched. I had the ability to save her life but didn’t. I am sure you would have considered me guilty of a terrible crime. I could have saved her because I knew how to save her but chose not to. 

I am sure that none of you reading this would have let this precious little girl drown. That is simply unthinkable, unforgivable. But YOU are guilty. Every time you allow fear or convenience’s sake to keep you from sharing/showing Jesus you do the exact same thing… except on a far worse level.

If you are a Christian and do not share Jesus with the people in your life, you are guilty of doing something far worse than letting a beautiful girl die. Unlike me in the first story, you have the knowledge to save. It is our responsibility to present Jesus, the one and only Savior, to the world. If we truly love someone, we will refuse to not share the One we love most with them.

What I want to do with my life… *Drum Roll, Please*

I believe ^that^ sums it up.

ilovelifeilovelifeilovelifeilovelifeilovelifeilovelifeilovelifeilovelifeilovelifeilovelife

I am about to be a bit weird. Just a heads up.

But God used a leaf to speak to me. No, I didn’t audibly hear it speak to me or anything. I just saw it in a bush with hundreds of other leaves. But this is what God spoke into my heart.

We were made for a relationship with God.  That is the most important thing. The central vein (known as the “midrib” FYI incase you were wondering… which I am sure you were) symbolizes our one-on-one relationship with Christ. It should be the foundation for EVERYTHING we do. But I believe we were also made for relationship with people. As Christians, we have two choices. We can either be like the right or left side of the leaf.

• Right Side: Our one-on-one relationship with Christ begins and ends there. “It is a personal thing”. We don’t talk about it. We don’t allow it to change us. And we would rather not broadcast our Christian status to the world to avoid any awkwardness. We would not dare do anything that would make us appear different.
• Left Side: Our relationship with Christ spills over into every other relationship we have. It permeates everything we do. If our Christianity were put on trial, anyone who knows us would be able to testify that they are a witness to our relationship with Christ. Meeting Christ was like getting hit by a bus. We were unable to walk away the same. Every person we meet can see a tangible difference in us and we are not ashamed of it.

The thing about the Great Commission is that it is strong. It begins with the word “GO”. That is an action word. Notice that Christ did not insert a “Please” in front of the “Go”. It is not a request. It is a command. God did not say “Go if you feel like it.” “Go if you it is easy for you.” “Go if it is convenient.” “Go if you are a really good speaker.” “Go if you are a very brave person.” God said “Go”. Period. And you know what… he didn’t just say I would like all the pastors and missionaries to go. If you are a believer, he told YOU to go.

We MUST go.

A Modest Model… A Paradox?

In matters of fashion, swim with the current. In matters of conscience, stand like a rock. –Thomas Jefferson

My moral dilemma is what does one do regarding matters of conscience revolving around fashion.

When you hear the words “catwalk”, “model”, “fashion show”, “runway”, what comes to mind?

Exactly.

There are 243 world areas with people who have not heard the story of what Christ did for them.  Well, I feel like there is another unreached people group. The modeling world.

That seems like a pretty dark place that could use some light.

All of the sudden, this year I have had a lot of opportunities for modeling and acting thrown at me. I had my portfolio done and sent it to some agencies, cinematographers, consultants, photographers, etc… and I got results. My email was daily full of new job offers. Some of them were really exciting like a commercial shot in Dubai with a pay rate of $10,000 Buyout, plus airfare, hotel accommodations and dining during the shoot. However, the majority were filled with things like “send us photos WITH MORE EXPOSURE” (they literally sent that in capital letters) and requests to do lingerie modeling. I declined offer after offer. I knew modeling didn’t have to be like that, that it was possible to show off the beautiful creativity of a skilled designer without having to be reduced to a lust magnet. I wanted to show people that it is possible to be a modest model with standards that would enable me to bring glory to My Designer and Heavenly Father but I was not getting job offers that allowed me to do that. So eventually I just decided that I was going to stop pursuing modeling and wait to see what God what God did. I prayed that if He did not want me to be in this industry, He would close the doors and these job offers would end. I did not hear from any of these producers, agents, etc. for awhile. Then a new door was opened which I thought was finally something I could do and feel proud of. This amazingly talented fashion designer, who was even invited to London Fashion Week, presented me the honor of being in her biggest show and being her show stopper model. For the modeling illiterate, that is the final model wearing the designer’s best garment and the collection’s climax. I was so excited to work with this designer because she is so gifted and in her own words, her collection “is more about embodying a woman’s beauty than exposing it”. When I told her about my non-compromise policy regarding modesty standards she was extremely understanding and professional. That is why I love her. She assured me that she would do her best to not make me look like a glamorized collection of body parts. But she was also very upfront and honest with me. She told me that the theme of her collection was evening wear/red carpet inspired by Indian embroidery. Sounds amazing, doesn’t it?! J Because she was showcasing the Indian culture, the garment she had designed for me would reveal some of my stomach. Honestly, that is very little of her to ask of me and I am sure most of you are thinking, “THAT’S IT?!… pssshh… no big deal”.

