Confessions of a Male Nurse Affectionado

2006-08-04T15:47:00.000-04:00

Confession Eight: On things that go bump in the night

As you might be able to ascertain from the title of said blog, I really appreciate male nurses, or rather, one particular, red-headed, lightly freckled, sports loving, sugar cereal consuming, pediatric oncology nurse named Noah. The majority of the posts offered thus far have not really extrapolated on why I think this particular nurse is such a sweet number. Tragic, really, because those who know him would know that he really is the cat's meow. Cat's aside, however, yesterday, Noah went far beyond the demands of his nursely duties, proved himself to be not just an RN, but a true H E R O. Allow me to explain.

We had gone to bed as per usual, having finished watching the movie"Dodgeball" (not a real IQ stimulator, but you can't really go wrong with a movie that features cameos by both David Hasselhoff AND Chuck Norris).
I'm not really sure what woke me up, but suddenly, I looked up in our bedroom, to see a small black object flapping and circling the room. (Insert good thriller music here). Yes, that's right, it was a bat. I started poking Noah vigourously, saying his name in a somewhat high pitched voice. He woke up, startled, and started swinging his pillow at the bat. After several mad minutes of swinging, the bat flew out of the bedroom, and down the hallway.

With the courage of the lone ranger, and the skill and speed of 007, Noah lept out of bed, looked back at me, and said, you stay here. I will go and deal with it. And there I stayed, sheets pulled up over my head. Ah red heads, you can count on them even in the dire-est of circumstances

For 10 painstaking minutes, all i heard from the bedroom was the mad swinging of what I later discovered was the bathroom mop, the high pitched squeal of the bat, and Noah, chasing it down. I remained in bed, sheets still up high over my head. There are many things that I can deal with.... cockroaches, burnt spagetti, you name it..... but bats are not one of them.

Finally, I heard something being slammed against the ground, our balcony door open, and then slam shut, and Noah releasing a sigh. He came into the room. "I knocked it down while in midflight", he said, "and then trapped it under a bucket, and through it outside. Its all done."

And I looked at him sheepishly.....I really should have been more brave, and involved in the bat escapade, but inside I was beaming at this superman of a husband of mine.

And you know, while i am all for women's lib, and the rest of it, I can't tell you how good it felt to have a man take care of the bat.

grin.

robyn

PS... as an aside, Noah was deeply concerned that the "points" that he had earned that night would magically disappear in the morning. For all of you married folk out there, who are familiar with the points system, and especially you men, fear not. Getting rid of bats earns you points that have a long shelf life. I would strongly encourage acts of bravery such as this for rapid and longlived point accumulation.

2006-07-31T17:59:00.000-04:00

Confession Seven: On loneliness and becoming human

I had a good chat with a friend this morning, and one of the things that we talked about was loneliness. It made me think of something another friend had shared with me once... That God has organized our lives in such a way as to give us the easiest parts of life first, all the while filling up our life "tool kit", so that when the really tough stuff comes, we are already well-equipped to deal with it. For example, we are children at the beginning of our lives, because this is perhaps the most care free part of being human. Then we get older and go to school. Then we work, get married, have children, get older, etc. What reminded me of this hypothesis this morning, though, was that he had said that THE most challenging thing we will ever experience in our lives is loneliness, the loneliness of friends and loved ones dying, of spending more and more time alone, of having no one who really KNOWS you anymore.

And I think at some level, I would agree. That is, that loneliness is one of life's most profoundly difficult experiences. But as we chatted this morning, hearing this beautiful friend sharing how lonely she felt right now, as a young woman, surrounded by peers and friends, it made me think that there must be a lot of people, who are lonely, even when surrounded by company.

I know I am. Because I find, more and more, its not that I want to be around a lot of people, but that I want to be known. I want for people to be able to see all sides, gritty and unpolished and not, and to want to be around me anyway. I want friends who aren't necessarily smooth at all times, and permanently equipped with the right theology or advice. Rather, I long for fellow gritty, unpolished friends, who really want to share life, joy, un-niceties, tears, the full gamut.

I have a hunch that I am not alone on this one.

