Who Da Man? - My Journey into Womanhood (Part 4)

Nearly two years ago I blogged about My Journey into Womanhood.  God was really showing me a lot about myself that Summer and He still is.  My journey into womanhood is still continuing and I am recognizing  that this may take a while.  Yep, I'm a WIP (Woman in process).  I wish God could just do one of His suddenlies right now and make me into the woman He has purposed me to be, but it's just not happening.  I am a bit stubborn, okay, okay... a lot stubborn.  And you know, when the Master Potter recognizes that the clay isn't being putty in His hands, He will pound it back into a mold then reshape it on His wheel.  Ouch!!! This has been a painful experience, but here I am already pounded and still on the wheel in the hands of the Creator.

I have an idea of the design He would like me to be as it is in the Book.  With finesse the Master Potter is fine-tuning me between His fingers to have the feminine heart in 1 Peter 3:4  and the character of the Proverbs 31 woman. I am taking a while. Frankly, I have thought I was done many times, but the Potter knows best.  My concern is that after the wheel, comes the fire.  Undoubtedly, I must be tested to truly know if I am the vessel I was created me to be so God will get the glory.

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. 2 Corinthians 4:7 

The good thing is that I realize God is working and that I may have a loud mouth, but can still have a quiet and gentle spirit.  I am also learning that I can't go on this journey alone - I have the Bible as my compass and I am doing better at allowing the Holy Spirit to take the drivers seat.  He is good at knowing when to take stops and when to let others come on parts of the journey with us.  If it were me I probably would not have let anyone come with us or I would not have journeyed with them for as long as we have.  But, I am kinda understanding what He is doing.... sometimes - I have things to learn with all those who are with us.

Right now, I feel like I am in a dark place - nowhere near where I feel I should be. However, God has promised me "treasures of darkness" (ref. Isaiah 45:3)  So when this "jar of clay" is ready to be filled, I will have treasures in me to share with others.

The Community of Believers

In the midst of a very severe trial, their overflowing joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity. For I testify that they gave as much as they were able, and even beyond their ability. Entirely on their own, they urgently pleaded with us for the privilege of sharing in this service to the Lord’s people. And they exceeded our expectations: They gave themselves first of all to the Lord, and then by the will of God also to us. 2 Corinthians 8:2-5

Paul wrote to the Corinthians in 2 Corinthians 8 appealing for them to give out of their plenty to help supply the need of other believers.  This was in stark contrast to the Macedonians who he described earlier in the chapter as having "rich generosity" in "their extreme poverty."

Wow!!! The Macedonians were even pleading for the "privilege of sharing in this service to the Lord's people."  Now, this is amazing.  They were going through great difficulties, but did not selfishly give in to self-pity, but rather selflessly gave in a self sacrificial manner.  They didn't complain about giving, but they joyfully shared even more than they could.

This makes me really think if the Church, as a community of believers, is really acting like a community should.  Two definitions of community stand out to me in the Merriam-Webster dictionary.  The first is a "unified body of individuals,"  and the second, "joint ownership or participation."  I believe these two should be what Church looks like, but it is not.

Christ prayed in John 17 that the believers would be one as He and the Father are one. A unified body is dear to His heart. Yet, we have chosen to argue over petty differences, instead of unite in our belief in Christ.

The Macedonians did not only give themselves to firstly the Lord, but they also offered up themselves to Paul and his fellow laborers in Christ. What a fantastic model for the Church to live by! Instead, we are so busy, being busy with our own stuff and hoarding our "riches"  that we don't commit our time, talent and treasures to God and His people.  We grumble about not having enough to tithe, although Christ said to give up everything and follow Him.  We hold on to our possessions, while trying to acquire more of the "unnecessities" to feel happier, even though our brother or sister in Christ knowingly to us suffers dire need.  Ignoring their state, we focus on ourselves and our family, but making sure to go to church religiously and doing ministry vacantly, hoping to buy God's grace.  We have failed to realize The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was rich, yet for our sake He became poor, so that we through His poverty might become rich. (v. 9)

Jesus was stripped of everything when He went to the cross for us.  Yet, to give someone a little assistance is often deemed as a great inconvenience to us. I am overjoyed that Christ did not see the cross as an inconvenience.

