It's a rap!

“It’s a rap. It’s a rap. It’s a rap, rap, rap, rap, RAP!” ~ Tony Mitton

That’s what the 6th graders did for the end of school. Epic sauce. And now I want to try to reach a level of rappage equal to if not exceeding theirs here... yo... yo... yo, yo...

But actually, I want to give a wrap-up to my Bangladesh experience relatively near the experience (that, and I don't want to put you through the pain of me attempting rap). I’m beginning to write this up while I’m still in Bangladesh, but I am finishing it at home, so that way I can reflect more about differences between here and there. At least, that’s the goal. Knowing my schedule, I’ll probably only have time to glance at this once before I actually post it [reality: I only added the first part and some links... and cut out this: And now, late-night viewers, we close tonight’s program with a lovely concerto piece by none other than Mr. Floyd Q. Harrington-Schultz: “Henrietta’s Happy, Hellenistic Hungarian Hippo.”]. Thus, it won’t be a Germany, which got finished a week or so before I left for Bangladesh.

Speaking of Germany, God is awesome: remember Herrnhut? The site of nearly 100 years of non-stop prayer I visited? They had a particular type of star that they made, which reminds me of the Unitas Fratrum. While I did not take a picture of this, inside LAMB’s church, in the middle of the ceiling… there was a Herrnhuter Sterne. God unites us across the world.

On this trip to Bangladesh, God has taught me three key things about myself and my relation to others, all of which relate to my pride. I might seem like a kind, sensitive soul to most, but inwardly, I grapple with my sense of control, so part of me is not surprised that He revealed to me such missteps. At the same time, with each realization, I discovered a core truth about living for God and what that means in this world, whether I am serving Him abroad or domestically. Therefore, I pray that these boastings in my weakness would only bring understanding of and glory to the Living One:

1. I realized my pride in/attachment to the academy. I wrote about this earlier, but I came to understand how much I had made education a sort of idol. Some people worry about missing the food of home, the comfort of family, the financial security of a non-missional life. Do such things cross my mind? Now and again. But what crossed my mind more, especially at the beginning of my time here, was how I would miss the university research environment if God called me to a remote area of the world. The thing is, I was wrong on two counts: (1) people serving God in foreign lands can and do pursue further study (two people I met at LAMB were currently pursuing master’s degrees, and a third was working on her PhD), and (2) intellectual discourse and study should lead to action in missions, no matter your context, and should not remain sheltered in the university environment (it is a means, not simply an end). Pursuing advanced degrees does have a purpose, but I pray God would show me further how I can use them for His purposes, rather than my own. True wisdom from above is pure, not polluted by an air of intellectual superiority. So God, let me serve You in a way which would use whatever knowledge I attain for Your Kingdom’s purposes, and show me when to say “no” to a study opportunity for the sake of the gospel (side note: I’m not saying, “Quit doing homework and get on your knees!” But what I am saying is that I do not need a BA, MA, MPH, MD, and PhD to live a life worthy of God’s calling).

2. I realized my pride in thinking that it always must be me, a foreigner, who serves/does the work. Don’t get me wrong, I love international missions work, and I pray God would use me in this capacity in the future in whatever form He chooses, whether for a month or so each year or for a more extended period of time. However, this service does NOT mean that I take over all tasks from the community into which I enter. Missions is so much more than going to another place and doing service. Missions is living, breathing, walking in Christ wherever you are. This spirit should be fostered in the local community, and if any group were to come and serve this part of the body, then we should encourage them in their own work, rather than try to run the show. I’d welcome help from other university students in serving my own college's community, sharing with them the needs of our people, and then letting them discuss the needs they see. Admittedly, outsiders can give insights into things wrong with a system. At the same time, once these issues are revealed, who should be in control of solving them? It’s like a doctor and a patient together discovering a diagnosis. Whether the symptom report came from physician or patient, the value of patient autonomy should dictate how the patient proceeds with treatment. In this, the patient has the most control over what happens to them, and can allow the doctor to make decisions if desired. Similarly, in international missions, we should labor where we are requested to serve, supporting the work that the native people decide to establish, and not overstepping our bounds. Thus, we together bring service and praise to God in the context, wherever it might be, as the body united across place and culture. On earth as it is in heaven (Revelation 7:9-10)

3. I realized my pride in seeking the position of an exalted servant in this world, whether a doctor, teacher, or what have you, when instead I must humble myself before God to find true servanthood: I must follow Christ. Subconsciously, I believe I thought that I must inherently serve in a classical “servant” profession to serve God. But that does not mean that I have a servant’s heart. I could serve God better on a factory floor with a humbled heart than if I was “caring” for patients simply for my own pleasure or to assure use of “my” abilities. The nature of a true servant requires this submission to God, so no matter what I am doing, whether appearing philanthropic in the sight of the world or not, I take the talents given to me and multiply them as God allows. In this, I pray I would be like Christ, as Paul writes about in Philippians 2:5-8 “Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus, who, although He existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men. Being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” In this way, I can reflect Christ as Deas Vail, whose name means “humble servant of God,” sings, “I’m only a seed in Your hands / I’ll never be big enough / But the smallest of parts in Your plans / Is bigger than anything I know.” It’s not about how I serve as much as Whom I serve.

What does the future look like for me? God only knows the specifics. Part of me intends on working overseas again, as I found this trip way too short. I want to learn a language and engage with people more deeply relationally. At the same time, I don’t want to limit this goal to contexts abroad. I am approaching my final year of university studies, and I want to be ready to serve Him through operating in the language, culture, and activities of my peers. I want to be salt and light to them, and I pray I would not be so overcome by schoolwork and medical school interviews to avoid these relationships.

My heart for rural communities began to develop on an ASB trip last semester, seeing how underserved they were in the U.S., and I believe that has simply continued in my work at LAMB. Having limited resources educationally and medically requires ingenuity to use effectively. I would hope to take these on as challenges, whether through National Health Service Corps, Teach for America, or both, enthralling my intellect in the process. However, I pray I do not leave them as simply mental exercises. Christ died for urban communities, for suburbia, and for what some affectionately call “the sticks.” I believe He has a heart for all these peoples, and I do not want to limit my ministry to a particular group. I do pray that I would continue to serve in rural communities, though I pray more that God would reveal to me the needs around me, and that I would operate as His servant, no matter the context. I am not living simply for tomorrow. He has me where He wants me today. And I pray I would live in that moment, pouring out all I am for His Name, until my breath gives way, and His breath pilots my ship to shore.

Until then, I will sojourn. Peace to you all until next journey!

In Christ,
MJW

Between

Yo kiddos,

Why the random influx of blogs, you ask? Well, when you have time to reflect on your trip for three days, and then have no internet access, things happen. Thus, unless I wanted to watch a Hindi game show involving shoots and ladders, I wrote up blogs.

Here, I’m going to write briefly about the experience of the population known as “Third Culture Kids,” i.e., those children raised by parents from one culture, and live in a different culture. Basically, every missionary child, though not limited to these. For example, if a businesswoman from the U.S. and her husband were forced to move oversea, say to Egypt, their children would be Third Culture Kids. Why third, when there’s only two? Because they seem to occupy a place unto themselves, a middle space between the two which somehow becomes a third culture unto themselves, such that they don’t completely fit in either their parents’ homeland or the environment in which their family resides.