(this is not to say that I do not have people in my life who are like this. i just want them to know how much i love that side of them, to declare that love through the electronic commitment of a blog)

Last week, as I walked through a bookstore with a truly "gritty" [read transparent] friend of mine, I came across a book by Jean Vanier, called "Becoming Human". Jean Vanier was the founder of the "L'Arche" communities, which are a series of groups of people with developmental disabilities who live together with a team of long term care givers. I had never read the book, but it had been recommended to me a few times, and so I picked it up and began thumbing through. The page that I landed on was one in which he was talking about discovering what true loneliness looks like in meeting individuals with profound disabilities, who were living outside of community. He reflected that there had been times in his life of loneliness, but nothing like the ongoing entrenched loneliness of those he met with disabilities. And it made me think of a summer several years ago now that I spent at a camp for adults with developmental disabilities, and the unquenchable joy that so many of the campers expressed in being able to spend time with each other, to form friendships, to take home pictures of themselves and what they were part of.

There is tremendous joy to be had in real community. And I suspect that one of Vanier's central tenets is that as we discover how to really love one another, how to really live in community, loneliness is defeated, and we discover something of what it is, what it really is, to be human.

robyn

2006-07-24T14:13:00.000-04:00

Confession Six: i love him like roast meat

We met Wendy soon after we arrived in Kitgum. She had come from Daystar University in Nairobi, Kenya, to teach a group of would-be counsellors for abducted children how to conduct initial assessment interviews. Originally from the States, she and her husband have now been living in Nairobi for 26 years... and she had picked up a bit of a Bantu accent. This is very funny to hear when combined with a distinct American one.

Wendy was one of those women who smiled almost non-stop, but it was one of those beautiful, unforced things. She just genuinely enjoyed life, and genuinely enjoyed Africa. Maybe underneath her blond hair and freckled skin she really was an African woman.

As she went through her course material one of the days we were there, she started talking about something, I can't quite remember what it was, but she then burst out, I love it like roast meat! Everyone laughed, and she explained that in Kenya, that was the expression you used if you really really loved something, when you really really meant it. Roast meat, from what I understand, is hard to come by for many poorer African families, but dee-lish when prepared Kenyan style.

It made me think that I wanted to love God, and to love my husband the way Kenyans love their roasted meat.

Grin.

The next night, we all gathered for a bbq and campfire before leaving to return to Kampala, and before the newly trained counsellors returned home to the Padipe IDP camp. As the afternoon sun began to go down, one of the men pulled out a plastic jerry can and a small animal horn, and starting calling people to form a circle around him. We were going to worship God together.

My husband is a worship leader, and of all the moments during the trip that I wish I could have teletransported him there for, that hour of worship was the one I longed for perhaps the most. Here were a group of people who lived in simplicity and frugality unlike anything we know in North America, and under the burden of ongoing violence and attacks.... and yet, when that man started beating on that jerry can, and as we all started to dance and sing and shout until we were dripping with sweat and out of breath, it was as if they were the richest people on the planet. And perhaps, in many ways, they were just that.

Later that night, we ate roast meat. Roast lamb specifically, which had been bought live from the market the day before, and whose remains had been scooped up by vultures through out the day. Nature is remarkably resourceful when it comes to conservation and the full use of resources. As we sat around the fire, eating food far more extravagant than many of these people had eaten in monthes, even years, some of the counsellors shared how significant the camp fire was for them. It used to be, they said, that Acholi elders would gather the children in their community regularly around a camp fire to share Acholi stories and traditions with them. The camp fire represented a place and a time of teaching, a time of conveying history, a time of equipping for the future. Since moving to the IDP camps, this tradition of gathering around the fire stopped, for reasons of safety. With it stopped the regular transmisson of cultural stories. Many of the mothers and fathers who had come to be trained expressed their fear for their children, who, now growing up unexposed to Acholi traditions and practices, would be unable to care for themselves once peace came, and they lived outside of the camps. The fire that night represented the possibility, and the hope that so many of these people shared, that peace would come soon, and with it, the return of their campfires.

Some things in life are profoundly simple. Like meat. Like campfires. Like parents wanting their children to thrive. And yet sometimes it takes seeing others appreciating and longing for something so much to remember how much you value and appreciate those things in your own life. How rich we truly are. How very much we have to be thankful for.

I want to worship the way I experienced worship in that small compound in Kitgum District, Northern Uganda. I want to dance before God until I am sweaty. I want to love him like the Kenyans love roast meat, like the Ugandans love their campfire. Like the angels do as they circle the throne of God in heaven.

Praise the Lord, oh my soul. Praise his holy, awesome, name.

robyn

2006-07-17T15:38:00.000-04:00

Confession Five: On career paths i will never pursue and blooming where you are planted

When you are born, you are a vocationally clean slate. By that I mean that you have not yet eliminated from your list of potential forms of employment those which you have decided never, EVER, to pursue.