But for me it has become a big deal. It has left me completely stuck… absorbed. I have felt like a hamster running on a wheel, able to think about little else other than what I should do but reaching no conclusion.

I have talked to so many people I really respect for advice. Every single person I have talked to, even my parents, which really surprised me, felt that it would be alright for me to wear the garment because it is not inappropriate at all to show your stomach in the Indian culture.

So, if every single member of the wise counsel that I have sought out has advised me to go ahead, I should have come to a conclusion very easily, right?

I haven’t. The only thing stopping me is myself. I have not felt peace about it. I have been praying and praying and have not felt convinced the Holy Spirit has given me the go-ahead.

I had decided that I was going to tell this amazing designer that unfortunately I did not feel comfortable simply because of my testimony. Would other girls that look up to me think, well “If Katie Reed is doing that, then so can I” and end up getting devoured by the dangerous animal known as the media industry with an insatiable desire to exploit and commoditize women? Would I be able to proudly say that through God’s help I was able to hold my commitment that I refused to do anything that I could not use to show off My Best Friend and Creator?

I had my mind made up. But then… *sigh* I was doing my Beth Moore Bible Study homework and came across this and was left with no idea whatsoever as to what do.

We can respond legalistically and shun harmless practices. However, we would risk alienating the very people we want to reach. What do people win with their strict
legalism? Sometimes only the right to be right. Something far more important stands to be won: a precious human being. One of the most crucial elements foreign missionaries are taught is cultural sensitivity. Such sensitivity means, when possible, do not put obstacles in the way or reaching others for Christ. Of course, we have a plumb line. We obviously cannot sin to win.

Knowing how to apply Paul’s standard of “all things to all men” requires both spiritual maturity and sensitivity. Ask the Holy Spirit to guide as you build witnessing relationships while maintaining appropriate standards.

Thus, I am stuck. Completely puzzled as to which choice will bring more glory to God and will enable me to make a greater difference for Him. I am not fighting the Holy Spirit. I am excited about whatever happens because I know He can use it. I am not playing tug-‘o-war but instead am holding onto the rope praying that He will pull me to the side He wants me.

Do I choose to take the path of “If my God is not welcome here, than neither am I” or “In order to be a light, you have to go into the darkness”?

Please pray that God will reveal the answer to me.

Pretty is what you are, but beauty is what you do with it.

Uganda. The memories.

Etched in my heart.

I really felt for the parents who had to hold their children on their laps for our 23 hour busride.

Me and my travel buddy :)

One of our lovely restrooms. This one even had two stalls.

No door necessary :)

The toilet. Equipped with toilet paper- the leaves (for the village-illiterate out there)

Where I bathed.

It barely reached my collar bone. If I can see you…

It even came with a bath matt and drainage.

The very nice bedroom they made for us to sleep in one night.

Real African worship.

Teaching tie-dye with my partner, the Naz. Compassionate Ministries Coordinator for East Africa

The pastors and a white girl… wow, what’s she doing there… oh wait, that’s me.

Eating with the elders.

Food… food… and more food.

Teaching Soap-Making

Challenging the group to ask themselves “Can God trust me?” in a business training.

The Ugandan cows are so much more attractive than Maasai cows.

Omena. Little fish being dried to be eaten… but then it started to rain. :(

The need for deworming medication.

Ugandans are excellent brick makers.

And it got stuck. And everybody watched.

And there was no way around it.

So we had to unstuck them.