As personalities vary, children can have different perceptions of the experience. It is awkward for anyone, but it is not necessarily negative. The experience of children born into missional contexts, for example, often go into missions themselves, whether in the environment they were raised or another entirely, as was the case of the grown children of an older couple at LAMB.

Others, however, do take it hard. One time during PE (what a glorious subject!), one of the expat children faced a misunderstanding with his Bangladeshi peers, and sat off to the sidelines, moping. I walked up to him, thinking he was angry about the game, only to hear him voice his concern about how he never felt at home any place. In Bangladesh, he was always the “bideshi,” the foreigner, the outsider, but in the nation his parents were from, he was seen as a Bengali, one of the people of Bangladesh. I counseled him as much as I could, asked him to seek his identity in God, and then returned to supervising dodgeball… where another expat child was having a great deal of fun.

The incident caused me to reflect a good deal about what I would have for my own children in missions. I pray I would be more than willing to get up, stick a nail in my sinful flesh, and go to the ends of the earth to follow God. I would hope the same for my future wife. But for my children, who have no choice in the matter, how should I counsel them? How should I point them toward Christ, as I had not been raised with such torn allegiances culturally? I do not take this as a reason to avoid the mission field. However, my kneecaps should wear down a bit more for them as they discover within themselves a third culture.

In a sense, I suppose we as Christians all are in this state: Kingdom children far from our native land of heaven, somehow occupying this foreign land called earth. Of course, we do not adopt the ways of this world, but we are still confused as to how we act in the world without becoming of the world. The tension is awkward, but we know the One who shapes our identities out in spite of it. He is the One who draw us into this strange dance between two worlds until we are at last home.

Peace in Christ [yet sehnsucht until then],
MJW

Culturally Awkward Penguin

‘Sup fresh it’s our turn baby [cue The Devil Wears Prada’s version of “Still Fly”],

And you thought I was awkward in the States! Ha! You don’t even KNOW!

Here I thought I’d share with you some of these happenings from my experience at LAMB.

- Out of habit, I often put my writing utensil behind my ear. Easy enough to keep in place. Even better when my hair is long enough to conceal it in the curls, though I did not have those because of the heat. But it seems every single Bangladeshi teacher commented on the practice and thought it strange, laughing at the practice at times. Whatevs ;)

- I grew more and more confused on proper greetings with people. I knew I couldn’t hug the women I was around, though I could sometimes shake teachers’ hands. However, when I tried on the field at a maternal clinic, they said it was culturally inappropriate, but that they’d let it slide. I think I’m just gonna go for a general acknowledgement/head nod in the future :P

- One day, there was a man that kept trying to offer me some sort of purple fruits. As I left the gates of the compound, he offered them to me, and I put my hand up and said, “no thank you.” He then proceeded to follow beside me walking for five minutes speaking in Bangla, and I told him once more, no thank you, and then looked straight ahead at the road. He began laughing and shouting, “excuse me” and “hellooooo” in English until we reached the railroad tracks. To say the least, I felt uncomfortable, but I’m glad nothing came of it.

- So there’s a community of men in Bangladesh that cross dress, wearing saris like the women do here. One of these men was scaring some of the children near where I was staying, cursing in Bangla and in English, so I decided to be with them for a time. He walked up to me, winked, and threw me a kiss. I scowled and prayed that God would release him. I know these men need the love of Christ, and part of me wishes I had shown it further to this man, but at the same time, I wanted to demonstrate to the children that they did not need to fear him.

- And perhaps the top most awkward for me: on the teachers’ last official day of school, two Bangladeshi teachers at the school asked me to follow them to the gate of the compound. I thought, “Why not? More time to spend with them before I leave, and then I can say goodbye.” But then they told me that I should follow them out of the gate, “to help them buy something.” I had thought to myself that I would not give any money out like this at the school, though I did want to accompany them long enough to say goodbye. Turns out what they meant was that they were trying to buy a gift for me at random shops. To me, this crossed a different line, the line of appropriate interaction with these teachers (both of whom were female). Yet I could not persuade them otherwise, as they viewed it as a gift for leaving, not knowing when they would see me again. I walked off with a mug and various other wares in my hands, dropped them off at school, and then headed straight to my preceptor’s office to talk about the incident. As both of them were older than me, he explained that they viewed me as a younger brother as opposed to a romantic interest (in Bangladesh, a woman cannot be in a relationship with a man if he is younger than her). I wanted to make sure this was okay culturally and ethically, and though part of me still feels awkward about the situation, I did grow to better understand male-female relationships in the nation. And if that’s what my cultural awkwardness leads to, I think I’m okay with that.

Peace to you all in Christ,
MJW

Schoolwork

Now class, I need you to quiet down for a moment. I need a word with you…

How in the WORLD can I describe all that I do at LAMB school? It’s so diverse, so beautiful, so engaging…

I like teaching. A lot.

In fact, I want to teach and be a medical doctor.

Part of me wants to at the same time, but we’ll see.

Why do I love teaching? Maybe I can share with you a few reasons why from my experience at LAMB…

- Teaching Bible class to third graders and Bible stories at school assemblies. I love engaging them as I tell the stories. 6 semesters of musicals and 8 summers of Child Evangelism Fellowship tend to help build my story telling/dramatic abilities, it seems. I love coming right up to the children and asking questions that the characters would ask in the story, e.g., King Xerxes complaining to his servants about Queen Vashti not coming to his dinner – What should I do?! And then fun review games like Zonk (pull points out of a bag as many times as you’d like, but be careful, because you might get a Zonk and lose ALL the points!). Plus, in all this, I love the fact that I’m teaching God’s Word to students who may never hear it outside of LAMB, as a good portion of LAMB’s students are Muslim. No, we don’t force the gospel onto them. No, we don’t have TURN OR BURN invitations at the end of each lesson. We tell the story, and if any children have questions, we are open to telling them. But we do not force. Part of me wants to give an invitation, but I know why I should not: (1) it’s a school setting and (2) would the children really say no to something that their teacher tells them about doing, i.e., would it be their decision? Regardless, I praise God because His Word does not return void.

- Teaching social science to grade five. Basically, I got handed 4 days and was told, “Do whatever you want.” Alrighty then! In considering and preparing different lessons, I came to realize I truly do love learning about most everything. As cliché as it sounds, my mother did *twitch* instill in me *twitch* a “life-long love of learning” (aaaaaaaaaargh!). But seriously! I was reading all about China and Switzerland and Russia as potential topics to teach them on! I only ended up doing Russia and Switzerland due to time constraints, but it was awesome teaching them about everything from their meal times to their histories to Communism. Even before these 4 days when the teacher was still at LAMB (she went on home assignment partway through my stay), I loved learning about how technology had influenced everything from health care to transportation in Bangladesh! The world is a fascinating place, and I loved sharing that with all the fifth graders… and seeing their own curiosity lead them to new questions to ask and further discoveries!