In my 25 years of life, several potential professions have been crossed off the list:

1. Obstetrics. I once watched a live birth video, i believe in the 7th grade, and then and there declared that I would never, EVER allow a small slimy body to leave my own. I have since recanted this vow, but remain convinced that obstetrics is probably not a great line of work for me.

2. Physics. When I was in Grade 11 Physics (my first and only kick at the proverbial can), I was in a class of 28 boys, one plant, and me. The professor was an older Scandinavian man, Mr. Kellner. I once made the mistake of crying in class. From that day forward, i would always arrive in class to find a box of Kleenex and two or three chocolates at my desk. Not the kind of attention you necessarily want to garner. No physics after that.

3. Professional baseball. I once played girl's softball. I loved it.... nice lycra pants and stirrups (you lucked out if you ended up with black ones. I had white ones every year). Nice foam and mesh ball caps. Bubble gum comics. Freezies. Cool cheers. Then I broke my nose playing back catcher. The end of my softball career. Alas.

But then once in a while you are made aware of how good you have it in your present job, even if sometimes you forget it. Like today. I work for an MP, and today one of our constituent's sons called because his mother was having problems with her pension application. I made a few phone calls, and then rang her son back and explained what had gone wrong. We chatted for a little while, and then he asked me how I like working in Ottawa, on Parliament Hill. Oh, I like it, I said, thinking in the back of my mind that it has been difficult to come in recently, as things have slowed down over the summer, and most people are away, and sometime writing letters gets tedious. He said he thought I must love the job that I have, meeting all the interesting people who work here. That it must be amazing to feel like I could make a difference. That i got to really help people, and influence policy, and work in a neat heritage building, and that I really shouldn't take it for granted.

I really shouldn't take it for granted.

It was like a voice from heaven speaking into my situation, through a man in his late 30s doing IT work in Scarborough. God is good is helping us remember to appreciate the good things he has done, that he has provided for us.

Thanks, Lord.

robyn

2006-07-14T14:40:00.000-04:00

Confession Four: Pick your covenant

There are a few people in the world whose opinions I would readily accept and likely agree with on just about any point. I'm not sure if David Collins, Director of Canadian Food for the Hungry, will be one of them, but from the short time that I was privileged to spend with him in Uganda, I have a sneaking suspicion that he has made his way into this camp, full credentials in tow.

While in Uganda, we were challenged to consider how the conflict in the North between the LRA and the Ugandan government might eventually be resolved. Imagine, if you will, how you would choose to respond to a group of armed militiamen, who had abducted one or more of your children, whose presence had forced you to relocate to an IDP camp, who had raped young Acholi women, devasted the economy, etc. Most would demand justice, in the form of public trials, and long sentences. What was astonishing, at least in my mind, however, was the fact that many of the Acholi people were in favour of extending full amnesty to rebel soldiers in exchange for the laying down of arms. Amazing.

In the midst of these reflections, we attended a morning teaching session in Kitgum, Northern Uganda, in which IDP camp residents were being trained to counsel returned child soldiers. Before commencing the class, a wonderful, wonderful man named Walter, who was translating the class into Acholi, lead a short devotional time. In it, he talked about God's faithfulness to the Israelites.... how He had rescued them when different armies came against them... how He had brought them out of captivity... how he had ensured their survival as a community under God. He said God had made the same promise to the Acholi people, that despite the presence of a rebel group bent on abducting their children, raping their women, and killing their men, and despite a government whose president had promised to put the Acholi "in glass bottles like grasshoppers, so they could look out, but not get out, and slowly die", that God would not let the Acholi be wiped out.

I wept when I heard the faith so implicitly declared in that statement.

A faith that defied overwhelming circumstance, and evil intent.

And I wondered, really, HOW does someone forgive, and extend offers of amnesty, in such circumstances?

As we rode out to visit the Mucwini IDP camp (home of Reverend Cannon Christopher, of earlier posts), I tried to stop "leaking" as my mom puts it by looking out the window.

And then David started to share his thoughts with me on grace and the new covenant.

With Jesus, a new covenant was established.... a covenant of grace. Many of us love and appreciate this new covenant, only imagining how difficult a covenant of sacrifice and detailed obedience would be. For those of us who have scrapped the perverbial bottom of the barrel, grace takes on even more significant healing dimensions. Not only do we enjoy and at times revel in the grace we experience at the hand of God, but also in grace we experience at the hands of friends, family, co-workers. We love, and to some degree have come to expect grace from our brothers adn sisters. But many of us, while inclined to receive grace, are equally inclined to extend justice. We demand fairness. We pursue lawsuits far more frequently than reconciliation. We leave churches. We get divorces. So many of us, perhaps unwittingly, are like the unforgiving servant, who had his own debt forgiven, only to go and demand repayment of the debt owed to him.