Always interesting things being carried in the backs of the lories. Cattle, chicken, huge lumber that could fall out and crush you.

Now that’s quality service. Who needs a Wal-Mart? You don’t even have to get out of your car :)

The country of bananas.

Real men eat the whole fish.

The fact that my lunch watched me eat itself did make me feel a lil bit guilty.

When in Rome… *sigh* poor Mr. Fishy.

I could get used to seeing the word “Queens” indicating a ladies restroom.

Meat for sale. Hungry, anyone?

Looks yummy, don’t it? (:

Ugandan version of Payless

Jack fruit. HUGE. So sticky you have to use kerosene to clean your knife after cutting it.

Another one of our bathrooms for your viewing pleasure.

I was a teensy bit of afraid of this leaning structure collapsing on me with my skirt down

Levelling the ground to build a 700 seater church.

Ground breaking.

While you are tinkling you are to see everything going on around you perfectly.

Scary, scary bird. Compre their height. I am not a friend of Marabu Storks.

I may have left my country but not my matatus.

Boda Boda baby! Yep. I rode those sidesaddle in a long skirt.

Cows chilling in the main roundabout. nbd (:

Chicken on their way to the market… or to the dinner plate. :(

Why yes, those are cattle.

Giving the Texas Longhorn some competition! Look at those horns.

Thank you. For the memories.

Give us this day our daily bread

This gallery contains 8 photos.

This is my prayer as I go to work. November 16 and 17 I captured a few moments that I want to keep to remind me to thank God for what I have and to use whatever He has blessed me with to bless others. I want to share these images that will be sealed [...]

Kilograms

I assumed it would be a regular Tuesday… wake up at 6:30, leave home at 7:30, get to work by 9, go to rehab staff meeting, go to the Abandoned Baby Centre and love on precious babies while analyzing their developmental milestones, do individual therapy with older special needs children, eat lunch, help prepare the children for Hydrotherapy, leave for Karen Hospital, enjoy some special time with amazing children in hydrotherapy, get home between 5 and 6. Because I assumed I was going for hydrotherapy I wore a pair of flip-flops (which Kenyans call “slippers” and consider house shoes) so that I could wear them in the shower at the hospital because being I don’t want to wear the hospital shoes or take a shower barefoot. I got to work and found out that I had made a faulty choice in my attire.

This Tuesday was going to be different.

I arrived at work and went to my meeting. I could vaguely hear my boss on the phone in her office saying things like ”Yes, she is here. Yes, I can escort her now.” She came into the room where my meeting was taking place and said that the HIV/AIDS Department is leaving now as this is food distribution week.

Next thing I knew I would myself in a van surrounded by Kenyan men following a huge lori (semi truck) full of food.

I felt a tiny bit out of place. I am not a man. I am not Kenyan. Though I am more than willing I am not used to doing manual labor. Carrying a 50 KG. bag of maize is not an easy task for me considering that is the equivalent of me carrying myself.

But…

I love Kenyans. I want to do anything I can to help people. I am hardworking. I am okay with getting dirty (Did I just say that?! Man… God must be really sanctifying me because I know that is not something I am capable of without His grace and help).

We arrived in Korogocho and Dandora (Kenya’s worst slums) and found hundreds of people lined up waiting for us. We had them one by one take off their shoes and step on a scale. My heart sang as I saw the numbers that revealed so much about their current status. The number of kgs in many cases were equivalent to that of a child. I weighed more than most of the men. Adults weighing 30some kgs! The highest I saw was 56 kg and everyone said congratulations. A person with a western mindset couldn’t even imagine someone celebrating because the numbers on the scale had gotten significantly bigger.

Just a few days before one of my friends said that she had lost the desire to eat and then when she eventually was able to eat better her doctors put her on an extremely diet restricting the majority of foods that have any flavor at all. I felt sorry for her.

Eventually.

But my immediate reaction was honestly something that I am ashamed to say on a public forum. My immediate reaction was… envy. I was jealous. I thought she is going to lose so much weight and look so good. How disgusting is that? Because I have developed a crazy immune system to things that most tourists would really suffer from I eat 95% of whatever African food is put before me. But there have been times when my thought process has been like this:

If I eat that, I will probably get sick.

How can I avoid eating it without offending anyone?