- Science lab. Oh boy! Getting to find fun microbes under microscopes is quite fun, especially when things move! But really, I love building up a spirit of inquiry in the children’s minds. Some catch on quicker than others, but regardless, I find it great that I can both teach them about different materials and living things, and also about experimental set-up.

- Teaching bioethics to the ninth grade. Though it was only for one day, I found I loved challenging their minds. As I mentioned earlier, I introduced them to principlism, a way of evaluating challenging ethical situations. I laid before them the question of embryonic stem cell research, asked them their thoughts… and whatever side they were on, I made sure to turn their thoughts on their heads with my questions. The ability to consider and reconsider needs to be a skill that all need to develop, not because we should not be sure of anything, but because we should be thorough in our evaluative process in understanding what is right or wrong, whether in medicine or other disciplines.

- Finally, to wrap up the year, we put on an end-of-year assembly. The school was divided so Preschool through Grade 4 put on one program, and Grade 5 through Grade 10 put on another (only goes through Grade 10, as that is when the students take O level examinations according to the British system). I got to work with grades 3 and 5 in their demonstrations for their parents. Grade 3 put on Daniel in the Lions’ Den, and I worked with a teacher to write a script up and put it in Bangla. It was great to see the children get into the skit (especially the lions ;) ), but also to instruct them about stage presence (facing toward the audience, speaking deliberately, slowly, etc.). Grade 5 put on a skit of their own making about a school fight, where a bully and his mean brother are confronted by their teacher. The fifth graders really came together to work on the skit, and everyone’s personality shone brightly in both the preparation and the final product (I could see some natural leaders in the group, and I loved how one of the student played the headmaster of LAMB’s school in the skit). To work with them in structuring it appropriately, and then let them take on initiative to make it even better… this is what education should do. Instruct to a point, and then boost students into their own development, guiding them as necessary. Which is why I need to be very careful about what I do and say in teaching, so I do not misguide any.

However God would have me teach in the future, I look forward to it. No matter what it is, I pray I wouldn’t step out in my own power, but in reliance on Christ, for I am not simply serving students with my life. I would hope instead that I would be a servant of the Lord, who would teach and instruct for His purposes, regardless of any sense of satisfaction I attain from the activity.

Use me as You will, O Lord, and ready me with each step.

In Christ,
MJW

Honorably Wounded

So you say I’m better off here, as dry as the shoreline in an ocean of fear,

Points to anyone who knows the song to which I refer.  Here I discuss the spirit of “honorable woundedness,” not in the sense of military woundedness in physical battle, but in spiritual war.  And what missionaries can become over enough time.

Helping can hurt in more ways than one when serving the poor.  As I’ve talked with staff here and heard their stories concerning what they have witnessed in different missional contexts, it’s enough to take a toll on anyone.  The cycle of burnout stems from there being perpetual need, and in this perpetual need, a perpetual realization that you cannot do it all.

For example (and I’m making this one up theoretically, though I have heard events similar in result happening), who would not feel discouraged if the star of your midwifery program on a Native American reservation overdosed on some medication and left herself permanently brain-damaged… all because of her husband’s abusive power.  Now let’s also say that you had developed a close relationship with this woman, having served beside her, laughed with her, and shared parts of the gospel with her.  And that similar situations happen consistently on this reservation, sometimes leading to the death of the woman.  Would you risk entering another relationship again?  Would you risk being wounded from drawing close to another person to minister to them, or would you shield yourself, and keep all your relationships surface?

Such are the risks missionaries take.  If they keep going at this pace, without anyone to counsel them, they may end up in emotional shambles or numb.  At the same time, if they leave to receive a break from the tragedy, guilt overwhelms them, a sense of failure from not enduring through the pain.  If these people do not receive a break from the insanity of their context, why should you?

In the midst of this, we know that God is able to restore us and help us endure, and He does call us out into times of rest and rejuvenation in Himself to do His work.  This is incredibly key to the work of missions, for one cannot step into this field with a spirit of self-reliance.  One must remain totally dependent on the work and supply of God, for He is the One who sustains us and heals us.  He is the One who binds up our wounds.

As a missionary from Romania told me during my time in Dhaka, “It’s very hard work, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

I end with one of my favorite songs by Kari Jobe, and I pray that no matter how difficult it is to minister (wherever you are, for spreading the gospel is met with opposition, no matter the setting), you would know God’s peace and strength:

Wish it could be easy,

Why is life so messy,

Why is pain a part of us?

There are days I feel like,

Nothing ever goes right,

Sometimes it just hurts so much.

But You’re here,

You’re real,

I know I can trust You.

Even when it hurts,

Even when it’s hard,

Even when it all just falls apart,

I will run to You,

Because I know that You are,

Lover of my soul, Healer of my scars,

You steady my heart,

You steady my heart.

I’m not gonna worry,

I know that You’ve got me,

Right inside the palm of Your hand.

Peace in Christ,

MJW

Medicine (Part 2)

When we last left our heroes...

Okay, now for what I had waited to write about: the rural clinic. This one’s probably more spiritual in tint/reflection, and I praise God for the experience. Also note that while I'm posting these blogs after my time in Bangladesh, they were written in Bangladesh during a period of time when I had no internet access.

I still cannot for the life of me pronounce the name of the clinic, but what I know is that it was 20 km from LAMB, and I clung for dear life to the back of the hospital chaplain whose motorcycle escorted us past all form of oncoming vangari (think a bicycle and a cart had a baby), car, and dump trucks, which would take up 90% of the road. When we got there, I met with the health workers, and we chatted a bit.

Side note that requires a line break: Bangladeshis will ask you a series of questions when they meet you. No matter where you are. I got asked some of these as I was riding on the back of a vangari by a motorcyclist. These are the five most common in my experience (all are asked in one sitting):

1. What is your name? (easy enough)

2. Where are you from? (also easy)

3. What do you do? (difficult in my context, as I am a university student, and I want to practice medicine someday… but to them, that means I’m a medical student)

4. Do you have any brothers or sisters? (fairly easy, get to talk about my two siblings some)

And finally, 5. Are you married? (slightly awkward, but fairly easy [no, I'm not]… unless they know you have a girlfriend, in which case it’s “when are you getting married?”)

Anyways, back to the clinic. I took a tour of the facilities and observed how their system worked. The place was mainly used by pregnant mothers, and care was given before and after birth by the staff. Education was also supplied concerning nutrition for the babies to assure their health. What was beautiful about the time was that I was able to pray with some of the staff for a Muslim woman in the next room giving birth both spiritually and physically. Tracts hung in the doorway, though patients are not forced to receive them. They are cared for, no matter their status economically or spiritually.