David shared that in his own life, he was being challenged to choose which covenant he wanted to live under, one of justice, or one of grace. If he wanted to live under a covenant of grace, then much would be expected of him, in terms of the grace he ought to extend to others. If he choose justice, he would be free to demand justice from others..... but what of the "debt", like the servant, that he owed? Could he ever repay it on his own, and without grace?

I think one of the greatest challenges for Christians is that in having been given scripture, the word of God, the truth, we struggle to engage with the world in terms of truth and untruth on the one hand, and grace on the other. It is all too easy to hold the truth over the heads of others, and to ask them why they are not measuring up. I believe we are called, however, to a life characterized by the extension of grace and love to others, not blind to self-destructive sin and maliciousness, but in which we love and discern first, and judge a whole lot later.

I think for the Acholi people, the extension of grace comes from a sincere belief that only grace, reconciliation and love will heal their land. Other avenues have been tried, the most aggressive being military strikes against LRA bases. But none thus far have worked. Now the Acholi people are calling for the extension of grace, for communal forgiveness, so that the violence can end, and relationships can be restored.

I was challenged that day in the bus to consider which covenant I wanted to live under as well. I struggle to let go of the desire to judge and demand justice, but long for the full experience of grace and forgiveness that God offers us through Christ so willingly. And truly, it is a privilege to extend grace..... to turn on the head the notion of an eye for an eye, and to say, with a heart full of love, I forgive.

robyn

2006-07-11T10:52:00.000-04:00

Confession Three: Men indeed are from mars...

Last night lovely husband noah had our lovely friend jeremy over to play games. From my newly adopted homework post in our sun room, i could see through the outside window into our living room, and noticed that after half an hour of board games, the boys had switched over to video games.

Video games have convinced me that men and women truly are different creatures. I could list on one hand the number of women I know who truly enjoy playing them. I hate them myself. not the actual game, or the principle behind it. but there is something about sitting in front of a tv screen for hours on end as gorgonzila the conquerer, gun, mace, or whatever else in hand, going through endless levels to get to get to the mega prize that you know you will never see because you would have to be totally obsessed with the game to get that good.

i would rather body surf on lava.

i remember a friend telling me once that the differences between men and women were exemplified clearly through their respective approaches to the game of golf. Women, he said, golf for social reasons. They could reach the 16th hole, decide that they have had a wonderful and pleasant time thus far, call it a day and go for tea with their golfing partner. This, he said, deeply frustrates the male player. Men, he said, play to complete. Whether they are hungry, cold, caught in a monsoon, they want to finish the game, all 9 or 18 holes, and they won't be satisfied until they do.

Doesn't tea sound better?

I admit, though, that men are a great gift to this planet. Recently, while away at school, I was put "randomly" into a small group that was all men.... and me. This would be our small group for all assignments and presentations for the next two years of the program. We would eat sleep breath each other. Right. I thought "lord..... what can i offer you to get me out of this", but that is how the group has remained, and they turned out to be some of the nicest lads I have ever come across. Soon after, while away in Uganda, the team that we went with were almost entirely men (thank goodness for Marg) but these guys, too, were wonderful, wonderful people. One night while still in Kampala, God spoke to me about these two experiences, and said that I ought to pay attention, as these men were allowing me to experience how great it is when men treat women with dignity and respect. That is not to say that these guys were a total anomaly, and that most men don't know how to treat women, nor that women need to be treated a certain way to know that they are valuable. and yet what became clear was that men and women do need to be treated in different ways, and that as men and as women we can learn to respect and care for one another uniquely so that everyone feels honoured, valued, worthy.

The man leading the seminar we attended in kampala explained that one of the great cultural lies of our time is that men are better than women. In Korea there is an expression: Men are high, women are low. Amongst some tribal groups in Kenya, there isn't even a word for women. women are referred to as tools. margaret, a wonderful, gentle, women's ministry leader from kenya told me about approaching her pastor several years ago to ask whether god really had made men and women to be equals, as she had been taught differently through out her growing up years. what a sad thing, what a tragic thing, that so many women in the world today are asking this very question..... or more tragically, not asking it.

God has told us that in the kingdom of god there is neither jew nor gentile, slave nor free, male nor female. thank god for a kingdom where status, gender, and ethnicity reflect nothing of our inherit value.

men are from mars, and whether women are from venus or another solar system altogether i don't know. Its nice to all be united under the same Son though.

robyn

ps. my apologies for this ultra cheesy ending. on a totally seperate note, the picture below is of the sweet folks who are in the human security and peacebuilding program at Royal Roads University in Victoria BC.