I don't want to miss the second definition, which is "joint ownership or participation." Yikes!!! I know this will make most people squeamish as we think that we have worked hard to acquire all we have and we don't want to give it to a lazy bum.  Wait a minute though, the Bible unequivocally advocates hard work and wisdom.  We don't support slackness, as that is madness.  However, whenever possible, we should try to help those who are working hard, but still aren't making ends meet.  Paul emphasized as it is written: “The one who gathered much did not have too much, and the one who gathered little did not have too little.” (v. 15) IT IS BIBLICAL.

We get so caught up with "our" stuff and keeping up appearances that we become afraid to give,as we consider it loss instead of gain. Gripped by fear, we seem to forget that we are in an upside down kingdom in which giving is receiving.

It is time to do what is right in the eyes of God and the eyes of man by proving our love through the gift of giving, not to buy God's love or man's favor however, but to show God's grace working in us.

Let You Go

My pride wouldn’t let me admit that you, my formidable foe, were hurting me

You did not relent and kept on pounding harshly on my chest

Beaten and battered my anger rose as the sun set

In the darkness, I turned my stony face toward the moon,

Hoping you would not see me cry

I did not want you to think I was weak

So many people told me to let you go

But, you were such a friendly fiend

I became familiar with all your ways

And, you stole my heart

You built a protective fort around us

No one could every break down the thick walls to get to us

Our defenses were up

And we kept up the façade that I was safe

I was never lonely as you kept my company

Speaking to me day and night

The fire you sent through my veins intoxicated me

I was forever yours

Yes, my friends warned me against you

But, before I knew it you were a fixture in my heart

Now, I realize they were right

I became your prisoner

I became your slave

When I struggled to get away you held on so tight

I didn’t want any more of the pain

You hurt me and you made me hurt others

You made me desolate and depressed

Using all your might against me,  you broke my will

I searched for hope and I found it deep beyond my soul

The Spirit within gave me more light than the moon offered in the tortuous darkness of my soul

Then, I realized I had to make a choice to leave you

If not, I would forever be imprisoned by you

My weeping lasted through the night

But, now it is morning

Today, I will stand firm against you, my great enemy

I will see my salvation

The battle was never mine

So, I will give it up and I will let you go

By N. Carara

Is My Tomorrow Here Today?

They have told me to hold on

But, I don’t know what to hold on to

Or, why to keep on holding on

So many bridges have been crossed

And, too many bridges have been burnt

A number of sunsets have gone by

While my anger burns in the darkness

Who says this is not how it is supposed to be?

It becomes cliché

The sun will come out tomorrow

But, tomorrow never comes

And, the silver lining on the cloud looks gray

As droplets of rain make a gloomy day

No singing for me

The drops falling on my head roll down my face

Streaming into my tears

My weeping endures for the night

Will my joy come in the morning?

Who will turn my mourning into dancing?

As I lift up my eyes, I wonder

Where will my help come from?

There in the clouds I see a rainbow

Is my tomorrow here today?

By Love's Merciful Grace

NOT JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE BEACH (Part 3)

As I sat in my wheelchair pondering why God would have me going through all that drama, my friend finally returned.  She had received information that there were two shootings and one person succumbed to his injuries.  This was not a surprise occurrence at this hospital and gunshot wounds were at the top of every other injury, red card or not.  I was actually shocked to see that not long after, I was called into see my second doctor for the evening.

To my amazement, I was been examined by another foreign doctor. Since I had a bit more pain relief than my first earlier encounter with the other Asian physician, I asked this medical practitioner where he was from.  He responded Burma and apparently there are more Burmese doctors on the island. Wow!!! I was starting to feeling like I was at a United Nations hospital. He also said that he enjoyed working in Jamaica.    

My doctor from far over the seas asked for the paper with my vital signs.  There was none.  The nurses must have been so put off by my excruciating pain that they forgot to check my blood pressure.  This amiable doctor sought to rectify the situation by then taking my blood pressure. He held a large needle in between his fingers and positioned it to target one of my veins. I protested, but he said he had to put the needle in if they were going to give me medicine to knock me out.  I quickly gave him my hand and told him to stick on as he smiled.  He took my blood, so I tried to get him to do every test possible on it.  Since I was at the hospital, I figured I would get everything done all at once and kill two birds with one stone.  Unfortunately, he said it was not necessary and escorted me in the direction of the x-ray room as my friend pushed me forward to meet the orthopedic doctor. On the way over I passed by one of the shooting victims. He was also in a wheelchair covered in blood with his head wrapped in a bandage.