As a Christian, I am learning that Christ calls us toward a ministry of reconciliation of all things to Himself. So what does that look like? Spiritually is undoubtedly most important, resurrection of the heart, and assurance of eternity. However, God also calls us to minister to the physical, the economic, the environmental needs of our world… beyond the self, to communities and nations. Acting as catalysts for Kingdom-minded thinking in all that we do, how we treat each other and operate as people. The church should demonstrate this day by day within its walls. But outside those walls, we must demonstrate our identity in how we care for all things. Thus, even though this woman has yet to know the salvation of Christ, Jesus is still being demonstrated to her through the care she is given at the clinic. Further, a short distance from the clinic I met with women who were a part of a savings and deposit plan which they ran themselves, a community fund which people paid into and could take out loans as necessary, e.g., when natural disaster strike, when school fees need paid, when the working family member gets injured. I was incredibly excited to see this community initiative and organization, as such had been suggested in When Helping Hurts. Again, these women were all Muslim, but the chaplain I was with told me how the body of Christ was supporting such initiative in these communities, and he hopes to share the gospel with them in the near future.

To me, this is Christ: Savior of the world. In all its dimensions. We know we cannot completely fulfill this task until His return. But we will labor with all the strength we have to be His Kingdom people where, and so point all to the Light of His Countenance.

Peace to you all in Christ,
MJW

Medicine (Part 1)

Hey party people,

So I’ve decided to scrap the whole “I’m gonna do this chronologically!” scheme of blogging (at least for this trip) and try my hand at discussing different topics I’ve seen.  The one at hand?  As I promised a while ago, what I’ve picked up from being around the hospital (whether shadowing or listening to people).  As medical ethics is how I roll, Part 1 of these reflections will touch on issues like informed consent and the like.  Maybe some of it’s influenced from med lit I’ve been reading here (I’ve finished two Atul Gawande books in my stay here… party, party, party).  Part 2 covers the experience I had mentioned in the last note: a visit to a rural clinic.  So without further ado…

On my first day shadowing in the hospital, I followed around a Korean expatriate as he did his rounds.  Most of the cases we saw were some form of strep-pneumonia or tuberculosis.  There was an interesting diabetes patient… instead of being obese, like you’d find in the West, he was incredibly emaciated.  Apparently, his form of diabetes did not allow intake of any blood sugar, leading to no fat deposits.  Honestly, I’m not sure if I completely understand the physiological cause, though from what I have learned, many Bangladeshis get diabetes because of how they organize their mealtimes.  Most eat dinner late at night, causing their blood sugar to spike, and then for the release of glucagon at night (which releases sugar stores rather than promoting its uptake).  Then there was the man whose legs were paralyzed… because of Chicken pox.  To think that such a treatable disease would lead to such devastating effects  is unthinkable to an American, but this patient had come in too late to see physicians regarding treatment.  What was it that delayed him?  Thinking that he could wait it out and get better?  Financial burden?  Who is to say?

It’s also interesting to note how religious conflict happens in patient care, though not in a direct manner.  Rather, these battles are fought on how the religions can influence life outlook.  As opposed to the U.S., where doctors may have to talk at length with families about continuing treatment, physicians have to fight families for the care of their patients, against a sort of “Enshallah”(if God wills) passivity.  For example, when a grandmother came in suffering from some form of asthmatic attack, her relatives wanted to bring her home and let her die, even though she could easily receive treatment for her condition.  Thus, he had to tell them again and again that she could be treated, even pleading with the family for just 24 hours of treatment. While part of this may be the Enshallah attitude, I also wonder if the level of pain people experience here, and the lack of relief from that pain, encourages a more palliative outlook on medical situations as a whole.  If you contract a disease, and up until now all you have known is that nothing can solve it, why prolong the disease in a hospital setting?  But from our perspective, we see a puzzle that can easily be solved given enough time and effort… or at least, this is the hope of the medical professional.

On the note of families, patient autonomy advocates would be appalled at what can happen in medical decisions.  For most women, when asked regarding a treatment decision, will not give an answer at all, but rather, turn to their husbands for their opinions.  His decision is what stands, not hers.  If that’s how it is in other areas of life, why not medicine?  Yet does the woman have a conception of ownership of her body, such that she should be making the decisions, rather than allowing them to be made for her?  Even joint decision making would be a step in the right direction, in my mind, as it would give both parties a voice.  At the same time, the decision of a hospital or doctor can make all the difference.  As I taught biology class about a basic way to approach bioethics (principlism), one girl brought up how some small Indian hospitals refuse to deliver baby girls, and that the physician automatically asks the father about abortion if ultrasounds indicate the baby is a girl.  The very fact that the physician chose to ask the father rather than the mother speaks volumes as to the position women hold in this area of the world

And then there are questions of patient understanding.  With a language barrier and a lack of patient understanding as to what treatments do, physicians find the degree of informed consent their patients possess difficult to gauge.  If they are not informed enough, does one take on a paternalistic role, and if so, how does one amend this image?  You want to treat the patient as best you can, yet you want to ensure patients voice their treatment options from a knowledgeable standpoint.  Perhaps the degree of informed consent one might aspire toward only comes with further education on both sides:: of the doctor in language and communication skills, and of the patient in general knowledge of medical practice.

The standards for such things as informed consent obviously differ from nation to nation.  So what do you do when you have professionals from England, Germany, New Zealand, America, and the Netherlands all serving in the same facility?  Should each go off of their own understanding of patient care, a standard of the host country, or should there be some generalized “international” medical ethics code in place for them to follow when issues arise?  The first option would appear to lead to too different forms of care, e.g., for a patient teetering on the edge of life and death for the third or fourth time, with little hope of survival, would patients go to an American whose system trains doctors to always “fight” for the patient, or to a Dutchman whose system encourages more palliative measures.  If possible, operation under that nation’s standards would be optimal, though if none exists, and international standard should be implemented.  Which, of course, requires even more education on behalf of all physicians choosing to serve in the country.

Even without ethical questions, difficulties in care can surface.  I followed a team of a pediatrician, a physical therapist, a surgeon, and a nurse from four different nations try to figure out what was best for a toddler who had broken his femur.  How would we set it best?  Well, according to another surgeon from a fifth country that was phoned, the leg should be put into traction.  However, questions of the best way to do this arose due to different approaches from a medical perspective (which type of tape do we use to hold the leg in place, and how should it be applied?), from a nationality perspective (the toddler happened to be a foreigner as well, so how should care be given if there is likelihood of transfer to another hospital?), and from simply a lack of resources (the only formal traction equipment in our possession was for adults).  Using a mix of ingenuity, a textbook on hand, tape, and a weight made from a 7-UP bottle, the traction was set in place for the child.

Such situations thrill me at their complexity, as one has to determine the proper care to be given both social and logistical variables.  The Korean physician also discussed with me how he had created a makeshift cauterizer from another metallic piece of equipment, and how he had prepared an injection to save a patient’s life that he had only read about previously.  Is it right to test things on patients like this under limited time and resources?  When a patient’s life is in the balance, is it better to let the patient go and die peacefully, or to try all that one can with all that one has to save the patient, not knowing if the treatment or technique will ultimately work?  I know this sort of thing is not uncommon; the final chapter of Gawande’s Better discusses his experience in rural India, and how physicians must engage creative techniques to address everything from ulcers to brain hemorrhaging.  And according to his work, some of these physicians’ ingenuity has led to better methods than their Western counterparts.  I would rather err on the side of saving the patient, though I would pray that God would give me the assurance and ingenuity to know what to do when such moments arise in practice.