2006-07-10T13:13:00.000-04:00

Confession Two: Lubanga oo me goom

this means god bless you in the acholi language of northern uganda. I first learned this phrase from a man I that I would later discover is a modern day hero.

His name is reverend cannon christopher.

at least this was how he introduced himself.

i first met christopher when we arrived at the mucwini internally displaced persons (idp)camp in kitgum district northern uganda. 90% of the residents of three northern most provinces of uganda have been relocated to idp camps because of the ongoing war between the government of uganda and the lord's resistance army.

we arrived at the camp sandwiched in between two military escort trucks in our rented bus. the soldier's pay for the day, we later discovered, was two packages of sugar cookies and a bottle of water.

i met christopher when he strode up to the bus in a very old, faded black "reverend" shirt, and white collar..... and big green golashes (sp.?). he was slight man, with a wide smile, who had a wonderful way of saying 'OH YESSSSS!" when we started talking about the faithfulness of god.

christopher was defying all the odds of modern day christianity, and working alongside catholics, presbyterian, pentecostal, and other religious leaders within the camp to meet the needs of its inhabitants (denominationalism is one of the stranger, and sadder by products of sub-saharan evangelism).

christopher had 10 children, but had lost 3. another man on our team, a lovely pastor named paul, had lost a daughter last year, and this acted as a poignant point of connection.

why a hero? because he could have left the camp long ago, taking his family and children out of harm's way, leaving the mess and the violence of the north behind, relocating in Kampala or elsewhere. and yet he chose to say, to walk this process out with the acholi in the camps, where some had lived for as long as twenty years, to be a friend, a father, a leader.

i know nothing of the faithfulness of god that he has experienced, nor of the type of chosen rejoicing that is done in the midst of trial. had james but known at the time that he wrote his letter the strength that others would gain from his words, "dear brothers and sisters, whenever trouble comes your way let it be an opportunity for joy."

as we sat under a tree at the center of the camp, having heard several girls share their stories of being abducted by lra commanders, and forced to become child brides, christopher asked me what i would tell others when i returned home. i offered some inane answer, and then, as if god put the words in my mouth, asked him, what would you like me to tell them?

he thought for a moment, and then said simply, ask them to pray for us. make sure the world does not forget us. ask them to pray that the people would stay strong, that they would believe, and keep believing that the acholi people will not be wiped out.

christopher later told me that after we had left that day, the mothers in the camp had been so excited..... saying that they must be important, because white people had come to visit. i don't think i have ever hated racism, and white privilege as much as i did that day.

but i want to ask you, as you read this, to honour christopher's request, that hero, that angel disguised in a 60 year old acholi man's body, with galoshes.

lubanga oo me goom christopher.

robyn

2006-07-09T20:31:00.000-04:00

Confession One: On marriage, navel gazing, and holiness

I admit that I created this blog several weeks ago, with great intentions of writing prolific, witty, and reflective comments on time spent away in Uganda. Oh dear. Isn't so much of life like that. We have wonderful intentions of doing all sorts of great things, connecting with certain people, and then lo and behold, we fall short.

I am thankful for a God who loves us despite our failing our greatest intentions.

But perhaps today is an appropriate day to start. The name of this blog was created in reference to my dear male nurse husband, and it is, in fact, our first anniversary today. What a good day, and what a good and challenging year.

Our friends Kate and Thomas got married yesterday in one of the most beautiful weddings I've had the privilege of bearing witness to, and I was reminded again that marriage is a beautiful gift, and one that desperately needs the influence of Jesus. A three stranded cord indeed cannot be broken....

I think one of the reasons that it is so vital to have Jesus rest at the center is that it gets our eyes off of our own belly buttons. We are forced to focus elsewhere. Too, marriage demands a commitment to serve.... and Jesus is the greatest example of servanthood we are going to get on this side of heaven (Mother Theresa, I suppose, is a pretty good example too:)

Last year, at a friend's wedding, the father of the bride stood up and challenged us to consider whether God may have in fact created marriage not only for the purpose of making us happy, but also so as to transform us into increasingly holier people. A year removed I think he was on to something.

Noah and I went for a walk in the woods today, and thinking back over this last year, I am convinced he has seen some of the ugliest sides of me and my personality possible. And yet what a profound thing to still be loved, accepted, committed to irregardless.

Grin.

Love is a great great thing.

Hears to another good, challenging, try-not-to-navel-gaze, transforming year of marriage and life in God

robyn