Not worth it. Let me just eat it because I don’t have anything huge going on in the next few days so it might not be a bad thing if I end up sick. Throwing up and having diarrhoea are not fun but it wouldn’t hurt to lose an inch.

I promise I am not anorexic or bullemic or anything. And I have never actually thrown up or anything deliberately. But I did have a thought like that in my mind for half a second once or twice. I think every American girl has a thought like that once in her life.

This world is not fair. Peoples attitude toward something like calories shows the drastic inequality of this life. Friend or foe. Both ends of the spectrum exist and both extremes are healthy.

I measured the amount of oil a person was to receive for their family. We gave them Palmolein Oil Fortified with Vitamins A & D to helpthese HIV+ people gain weight. After having everyone stare at me as I helped to unload the huge truck, I immediately went to work preparing the 25 kg. containers of the oil. I was opening them to remove the seal following the lead of one of the men I was working with. He stood up and said “Let me do it. Just watch… You will break your nails.” My response shocked me as it left my lips “Nails are not that important”… and I kept working. God is training my heart to value what He values. These tokens of vanity have no eternal significance but showing the love of Christ by helping someone to live another day does. Being the hands and feet of Christ and helping to sustain someone desperately struggling for life. Helping a child to live another year or a child to have a mother for another  year. That matters.

I left with broken finger nails, covered in Corn Soy Blend, stained with oil, wishing I had worn closed toe shoes instead of my Old Navy Flip Flops… with a smile on my face and love in my heart.

The following day I returned to work to do more food distributions in Kayole and MailiSaba wearing the right shoes, dark colored clothes that don’t highlight filth, and missing my formerly feminine length finger nails ready to do what I want to do every day “Go M.A.D.” (Go Make A Difference) for God.

Today… I poured my own tea!

I remember the day these words came out of my mouth. I walked in the door and proudly exclaimed my great accomplishment to anyone within earshot. “Today… I poured my own tea!”

This may seem like nothing to you. But up until that point everyday at one of my internships when it is finally tea time, one of the guys has poured my tea for me. But that day, for the first time – no one did.

Why am I excited about that?

Because I feel it is a sign of assimilation. I don’t want to be different. I don’t want special treatment.

My whole life I have been different. I look back at pictures of me in singing with my Sunday School class as a little girl. I could not have stood out more. I go upcountry (out of Nairobi) and have people rub my skin to see if it is black underneath. I work in parts of the slums where I doubt any other white person has been to before. I take public transport and am either the only white person in a 60 seater or might as well be sitting on the stranger’s lap next to me in a matatu but I feel totally comfortable. I don’t feel different but I look different.    I am the only marshmallow in a cup of hot chocolate. 

When I am in the states I am different. I am the Africa Girl. I am the Missionary Kid. I have been told that a guy finds me attractive because he views me as exotic. WHAT? I am sorry but the last time I checked I was a human being from the same planet as you not a piece of fruit.

But when I am not different I don’t know feel normal. How funny is that? Not being the center of attention, not having people staring at me scares me. I remember one time I had just landed in the states. I was still in the airport. I felt like I was having a crisis because everyone looked like me. I blended in. No one was staring… people were simply glancing at me. Everyone was white and it made me uncomfortable.

My Names

Whenever I walk through slums or in villages upcounty, I am haunted by the word “Mzungu“. It is the word for white person or foreigner. It is totally nonderagatory and I am used to it. But on the other hand, I guess it would be nice to be able to walk and not have people staring at me,  calling out to me or wondering what I am doing in a certain area . But for the first time I was given a new name- “Mgeni“. I  have to wear a tag with a lanyard around my neck that says in big bold letters a word I don’t like… “VISITOR“. I would have a choir of five-year olds following after me calling “Mgeni, Mgeni”, wanting to shake my hand. As I greet them I always reply, “Mimi si mgeni. Naitwa Kate.” (“I am not ‘Visitor’. My name is Kate.”) PS I am not Katie because I have found it is just easier to be Kate. The Swahili word “keti” (sit) sounds too similar. So when someone would ask me my name and I would reply Katie they would think I was saying “Sit”. I have also received letters addressed to “Kitty”. Hence, when someone actually calls me by my name instead of “Mzungu” or “Mgeni”, I am Kate.