This one’s already really long, so I split the rural clinic visit into a separate chunk.  Love you people!

In Christ,

MJW

Missions

‘Sup peeps --

So for those of you with whom I have kept up, these thoughts may not be completely new, but regardless, they’re my reflections.  Sorry kids, medical reflections are going to come a tad later (there is one more experience that may be had before I post about it… we’ll see if it can get arranged ;) ).  To note before you jump in: a lot of these reflections/questions stem from the books When Helping Hurts by Brian Fikkert and Steven Corbett and Revolution in World Missions by K.P. Yohannan.

One of the things that has been challenging me during my time here is the role of expatriate missionaries in this age.  Sure, they were present in the New Testament.  The disciples shared with the Greek culture surrounding them.  Paul wanted to go preach in Spain.  Phillip ministered to the Ethiopian eunuch and supposedly went to India.  This burst of missions stemmed from an outpouring of the Holy Spirit in Jerusalem, who enabled them to speak in the tongues of many peoples.  To me, such an occurrence indicates God’s desire to reach every tongue, tribe, nation, what have you with His gospel in this same anointing.  Should it matter whether those who communicate it are of white, black, yellow, purple, turquoise, or tie-dyed skin?

And yet we face a blast of sensitivity today.  To nations in a good deal of the world (the Majority World, if you will), those who are white can be viewed as (1) rich, (2) powerful, and/or (c) a reminder of a colonial past.  To show up on missions, put on a flashy show, and distribute our wealth can breed in us a sort of god-complex, a spirit of inferiority among natives, and a general spirit of neocolonialism.  Should we not avoid such appearances in spreading the gospel?  Why must it always be the white Christians who go off to foreign lands?  I know that there are areas of the world whose darkness is quite thick and the workers are few, and God calls anyone who would come to minister to these people.  At the same time, even in areas of the world which have few churches, should not our role as the body of Christ be to encourage and sustain these local churches and missionaries in their own mission – spreading the gospel in their communities?  When should we step in and say, “This is my mission?”  Yet wouldn’t it be better to step in and say this is our mission?  Together?  Yet why are we stepping in to begin with?  We may go and help these churches in their work, which is already present, yet to violate their own mission by setting up missions in our own way may do more to harm the work of God and to promote it.

Yes, many Westerners desire to serve God abroad, I being one of them.  But we must engage these cultures in a manner which recognizes that God has been and is presently at work in these places.  Thus, we must bring to light what God has already placed in the nations, and come alongside those who are serving God in these places, humbly acknowledging that we should not crush their plans with our own, and encouraging both foreign and native servants to seek God for His gifts, desires, and mission for the land.  As foreigners, we should not be the ones calling the shots for the locals (just like it would not be my right to order around a local church in the U.S., in which I am not a member… unless, of course, God gave me prophetic word like that of Jonah).  We sustain their efforts through giving as necessary (but also allowing them to build sustainable methods of managing money… we should not just throw cash at a system and expect it to be fixed), through training in skills lacked in the area (but desired by the people, not necessarily imposing our Western standards on them), and through long-term integration and relationships with the people (to become, in a sense, a local… as much as needed to demonstrate the gospel to the people in a manner not only sensitive to, but embracing their cultural identity).  I’m not limiting it to these means, as God does have purposes to weeklong trips (like assisting in these efforts), but we need to be careful.  To understand what I mean, see the excerpt from When Helping Hurts below:

… Missions expert Miriam Adeney relates a story told to her by an African Christian friend: Elephant and Mouse were best friends. One day Elephant said, “Mouse, let’s have a party!” Animals gathered from far and near. They ate. They drank. They sang. And they danced. And nobody celebrated more and danced harder than Elephant. After the party was over, Elephant exclaimed, “Mouse, did you ever go to a better party? What a blast!” But Mouse did not answer. “Mouse, where are you?” Elephant called. He looked around for his friend, and then shrank back in horror. There at Elephant’s feet lay Mouse. His little body was ground into the dirt. He had been smashed by the big feet of his exuberant friend, Elephant. “Sometimes, that is what it is like to do mission with you Americans,” the African storyteller commented. “It is like dancing with an Elephant.”… Sometimes [short-term missions] teams dance like elephants and are unaware of what happens when culture and value systems collide [note: that’s cultures colliding with cultures and value systems colliding with value systems, not culture vs. value systems].

How, then, should I serve here?  At LAMB English-medium school, in Bangladesh, thousands of miles from home?  I pray God would use me to bless the staff and the children as much as I can through whatever teaching I can provide, whatever arranging, organizing, or task-performing that might support the education provided by the institution.  I appreciate how the school integrates both Bangladeshis and Bideshis (foreigners) in the teaching staff, and I pray that the children would receive from their teachers a great learning experience.  It is a joy to teach the students about everything from Daniel in the lions’ den to population density comparison (Bangladesh not only has a higher population density than Russia… but also a higher population O_o), to play kit-kit with them (ask me, and I’ll explain it to you ;) ), to listen to their frustrations, to laugh with them… and I believe that in this, I am not hurting them.  I am here for only six weeks, and part of me wishes I could have stayed the whole summer.  Would it be better to stay longer and build better relationships with them (and get a better grasp of Bangla to communicate with them)?  However, if in this time I have been a support rather than a hindrance to the local mission… then I believe I am helping, and not hurting.

God, direct me in all my ways toward true service to You whenever I enter a context foreign to me, whether that be stateside or abroad.  Equip me with eyes to recognize where I should step in and where I should back off.  Allow me to bless and not curse.  And I pray You would allow me to see Your salvation realized in these lands… no matter whether I communicate the gospel in the foreground or the background.

In Christ’s Peace,

MJW

P.S. Random aside: I hugged a Bangladeshi man today. I thought I knew what awesome was until that moment… mind = blown.

From Bashundhara to LAMB School

I scramble to collect my camera bag as I put up my mosquito net.  It’s rainy season, so who knows how slick the roads will be.  I relock the padlock over the front door, then head to the one on my spiky bamboo gate.  I fumble with the small key in my hands, and eventually turn it such that the gate yields to my hand.

I turn a right out of the gate onto the brick pathway, then another right, staying right along.  My umbrella refuses to stay open unless I have a hand on it at all times.  The muddy road is somewhat muddied before I reach the train tracks, but I keep to the side of the road, where my feet are held by the grass.  That is, if the goats and calves to my left haven’t eaten it.

Over the railroad tracks, the ruts of the rickshaws, vangaris, motorcycles, and bikes run everywhere in the muck, leaving hazardous pools over which I hop.  First to the right, then middle.  Stop, dodge the motorcycle.  Leap to the left.  Get my bearings.  Aim for the brick peaking its head above the mire.  Step on it cautiously.  An inevitable slip, panic, and catching.  The pigs and their piglets have no trouble.  I escape with a muddied hand.

The market is full of hustle and bustle.  The fish seller on my right waves away the flies.  The phone shop to my left, where I hope to recharge my mobile soon.  Ahead, more mire.  A pool of water is dashed with a deep red.  Some meat sold here, I suppose.  I turn right past the vangaris, and enter into the compound.

