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I recently came across a fictional story on Facebook about a woman going to a priest to try and undo years of gossip, it brought back different memories of things that happened in my life and so I shared those thoughts, but it got me to asking myself some questions.Why is it we don’t hear or see a lot of talking or teaching on gossip? We blog about hardships as mommies, housekeeping, cultural experiences, but it seems this topic is almost tabu. As I scrolled on through Facebook with heavy eyelids, a few thoughts came to mind. One reason we don’t talk about it is because to share about being a victim of gossip or slander means someone might know there was a time when, gasp! dare I say it, “someone found a fault in you.” Ok, shew! its out there. This led me to my next thought, “we need to get real about gossip.” If we think there is no way that anyone can find fault in us if they are looking and then share those faults with others we are sorely wrong. Getting real means, guess what? No one is perfect. So to share these experiences of the hurt/shame, you feel when you are slandered or gossiped about is to share someone had something they thought was juicy enough to pass on. Now the mature thing to do of course is to take it to God and leave it there, love everyone, and keep your eyes on Jesus. The truth is if you are female, you aren’t going to go on with life seamlessly without a hiccup. Its gonna hurt. Affect you. You are going to have to fight the urge to call it, return it, or be bitter. It is after all one of Satan’s greatest weapons on woman. So yes, we all need to do the Christian thing, but maybe part of “Getting real” is to admit you may have struggled, cried, and prayed a lot before it finally did just run like water off a duck’s back. The second thing that I realized we need to get real on is when we are gossip’s guilty party. If your like me (human) there has probably been a time in your life when you were the perpetrator. Oh we can dress it up pretty, we woman know exactly how we do it, I don’t even think it is necessary to go into all the ways, prayer requests, our slight involvement which justifies it (not!), I don’t know pick your poison or wrapping paper, we dress it up. But the truth is it is ugly no matter how much color we add. The truth is it hurts others and I believe it hurts the heart of God. The truth is a fraction of what we share may be true, but oh the risks we take knowing many of us tend to process it, form an opinion, and then share it through the lens we have placed it under due to whatever emotion we have associated with it. Finally, after it has gone from your lips and then another and another often whatever fraction of truth we may have possessed at one point has often disappeared and we are smearing or slandering someone with the truth of our lens alone. So let me share one more thing - my issues and what I intend to do with them (its ok (I think), I am sharing about myself only here :) ) Without going in to the phsychology of it all, I, personally, am one of these people who see in black and white. Truth is truth and probably the worst thing that can happen to me is for something to be said about me that I feel is unfair or even untrue. For me the world should always be fair and I think I alone must right the wrongs. (excuse me why I laugh hysterically at myself). Because of this, I usually have an overwhelming urge to want to tell my side or show others who I am or why things are untrue. I rarely actually do but it bothers me so much and hinders me. My action plan is this; are you ready for this? I am going to give it to God and rest in Him. Yep. That’s it. Now chances could be that I make it through life without another mistake, without another person who has ill will towards me, but that is not likely so having gone through this a few times now, and recognizing it is a weapon of Satan, future me is giving it to God! This last one, the reason for my blog, is asking you to join me in this one; I am sealing my lips from anything that might paint someone else in a bad light in another eyes. Why? Because it is taking a weapon out of the hands of Satan, because it leaves me totally free to have a rich intimacy with God sharing my heart on such matters with Him alone, because it shields my brother, my sister, or my enemy from harm, because it honors all those who have spoke life to me by speaking life to others and most importantly, because it honors God. He said to do this in His word. Imagine the mountains we could move? The things we could do for God? We could start a movement. Woman are designed by God in our very nature to be life givers. The power of life and death are in the tongue so use wherever you are in your life to speak life to and about those around you. Get real about gossip and remember what Granny says, “If you don’t have something nice to say, just don’t go there.” or something like that. ;)
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I I am a true woman I guess, in the sense that I remember the emotions I had, the way things smelt, the way they looked - all of those details. My stay in the hospital is full of of emotions so that means details. Life changing, eye opening, thankfully not life ending details. The first thing I think is this is bad. It feels like one of those sicknesses that could go either way and if it goes the wrong way this could be it. I am not saying that was true, but that feeling was more real than I have ever felt it. Nathan, my husband, showed up and my friends (who had brought me) were able to take my kids home with them. Now we wait for a Doctor. There isn’t one. He is in a village but they assure us they have called him and he will be there shortly. I am dry heaving as they start my I.V. I am dizzy and too fuzzy for it to really sink in I am at hospital in the middle of the day in the er and there is no Doctor here. He is at a village bringing a patient in. Four hours later ( it was actually closer to five) he shows up. My blood work shows infection that is extremely high and