The third doctor did not take long to come.  This time I had a Jamaican doctor, but I was skeptical as he had a weird sounding last name.  He told me, however, that his grandfather was a Maroon from St. Mary.  We followed him into another examination room, but the bed was without a clean sheet. I offered him my beach towel, but he said that would not work. 

My new Canadian friend's wrap was my makeshift sling
as I sat in  the wheelchair with my beach towel

He asked me to stand up, but that just didn’t feel right.  That meant more pain.  Gingerly, I tapped the floor with my feet, as if I were checking to feel if it were quicksand, knowing I had to cross it.  But, at that point, I couldn’t cross it.  I winced in pain, the doctor asked, “What’s wrong with your feet?”  I responded that each move was agony and that I needed help.  He came over to my right side and put his hand under my arms, as he attempted to raise me off the wheelchair.  “Ow!!! Ow!!! Ow!!!”  was the only sound that spurted out my lips.  My poor Jamaican doctor thought that I was giving him canine calls and backed off as that was the same manner in which his daughter called the dog. I inquired if there was another sounding yelp he would prefer, but he responded in the negative, then commanded me to get on my feet by the time he came from his search for the scarce clean sheet.

My faithful friend came over and helped me up.  It was quite a task. However, I did it before the doctor returned with sheet in hand.  Laboriously, I was helped onto the now covered bed by my friend and the doctor. Mission accomplished, but where were the pillows?  No pillows…Ugggh…I was hoping for a pillow to prop my arm.  The bed was made out of what seemed like a wooden box with a sponge wrapped in a synthetic type material. It was a bit old – at least a couple decades.

My new physician tried to calm me down in order to get my shoulder back in place without administering more drugs. He advised me to drink tap water to get calcium rather than taking tablets. He also asked if I ate greens. Greens... yuk!!! Nevertheless, if greens would keep my shoulders in place, no matter the color, I would eat it.  And, he also stated that mustard greens were really good.  Now, my faith as small as a mustard seed was dwindling and I wasn’t worried about any mountains moving as I just wanted my shoulder back where it was when I first went to the beach earlier that day.

  

Knowing I was still not relaxed, my persistent, yet patient doctor told me God would still love me if I had a child out of wedlock. What? I guess he, along with many others, feel I am running out of time.  The thought was not very comforting.  It may just be me, but somehow, I prefer to be married first. Although, it may just be me or I may be in the minority as nearly 90% of babies are born out of wedlock in Jamaica.

Okay, so my Jamaican doctor tried many more techniques in attempts to make me relax.  It was too late.  I was beyond relaxation, after enduring all that pain from being injured on the beach, I just wanted to be knocked out.  He reasoned with me that later on in life I would be affected from the drugs that would put me to sleep.  My friend agreed, but what they both seemed to forget is that none of us is promised tomorrow and I needed to go under that day so that my shoulders could be put back together again.

At last, my doctor acquiesced, and he was about to give me the much needed shot to put me to sleep.  I looked in his hand and knew from experience that what he was about to give me was not enough to knock me out. I may be little, but I tallawah. I told him that was less than the amount necessary and he inquired how much I would prescribe for myself.  I detected a smidgeon of a sarcastic tone, but I was serious, that wasn’t going to do it and it didn’t. 

Not long after, the doctor brought in reinforcement.  Another doctor came in and I think he too was Jamaican.  This new doctor proceeded to drag my body in one direction, while the other yanked my arm in the other. Usually, I try not to scream when I am in pain to create a façade of dignity. However, with more pain than I could bear, I became undignified and I screamed, not caring who would hear. I may have raised the dead. My legs pushed off and somehow I separated the bed. I heard pain from a dislocated shoulder is worse than the pain mothers undergo during childbirth. I begged the doctor to let go of my arm.  I believe not wanting to cause me more pain, he brought in another doctor with what seemed to be a Spanish accent.  This fifth doctor dressed in calming blue said I needed to be administered another dose of medicine.  Yes, the wisdom of the doctor in blue won out and the next thing I knew I was sitting groggily in my wheelchair as my Jamaican orthopedic specialist examined my x-rays taken after they had put my shoulder back in its socket. I didn’t remember taking x-rays or getting my shoulder in place.  My arm was being supported by what looked like a gauze bandage. I guess they had no slings.