Brick again.  Security, yet awareness I may slip if I don’t keep my eyes on the path.  “Nomoshkar,” I say to the guard.  I head straight, veer a slight left toward the school.  By now I can see the playground with children swinging and playing on the monkey bars.  “Uncle Mark!” I hear from behind, “Are you coming to Bible today?”  “Yes, yes I am, Joya!”

I reach the school fairly dry.  I rinse my sandals under some running water, and then slip them off as I enter the building.  Wet footprints follow me to my desk.  My journey is complete.

MJW

Meep!

Nomoshkar again everyone!

So sorry for not updating this; a combination of dial-up speed internet and submitting the AMCAS (medical school application) has prevented me from getting the time to update this.

That, and a RIDICULOUS amount of stuff happens here, so much that I can barely think of how to post just a few things at a time.  Nevertheless, I will try to summarize my experience over the first week the best I can (not even going into what I’ve experienced since then).

Before leaving Dhaka, I did the following:

- Rode with different rickshaw drivers to get to and from the guesthouse after dark

- Read some of Atul Gawande’s Complications (still in the process of finishing it)

- Bought various foodstuffs at a market (still mustering the courage to buy something from one of the street-side shops around LAMB)

- Saw a miniature Dalek at a British expat’s apartment (!!!)

I traveled with 6 others up from Dhaka to Parbatipur, the train station in northwestern Bangladesh that is closest to LAMB.  Despite the heat, the experience was quite enjoyable, as I got to see “real Bangladesh” from my window, i.e., not the urban sprawl of Dhaka.  I looked out at villages, waterways, and a huge bridge we had to cross, which I was told was the sixth or seventh longest in the world!  I also talked with the people with whom I traveled: the family of four I believe I mentioned previously, as well as an Oxford-trained surgeon from the UK and one of LAMB’s Bangladeshi surgeons.  Even from the conversation I had with them, I feel as though I could write a book as I learned of how women were of no value in a family unless they bore sons, of how systems of microcredit can be used to overcome such misogyny and empower women economically, and of how approximately 70% of people rely on agriculture in some form (whether farming, transporting food, or otherwise) for their income.

In the middle of the 8ish-hour train ride, I reflected some on the plans I had for my life, and the purposes of God.  As I wrote in my journal, “I could easily serve God my whole life in an agrarian environment,” never being trained in medicine, or even go to university, and yet “this could be the ‘greater work of God.’  Why do I assume it has to be big in man’s eyes? [I was contemplating the tension within myself, with which I wrestled earlier today, of being a missionary doctor and a university doctor with keen interest in medical ethics… and how I wish to combine them in some ridiculous capacity that somehow whets both my appetites for international service and intellectual inquiry]  We are saved by Him and live to Him in whatever capacity… given us.  Or even rid ourselves of these capacities for the sake of pursuing His greater work.”  I later prayed that I would be able to know and make Him known wherever and whatever I am… and to show my what I should pursue given what He has supplied to me.  I admit, I’m still wrestling with this, and I don’t want to justify an academic career in any form, even if I am doing part-time international work, in my own eyes if I’m not operating in the will of God.  Pray that I would be given wisdom to know His purposes, and be willing to both love and embrace whatever it is.

When we got to Parbatipur, we took a van to LAMB, and to the guesthouse in which I am currently staying.  It’s not the one on the LAMB compound, but rather, it’s a 5 minute walk to the gate in an area called Boshandara.  I’ve got the place to myself, though there are two beds in the room.  I sleep under the watchful eyes of the lovely little lizards which scurry about the place.  Also, a certain spray insect killer has become my weapon of choice against cockroaches.  The shower is gloriously cool to the skin when the heat becomes insane.  What I love about Boshandara, though, are the children that stay in the little community.  Pollob, Preetom, Joya, and others who attend LAMB’s school routinely play games in the afternoon and evenings.  I’ve picked up a little game called “kit kit,” which has us hopping on one foot kicking a stone through some squares while saying “kit kit kit kit…” until we are out of breath or reach our goal.  I think I’m getting better at it, but they’re really pros!

Pollob and I share a special friendship, as he was born on Bangladesh’s national independence day (from the government of Pakistan)… which also happens to be my birthday, March 26^th!  We also enjoy drawing together people and cats in the sandy dirt.  He’s written for me a beginner’s Bangla (Bengali language) book for me to study up on.  I’m getting at it slowly, nouns are coming faster than conversational terms, but I’m enjoying it ;)  He has such a great heart (he is a Christian), and I can’t wait to see what God does with him in the future!

As a teacher at LAMB, I’m teaching… basically everything.  In my first week, I got to teach two lessons on the book of Daniel to 3^rd graders, teach social science about how the internet has changed Bangladeshi culture to 5^th graders, find microscopic “wiggly thingies” for 5-8^th graders, read with 1^st and 2^nd graders, and help prep some 10^th graders for their O level examinations in chemistry (British system… you take O levels at grade 10, proceed to A levels after that, and then go to university).  I truly enjoy the diversity of the experience, and learning how all the teachers work together.  We have teachers native to Bangladesh here, along with expats from America, Canada, Britain, and Denmark (or, to some people I know, Daneland).  Sometimes it’s a struggle to communicate among the staff, but everyone is friendly.  From the teacher’s perspective, you can really see where students are in their development as people, and it’s both cool and frightening to see same social dynamics here.  While I love seeing some students shine as natural leaders or with a drive to learn, it grieves me to see some students incessantly picked on, whether through drawing a mustache on one child or through fist fights, even after teachers confront bullying students.  To the best of my ability, I intervene to direct them away from such taunts and actions, and toward healthier relationships.

Speaking of health, I haven’t even begun to talk about the hospital!  I’ll save that for next time, I suppose.  God’s blessing be with you all!

In Christ,

MJW

Nomoshkar, Dhaka

I.e., Good Morning, Dhaka.

Currently in a sort of nice club in Dhaka with a family that works at LAMB.  Finally have teh interwebz and enough time to post some things.  However, like my last post, I'm operating on very little sleep (my ability to sleep on planes is quite close to 0... over the 29ish hours of travel, I got at most 4 hours of sleep).  Therefore, this entry shall mainly be whatever I choose to share from what's happened so far this morning, and on the way here.

I don't know why, but the grace of God struck me as I was leaving DC.  Not because I was living DC,  but the sense that I was going here for Him, and even though I myself am a work in progress, He loves me.  Perhaps some sort of overzealous work attitude had distanced my heart from the fact that God's love is with me because I am His, and am progressing in His light, not because I have everything perfect always.  Not that I shouldn't aim for that, but if His love reaches to us in while we are still sinners, why should we ever think that now, as His children, His love does not reach us unless we perform to a certain standard? Things I need to keep hearing from God, and internalizing....

On the way from Doha to Dhaka, I sat beside a woman who was of Muslim background and spoke a little English.  She had been with her family in Canada, but was returning to Bangladesh to be with her dying mother.  I found it interesting how open she was about this, and I believe she accepted the promise that I would pray for her mother, even though a few moments before, she had asked me if I was a Christian (I said yes, though I wanted both sides to learn how the other looked and operated).  Pray that God's grace would abound to her, and that I would make the most of other opportunities I have here to show God's love.