he will be admitting me. In my hazy state I hear a nurse saying in Bislama that the man the Doctor brought in is in shock. They ask me if I want to stay at er or move to a room now. I mumble whatever is easiest for them. I really don’t want to die in this hospital I am home sick and it doesn’t really matter where I am. Nathan leaves to get us some essentials and a blanket for me as I am now shivering. The nurse informs me the er is starting to fill up and I will have to move to a room. She wheels me herself outside to the other building I can see it is getting dark and the thought crosses my mind again “what in the world are you doing here?” It suddenly felt so foreign. I remember having a surgery in college going in through the er and my Mom and Grandpa showing up before I even got put in my room. They were hours away then, my Mom is days away now. She asked the nurse in that building if my room was ready - it wasn’t. She then says she will go get me some sheets and be back. I sit in the dim lit hallway for what seems like an eternity. I can see “woman’s ward” written above a door with several beds all next to each other. Luckily, it is a slow night I will have privacy. Finally she makes it back I move to my bed and sit in the dark room unable to reach the light and too weak to care. I look towards the window where a little light shines through and notice the rips in the screen. The thoughts hit me. “you think you are so special don’t you? It is up to you to single handedly save the world. Well now look at you, you are probably going to die here.” I recognize that voice and I tell him to leave me alone but in weakness and brokenness I ask God, “is he right?” “Am I going to die here?” “Am I forsaken?” I had already taken two rounds of oral antibiotics before coming to the er they now give me two shots of antibiotics and a shot for the nausea. Nathan comes, and I rest. Later, Nathan wheels me down the hall and knocks on the woman’s bathroom door. no one is inside so he helps me. There is one stall choice with no toilet seat. I guess this will be my stop. No toilet paper available so Nathan goes to the truck for some, we have learned to keep it on us. There is another skinny area with a bucket in the corner. A plastic bottle cut in half as a dipper sets inside it and a piece of paper tapped to the wall reads in Bislama “please request water to shower with and don’t dip the water out of the toilet.” As we exit the restroom I notice the man that that the Doctor brought in. His room is directly across from the restroom and that is where the nurse has been. I can tell it is critical and quickly assess this must be equivalent to their ICU room. He is moving around like he can’t get comfortable. I tell Nathan “I think he is having a heart attack.” Big tears form in my eyes. My step Dad had a heart attack just a few months before we came here. IF we wouldn’t have made it to the hospital he would have died. “It’s just not fair Lord.” I think to myself. “My Dad is no better than this man.” I say to Nathan sounding almost angry as if he can fix this. He knows me by now and knows my emotional responses. Why? Why does my Dad deserve healthcare and not this man? How are these things chosen? How unfair this world is that one would be born in a place that has amazing medical advances and one can make it to the hospital only to be given an aspirin? My head is spinning again from all the movement and nausea waves over me so we go back to the room which is filling with Mosquitos. Nate mentions another trip home is merited for some repellant. Later that night I hear someone weeping loudly. I look at Nate and say “He died.” We both begin to pray. Off and on I hear the weeping get louder for the next few hours. It is around one a.m. Vanuatu is anything but an individualistic culture. They consider second and even third cousins close family. I find it almost unbelievable that she could be alone but I only hear one cry. I can no longer pray for her from my room so I tell Nate I have to go. He helps me get my I.V. off the pole and carry it down the hall. I am rather determined and able to lean on the wall as I go. The night is eerily calm except this woman. I ask her respectfully if I can pray with her. She says “yes” and sets down by her dead husband’s leg. I hold her and I cry and pray in Bislama that God will hold her in His hand and give her peace that we don’t even understand how it is there.” she weeps some more. We stay two more nights and I found out that next night that the nurse went home and cried, it was a heart attack and all she could give him was aspirin. The lady was alone and her children were in Villa. If I would have thought about it I would have remembered my nearly five hour wait to see a doctor and how far her village home must have been. Eyes wide open again. No more wondering why am I here just wondering where is everyone else? Why are the people forgotten here? Someone has to do something! God can you provide for Vanuatu’s healthcare? There is no soap in the bathrooms, they fight to save people who could only pay them in vegetables from their garden, they have one nurse for an entire wing, we are here for education but i can plea, I can plea for more to come. I can trust God to lay it on someones heart to give and to go. I probably won’t single handedly save Vanuatu as the father of lies accused me of trying in vain to do, but I am willing to be a small part of the difference. I will lay my life down so maybe I am a bridge that helps others to come and maybe someday we will see change here. I didn’t die in the hospital. Once again I can trust God. I can be brave like Esther and say “If I perish I perish” and the same God who brought victory for her nation is able to bring victory to this one. The emergency room entrance at Luganville Hospital
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AuthorWife, Mother, Missionary, Teacher, Friend ... just a few of the many titles I gladly wear. Never dreamed this is the journey God would take me on. Archives
July 2022
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