I want people to see my heart and not my skin color. I speak Swahili to them and that helps. I know it will take time. But there is nothing worse than being viewed as the equivalent of a tourist.

But God is blessing me and helping to quicken the process of assimilation. While I will always have a parade of kids following me, people wondering what in the world is this young white girl doing in this slum by herself, and the matatu conductors trying to take advantage of me, the people who know me… know me. The kids where I put on silly smiles as they call my name the moment they see me from no matter how far away I am. And every once in a while someone will say something that encourages me that through Christ I am overcoming the obstacles.

The little compliments that make my insides smile.

“I forgot I was with an mzungu.”

“Are you a white Kenyan (as in born in Kenya)? I assumed you were because of your Swahili.”

“Kate is an African like us.”

“You are one of us.”

“You are a very experienced lady.”

“Tuko pamoja” (We are together).

“You are not trying… you have mastered Swahili” (I wish!)

Just like the walls of Jericho, I am praying the any remaining barriers will continue to come a’tumblin’ doooooooown!

He Held My Hand

Two weeks ago I requested permission to go with the rehab staff to the Dandora site to do therapy the following week. I knew I wanted to go. Once I was given permission, the fear began to well up in my stomach. Dandora is one of Kenya’s worst slums as it is the home of Kenya’s biggest dumpsite. The week before the staff found a black mamba in the cupboards. They killed it but the mamas were still too scared to go back into the therapy room. I was told that the staff leaves Dagoretti at 8. So that meant I would have to travel alone through Kawangware (another slum) on matatu at 6:30 in the morning. The majority of people would be leaving Kawangware heading towards town to go to work… not going into Kawangware. I always ask if the matatu is going all the way to where I want to go beofre I get in it. They usually lie to me and stop half way, turn off the engine, say “Mwisho” (meaning last or the end… as in get out) and then I need to find another matatu to take me the rest of the way. So I was afraid of getting stuck in the middle of Kawangware at 6:30 in the morning and not being able to find another matatu to get it. My collegues had told me horror stories of diseases they had caught from Dandora and mothers blaming them because their child who does not even have chest or head control cannot stand. Long story short… I was scared. I had reason to be.

I could feel it in my heart and whole chest. I was scared. I sat on the kitchen floor and prayed with my sweet mommy. Then I said “Okay, God I choose to not be afraid anymore but to completely trust You. Please left this off my shoulders because I can’t carry this fear and go through this by myself.

I went to bed. I woke up. That morning when I was doing my devotions God gave me what I needed. Romans 8.

 More Than Conquerors

31 “If God is for us, who can be against us?32  If God didn’t hesitate to put everything on the line for us, embracing our condition and exposing himself to the worst by sending his own Son, is there anything else he wouldn’t gladly and freely do for us?33  And who would dare tangle with God by messing with one of God’s chosen?34  Who would dare even to point a finger? The One who died for us—who was raised to life for us!—is in the presence of God at this very moment sticking up for us.

38  I’m absolutely convinced that nothing—nothing living or dead (EVEN A BLACK MAMBA!), angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow,
39  high or low, thinkable or unthinkable—absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us.”

I am in my church’s worship team and the week before I had sang “Our God” by Chris Tomlin with two other ladies as a special so that song had been engrained in my head. But God gave me this song to carry in my heart.

“Our God is greater
Our God is stronger
God, You are higher than any other
Our God is healer
Awesome in power
Our God, our God

And if our God is for us
Then who could ever stop us
And if our God is with us
Then what could stand against
Then what could stand against”

I didn’t have to go to Dandora alone. I had someone to hold my hand. His name is Jesus. He is my Best Friend. He is greater.

Dandora was a breeze. So much easier than the places I am used to working in. But it was good preparation for what was to come…

I had Someone not only to hold my hand but to hold me in His hand.

My Favorite Thing About Kenya

The Things I Take For Granted

I am currently blessed to be able to spend three days a week with the most beautiful special needs kids for two of my internships. I am truly in love with them. There are so many words I could use to describe them–caring, thoughtful, happy, content, cheeful, silly, lovable, funny, loving, strong, and perservering. The older ones look out for the younger ones. The strong ones help the weak ones. What a family! I love watching the big boys help carry the little girls, those who can talk explain for those who can’t, those who know the routine help me get caught up and teach me the ropes. It is beautfiul. They take whatever they have and use it to help others. That is my prayer. “I give myself away so that You can use me.”