I expected Dhaka's airport to resemble Port-au-Prince in Haiti, though I was pleasantly surprised to find it rather modern.  Praise God for safety in picking up luggage and exchanging currency, and also for the other two transfers before that.  And for safety on the drive to the guesthouse (my mother would be terrified to know how traffic "works" here... plus they drive on the left side o' the road!).

Doha was interesting.  While there was a strong Islamic presence, it also served as a hub for a variety of other flights (aside: Qatar Airways ROCKS!  Great food, quality service, people with epic names like Dragos serving as flight attendants... just awesome).  Thus, I saw a very diverse group on the plane ride from DC to Doha, which also appeared somewhat present at the actual airport.  On the flight to Dhaka, however, there seemed to be less diversity among the passengers.

Wrestled with watching things on the screens on the flights (do I waste time doing this?  But I can't access my books, so what can I do?  And I'm too tired to think?).  Complexity, complexity.  Don't want to be mastered by anything, but also want to use my time wisely.  Pray that I would use any free time I have here as unto God, and not human desires.

Don't really know a good way to conclude these thoughts other than to say I love you all a ton, and I pray all of you are well as well!  AND HERE'S SOME RANDOM PICTURES!

Mosquito net in my bedroom (prepare to be Pwn3d in the FACE mosquitoes!)

View from my room.

View from a window at the Liebenzell guesthouse.

Club we're at currently (there's a pool, but I left my swimming trunks back at the guesthouse).

I see you.

Love to you all again!

Grace and Peace,
MJW

We've Only Just Begun

2:10 PM in Dhaka, 4:10 AM in Troy

I begin writing...

Thus, my apologies for the low level of coherency this might possess.

In case anyone didn't know, God's awesome.

Not just at retreat centers, but all the time, though I loved the time I spent at the Elijah House Friday. The moment I entered the house I essentially dropped to the floor, begging for help from God to know Him again, and that my sense of control would leave me. He responded using a classic book by Frances Roberts, Come Away My Beloved, which are devotionals written from the perspective of God. Excerpts from the one that struck me most, "Renew Your Vows," is below:

There is a day coming when you will say, “I have waited in vain for the Lord.” You will wait for Me to speak, and you will hear only the whistling of the wind. But I tell you now, I am never silent; you are deaf. I am always speaking; but I do not find your ear attuned to listen.

You will sit alone in a desolate place and grieve in your loneliness; but it will not be that I have left you, but that you have become insensitive to My presence. Yes, if you ignore My personal nearness and fellowship and if you do not return My overtures, your perceptions will become dull; you will not be able to discern Me even though I am near at hand– even though My love for you is still as strong as before.

You will not be able to meet the needs of others with anything short of this. There is no cure for the ills of humankind but what is contained in the love of God. You cannot give to them until after you have taken it from Me.

Some have lost Me by the sin of rebellion; but I warn you that you may lose Me by the subtle way of simple inattention. Confess your codlness, and draw near to Me; and I will make My personal presence real to you again. I will hold you close to My heart, and you will hear My voice.

Renew your vows, and I will revive your ministry. There is a life ahead for you into which you could not have entered before. There is work ready for you, and I have prepared you for it. It is too wonderful to miss. It will be silent but powerful.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I recognize that God can be silent in some seasons, but I believe that the above held true in my case. I observed that the natural state of my mind, when left to its own devices, wandered away from rather than toward God. Further, I recognized how I had done just what the devotional had said, i.e., pushed God off so many times that I became numb, worn, inattentive... somehow, insensitive to His presence. At first I thought I should confess all the things that distracted me, but God led me on a different route, toward confession of my heart condition. As I did this, I found greater peace and ability to engage the Word... and really know God.

I know that had I failed to do this, and then try to start praying for Bangladesh, my mind would go here, there, and everywhere... and my heart would be tense. BUT in Christ, in this renewed state, there I began to read Daniel, and saw how he stood for God in the context of the ruling governments and states. He was able to readily adapt to cultural shifts, without losing his grounding in God, committed to following God's way, even with threats of death. Not only this, but he led this lifestyle at all stages of his existence, from his captivity as a youth being trained in the king's courts, to later portions following royal edicts against praying to anyone but the king.

How much I would desire to be as Daniel in every place I find myself. Doing the work of God, not wavering in commitment, and knowing He will reveal His secrets to His beloved.

It is my prayer for Bangladesh that I would do this. It's funny how the last sermon I hear before going out is on the goodness of laboring for God, of working for Him regardless of your context. And then, to read at the end of the travel guide LAMB gave me these words, I believe God is getting His message across loud and clear:

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving."
~ Colossians 3:23-24

As I was leaving the retreat center, I was getting the sense from God that this refocusing of the mind was to accomplish two things: (1) it was to set a pattern for me, so I would not fall again away into a divided mind, and (2) prepare me for the work ahead, as I had yet to hear all that He wanted me to just yet. I don't know what it is going to be just yet, but I know God has something new in store. And I am excited!

Pray for safety tomorrow through all the travels, and that as I pursue this work for God, He would continue to reveal His love and greatness to me and all those surrounding me.

Love to you all!

in Christ,
MJW

Bangladesh? Say wha?!

So peeps...

I'm going to BANGLADESH this summer.  For six weeks.  And I leave in less than 5 days.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!

What prompted this?!?!

Back history...

Leipzig English Church Weekend Away.  Wonderful time of fellowship with my brothers and sisters, and learning from the Word under Rev. Stephen Wookey, a visiting Anglican minister.  In one of the break times, Rev. Wookey gave me his contact information and mentioned the LAMB Hospital in Bangladesh to me because I was pre-med.

Thus, I began a series of email exchanges, seeing if I could do some medical volunteering there, maybe help out in the school they also run.  The hospital was also non-denominational missions organization, which encouraged me to go.  Turned out they really needed help at the school, so I'm going over to help support the school however I can, teaching different classes, reading with children, and helping put on skits for the end of the year. Additionally, I will also be shadowing some physicians in their work at the hospital, and hopefully asking them some about medical ethics implementation in rural, international settings.  We'll see all that God has in store!

The people in the region I will be in are split about 50:50 Muslim and Hindu, so it will be interesting presenting Bible lessons to a group with split perspectives in a school setting.  From what I can tell, discussing faith is done in more careful ways in this context, as the school is also responsible for other parts of their education, like science and English.  Pray that I will be culturally sensitive, and would be able to bless the children by showing them who Jesus is through all that I say and do.

My level of preparedness for all of this?  Let's go with about 2 or 3 on the 1 to 10 scale.  Lots of packing to be done, and I'd like to be able to at least have down some key phrases in Bengali (do you know how difficult it is to get material on learning one of the top 10 languages spoken in the world? very =P).  Also, even though I've been home for more than a week from university, I haven't sat down and really meditated on the Word as much as I'd like to prepare my heart for this venture.  Everything from family crises to medical school applications have been vying for my attention, though I know that should put me all the more on my knees.  Pray that God would still me in preparation for this trip, that He would fill me to pour out to others on this trip, and that His presence would purify my heart to serve with a sincere heart.

