When I was seventeen I contracted amoebic dysentery in a Papua New Guinean village while volunteering at a youth camp. I thought I might die. I could not keep anything inside me but when I stood up for the necessary bathroom visit, I fainted. My mother, a nurse by profession, held my forehead while all my bodily fluids escaped with projectile force. At night, as soon as I cried, “I need help,” my father’s feet hit the floor and raced down the hall to come to my aid. My mother soothed and my dad strengthened. I needed both for comfort in my suffering.
Some argue it’s easy to love God when life is comfortable. But I propose that it’s actually harder to stay close to and rely on him during these times. How do I nurture our relationship when life is fine, ordinary, and boring? What about when there isn’t a crisis, a hurt, or a longing to take to him?
Feelings of sadness have flooded my soul and the social media of my friends and family. We are sad, both individually and collectively. And we have every right to be.
I carry my tension in my neck. Computers and iPads make it worse yet. To help with this, I started going to a massage therapist. Her strong fingers find knots and kinks in my neck and shoulders I don't know I have. Her touch brings relief and my physical tension dissipates. But more than that, … Continue reading A Sacred Touch
That's me in the center with my mom, dad and younger sister in our "Robinson Crusoe" home in Kaisenik, Papua New Guinea. Over the course of my 51 years, I have lived in many different homes and slept on countless guest beds and couches. In Papua New Guinea, we had a village home, and our … Continue reading God is My Home