I am learning so much from the people I am working with. But one thing that they have completely convinced me of is that “Disability is not inability”. These kids are really showing me that. They try so hard. When a line is drawn straight in a workbook, when a letter s curves in the right direction, when Monday is signed the right way… we celebrate.

Earlier I listed some words that describe these precious children but one word that I also have to use to describe them is fragile.

When we travel by car, I have to support them so that they don’t fall. I never would have thought that turning a corner in a van could create so much fear in a child.

Lord, forgive me for taking for granted that I can sit and don’t have to have someone to hold me in place.

On Tuesdays I take children with withered bodies for hydrotherapy. I hold girls that are twelve but are the height of a 6 year old and boys that whose limbs I could wrap my thumb and index finger around.

Lord, forgive me for taking  for granted that people don’t stare at my body because it is different or not “normal”.

Their bodies are so fragile but the water’s warmth and buoyancy enables them to extend their limbs which get little use as they are confined to a wheelchair all day.

Lord, forgive me for taking for granted that I can stand.

The next day, I take other children with physical disabilities to horse-riding therapy. On the first day as a little boy who can’t walk was being carried out of the van, his shoe fell off. I didn’t even think about it. Without thinking I went to pick it up for him and put it on his foot. Absolutely no thinking involved. It is just habit. When a child’s shoe falls off what do you do- you put it back on. But as I went to put his small dirty shoe on his foot, I didn’t know what to do. His foot was so disformed that I had no idea how to physically put his shoe on it. I almost cried right there. I did my best and managed to get one shoe on after strugglingly for an embarassingly long time. I couldn’t get the second one on. I didn’t want to hurt him or make him feel bad. Oh, Jesus help these children.

Lord, forgive me for taking for granted that I don’t have to struggle to put shoes on my feet.

There is this precious boy and his body is so stiff like a board. His feet are turned out. Every morning someone has to go to help remove the secretions from his chest.

Lord, forgive me for taking for granted that I can cough.

I have been blessed to know these two older girls that I see the joy of the Lord in. I think they are 14 and 16. They don’t have much control over their limbs. They are blessed to be able to walk. I watch them walking around with their arms randomly and awkwardly moving with these huge smiles on their faces. After meeting these cheerful girls I feel foolish for not being happy when I am having a bad day.

Lord, forgive me for taking  for granted that I have control over my muscles.

Getting dressed involves more than putting on undergarments, a top, and a skirt or a pair of trousers. I am learning how to put on new things like leg braces.

Lord, forgive me for taking for granted that my legs are straight.

Everyday, I learn about new tools that have been individually made for a child’s special needs. The other day when we were going to wheel some kids up for lunch, someone brought out a tool that fastens a spoon to a boys hand so that he can experience the independence of feeding himself even though he can’t open his hand.

Lord, forgive me for taking  for granted that I get food from my plate to my mouth without spilling it… most of the time .

I am learning how to sign basic things. I am a communicator. It breaks my heart that I can’t talk to some of these children that have so much to say.

Lord, forgive me for taking for granted that I can talk. 

I do analyses for abandoned babies to see if they have reached the correct developmental milestones or if they are behind. Basic things like can a 2-3 month old child lift his head up if put on his/her stomach, color differentiation, prone of knees and hands. But I am learning so many new things. Last week I had to ask one of the rehabilition staff members what they meant when on the child growth evaluation form the term “wasted” was used to describe a child. Starvation. Malnutrition. I see African children with white spots on their head from malnutrion everywhere I go. A baby. Starving.

Lord, forgive me for taking for granted that I am not dieing of hunger.

On my first day at one of my internships I took children to go get tested for HIV/AIDS.

Lord, forgive me for taking for granted that my parents have not passed on a death sentence to me.

Children smile at me with teeth that have rotted away.

Lord, forgive me for taking  for granted that I can eat an apple with no pain and smile unashamedly.

God, thank you for everything you have given me. Thank you for my body. Help me to use it to help those who can’t do the things I can.

They just need to be loved. I am sorry for taking so much for granted. Forgive me.