Shaving my frohawk will also be a step in the right direction:

I will post again after I spend some more time seeking God/in prayer regarding the trip (intend on visiting a Catholic retreat center in my area to stop and seek God for a day).  I love you all a ton, and will keep you updated as much as I can during my time in Bangladesh!

Peace in Christ,
MJW

Restart

Hey all,

I guess I never completely finished my Germany blog, and to be honest, I don't believe it really should have an ending.  If I am indeed a sehnsucht sojourner, still looking for homeland, then I should have no true end to this blog on my ventures.  Given that I'm journeying to another land in a few days, I suppose this remains appropriate.

However, to give a sense of conclusion to that season of my life, I give to you my last journal entry in Germany, one from 22 Juli 2011, written in my notebook during my stay at the DAAD conference (further thoughts can be seen on my other blog for the DAAD).  It does not tell the whole story, for in the Munich airport, I realized that I had been seeking my purposes too far in my lab work, thinking that I need to excel in absolutely every area of the world, academic, work, and otherwise.  While I still aspire to love God with my all in every facet of life He would have me live, He revealed to me just hours before I would leave that nation, that I had been resisting His will for me.  It certainly was not in lab work, even though I had thought I had to do it to "succeed" in my own eyes.  Nor was it in simply the strive to succeed.  Rather, in all of this, His will for me is to know Him.  Simply know Him.  And through that knowledge, that rest in Him, make Him known.  Admittedly, upon reflection over this past school year, I have found myself doing just the opposite: occupying my time with everything that I can possibly handle, continuously pressing my limits... hoping that maybe I can catch my breath every now and then to take in His grace.  More on this in a sec.  My last journal entry from Germany, given because it capture my attitudes for the majority of my trip (all lack of capitalization as written in journal):

I sit on a bench in Heidelberg, Germany (or "Deutschland," if you will).
I am on the Philsophenweg, or "Philosopher's Walk."
My eyes look over the city.
I see great hills, steeples rise above the streets, a castle to my left, a nuclear power plant to my right.

And God, i still don't know what i'm doing.  My mind has been so utterly cluttered these last 5 weeks, there has been so much sickness in my mind and i don't know why my sense have calloused.

But i still know You're here.
God, what is Your reason?

i hear that i am called to sojourn with You.  That is fine with me, God.  i don't want to cling so tightly to my family or home that i do not follow You.

But Lord, this summer has just been a sehnsucht sojourn for You.  For Your home.  For Your place.

it seems i stumble upon it for an hour here, a verse there, only then to be plunged headlong into the recesses of frivolity, whether having an intellectual label or a pleasure-seeking thrill.

And i don't want to live this way, merely sojourning, aimlessly wandering, at times stumbling upon Christ only to then walk on.  God, i don't want to live this life as a biochemist or a physician or a president or an air worker.  i want my identity to be founded in You  And absolutely all else stemming from that reality.

God, where is my home?  Where is the place i love?  Where, in what presence, does my soul delight and never grows weary?  Is it not Your holy temple?  Is it not the powerful presence of Almighty God?

Why am i not home, God?

Why not yet?
Is this how i'm meant to live, Lord?
Just toying with temporality when eternity stands before me?

Yet my heart and my soul desperately need changed.  i seek You out here, that again i might be restored to Your courts.  For Lord, i ask Your forgiveness: for journeying without You. for seeking experience rather than holiness. for seeking cultural knowledge more than love. for a prosperous page instead of peace.

The Lord is my Peace.  Do i know Him?
The Lord is my Strength.  Do i feel Him?
The Lord is my Hope.  Do i watch for Him?

Like a watchman waits for dawn?
Knowing it will come, longing for its return
Not knowing the hour precisely, but knowing it is
drawing nigh moment by moment.

Speak, I pray, Lord.  I will wait for You.

... Lord God, forgive me, Father, for my lack of love and satisfaction in and for You.  God, forgive me for not recognizing or taking heed to Your voice when You call.  Jesus, forgive me.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

So yes, that was Germany.  Long ago, yet close in mind.

As for this year, He has definitely placed many blessings in my life.  He has shown faithful to the Christian community on campus, even in the midst of confusion about the administration's views on religious life.  The joy I have known through liturgical forms of worship this past year has been a new and fresh experience of the presence of God.  And He has demonstrated His love through my first ever girlfriend this past year (and I'm not saying that in an overly gooshy cutesy way; she has been a blessing and stabilizing listener in my walk with God).

At the same time, I've felt too "in control" of my life.  Too decisive in a poor way.  Forgetting to stop and meditate on the work of God in my life, past, present, and future.  That is not to say God cannot move through the decisions that I make, but what became of the times when I would fast and pray before stepping out on a decision?  Where I would intercede for a nation or city before I stepped foot in an area?  Do I really want to be so busy "reaching out" or "preparing for my career" that I don't sit at my God's feet, captured by His Wonder, worshiping His Beauty, again enraptured by His Heart, burdened with His Justice and Mercy for the downcast, and petitioning and weeping at His nail-scarred feet, knowing He is my Provider?

The answer to the last question should be obvious, but how do I get myself out of being tangled in such a mess of school and applications this summer?  The medical profession I am looking to pursue through application to at least 15 schools this summer almost guarantees that I will always be without sleep, that I will always be on my toes, never knowing enough to completely treat every single one of my patients... that I will somehow always be lacking a "necessity" that I can never have enough of.  Do I believe my God is able to sustain me in this?  Absolutely.  Though I weep over the thought of abandoning the place of intercessory prayer for the sake of medical practice, bioethics research, and other commitments.

Not only this, I mourn reducing my understanding of God's grace, my growth in His love, to a past time, and letting any understanding I acquire be simply academic in nature.  I know that this is not true currently, but it is one of my greatest fears.  I NEVER want to be simply an artifact of a bygone time, where God's grace once flowed and the joy of His Spirit abounded, only to be dried and led to the grave having a semblance of a love of God, sans real grounding in faith in Christ Jesus.

It seems I have reached this to some degree at the end of both last year and this year... but I don't want this to happen next year.  As I leave for the nation of Bangladesh on May 20th, 2012 (that's it, explaining the trip itself has to go in another, later post), I pray that God would teach me how to maintain a constant awareness of His presence... and that He would lead me further into the place of prayer, that He would silence all the academic questions, however legitimate they may be, for just a short season, so I can stop and know He is God.  If not this, then that He would let my questions at least do what they're intended to do: lead me into deeper knowledge of my Creator.

Father, Son, Spirit
Have mercy on me.
And lead me into Your arms again.

C'est tout, for now.  More on Bangladesh later.

God's peace be with you all.

in Christ,
MJW

P.S. In my head tonight (chorus from "Furious" by Jeremy Riddle):

His love is deep, His love is wide,
And it covers us.
His love is fierce, His love is strong,
It is furious.
His love is sweet, His love is wild,
And it's waking hearts to life.