My friend called our angelic lifeguard who came back for us and drove us to the hotel. The trauma was over.

However, as I eat my greens and drink tap water, I know this experience was not just about me.  I know that God wanted me to be exposed to what many underprivileged Jamaicans deal with in public hospitals. Although I was in agony, I can still remember the looks of frustration and hopelessness on many faces.

I was blessed to have a friend who stood by me through it all, a new Canadian friend who was so kind to me, an amazing lifeguard along with his colleague and a helpful medic.  But, what about those who are not so fortunate? Although the medical personnel is there to help, they still feel alone. 

The nurses and doctors do their best with what they have, but they are working with little. They too must feel frustrated and hopeless at times.

I have learned from this situation that medicine administered today, could affect me later on. Please pray about this with me, so that I do not have the predicted bad side effects.  I believe there is power in prayer. The Jamaican healthcare system also needs a lot of prayer, along with some action, as it is already feeling the effects of our trained nurses going abroad to find better opportunities for theirs and their family’s future, which in turn leaves the future of our health sector in uncertainty. The lack of resources is another big problem.  If one part of the body is dislocated, other parts of the body hurt as well.  Until we get healthcare where it should be in Jamaica, other sectors in the nation will also feel the consequences. 

If we all put our heads, hands and hearts together we can make a change for Cornwall Regional Hospital and other public hospitals in Jamaica. This will subsequently be of great advantage to the lives of our needy brothers and sisters who are being treated at these facilities, along with those who treat them.

I am thankful for the many who helped to put my shoulder back in place, now I can stretch my arm to lend a helping hand.  Will you?

NOT JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE BEACH (Part 2)

The lifeguard who came to my rescue, after I dislocated my shoulder at the beach, drove my friend and I to the Cornwall Regional Hospital free of charge. I was grateful not to pay the exorbitant cost proposed by the rasta taxi man.  After pulling up to the entrance of the emergency room, my friend decided to go ahead to prepare the hospital staff for my coming. At least John the Baptist got to get his message out before he was stopped, my friend stood no chance, as she was blocked from entering because she was “inappropriately dressed.”

She angrily came back to the car, while the lifeguard was cautiously helping me out of the car and into a wheelchair provided by a porter.  Although born in Jamaica, she lives in the United States where she is a nurse and she could not understand how she was not allowed to enter as this was an emergency and the incident happened on a beach, which would account for being dressed in a wrap over her swimsuit. I was happy they let me in.  I too was in a swimsuit and only had my Canadian friend’s warp as a sling.  Oh yes, and I did have my shorts on since the lifeguards and my friend was able to get it on back at the beach.  You would be surprised how many persons it takes to put on the shorts of someone with a dislocated shoulder. 

Well, again our lifeguard, who was seeming more and more like an angel, saved the day.  He literally gave her the shirt off his back.  Now, my friend, decked out in a lifeguard shirt could make her way into the hospital and be what I felt was my life support. 

The porter wheeled me slowly in front of a large door that said “Triage.” The lady who was sitting waiting by the door smiled at me.  I inquired of her how long I would have to wait and she said a while, but my go-getter friend came back and I was next up.   The lady who may have been waiting a while watched me go through. She was a veteran of the hospital system and she had a green card, which she knew was the symbol of a long wait as the two other colors took priority.

When I was brought into the small triage room a female Asian doctor sat at the desk. If I were not in so much pain, I would have asked her what country she was from, but my spasms kept on kicking and I was taking a licking. She asked what was wrong and I explained by injury. She told me once I had a dislocation, it was easy for my shoulder to get out of place. Those weren’t the words I wanted to hear, but I had no time for self-pity. 

The doctor determined the severity of my injury and awarded me a red card.  If I were playing football, seeing this card would have meant that I would have been kicked out, but this card in the ER meant I was on the top of the list to go through as I had a “real” emergency.  Next stop – the vital signs and pain relief room.

My friend wheeled me through a packed waiting area and actually bounced into a couple people to my dismay as every sudden move delivered a sharp jab in my arm.  There was a bit of confusion about whether to go to registration or to go get my vital signs. My friend deemed it fit to register later.  She pushed our way through another crowded waiting area and parked me in a corner. 

On arriving outside this other examination room, she handed the red card to a nurse who came out of the room.  She looked at it and gave it back to the annoyance of my friend, then without saying a word went back in the room. Not long after, another lady, who we later found out was a nursing student, came out and my friend gave her the papers from the triage and pointed out that I had a red card.  Success!!! I was brought in and to my horror was told to get up and bend over as I had to get an injection in my butt.  Being injury prone, I have frequented many emergency rooms and doctors, but I think the last time I got a shot in the buttocks I was about six years old.  Needless to say, I was not happy as I had to make movements that I did not want to make as they would leave me hurting even more. But, I kept hope alive as this injection was to assuage my pain. 

Unfortunately, the relief was not as much as I hoped for, but I had to continue on my journey to wellness.  Now, on to the x-ray room.  The student nurse directed us and my friendly friend asked her if she wanted to keep on practicing in Jamaica.  She replied “no.”  She was not looking forward to the long hours, little resources and low pay.  My friend said she couldn’t blame her. 

Oh I forgot to mention, by this time on my other emergency room visits I would have been given a bed, but no bed was forthcoming as there were no beds to be had.  Babies on drips lay in their mothers’ arms in the waiting rooms among patients who had to patiently wait in blood stained clothes. Many folks with green cards were waiting since morning and it was now early evening.   

As we waited for my x-rays to be done my friend expressed the desire to help the healthcare system in Jamaica.  Being a nurse, she wanted to come back and volunteer her services, but she considered her frustration at not having the necessary resources.

My friend garbed in the borrowed lifeguard shirt over her wrap
just outside the x-ray room 

My red card was very helpful. I was up next and again, I had to get up from my wheelchair, which was one of the few semi-comforts I had in my situation. Then, it was back to the waiting room where I went to registration.  Since I was in a public hospital, I would be the recipient of free healthcare.  However, I along with many of the others who waited, soon recognized that there was nothing free in life. After all, most of us know the saying, “time is money.”  And, judging from the long waiting time, wealth was being amassed, but I am quite not sure who was getting it though.

As I sat in the waiting room, hoping that no one would brush against my chair, there was a commotion.  Many individuals ran to look out the windows and doors as news spread that shooting victims were arriving.  Curiosity got the best of my friend, so she too dashed to see what was going down.

*Please note:  If you ever hear gunshots and you are around Jamaicans, never go in the direction where they sprint towards.  They are not running to safety, but rather they are scurrying to see who is shooting who. 

I was positioned near a gentleman who also had a red card.  He saw me looking down at my feet still covered in sand, and asked if I got hurt at the beach.  I told him yes and that I suffered a dislocated shoulder while attempting to swim.  He followed up with an explanation, “It was the devil.”  Being, a Christian who has the strong belief that God is always in charge and that He allows us to go through good and bad for a purpose, and no matter what it will all work out for good, I tried to tell him that God was in control.  He refused to believe this and said that God wouldn’t allow bad to happen to me.  

But, could this dislocated shoulder be what God would use to show me something more about life?

My answer came as my drama continued…                                                                                                                                 

NOT JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE BEACH (Part 1)

Finally! I got a chance to take a break and go to the beach in Montego Bay.  Living on an island doesn’t mean you have the opportunity to visit the beach regularly.  On the contrary, many Jamaicans cannot afford a trip to the beach as this, for many, is a luxury.   I was happy to go hang with my friends and just bask in the sun whilst listening to the waves roll up against the shore.

One of the many beautiful beaches in Jamaica

Unfortunately, my relaxation came to an abrupt end with a dislocation.  Yep, yet again, I dislocated my shoulder.  This time it came from one not so smooth stroke.  Seriously, no joke, one breast stroke and it was out.

The last time that I had dislocated my shoulder I was cheering for the Jamaican 4x100 meters team in the 2012 London Olympics.  What can I say?  I am a proud Jamaican and I have gone through excruciating pain to prove it.  I felt like Humpty Dumpty, without having that great of a fall, but unlike the unfortunate Humpty, I was put back together again by the UWI hospital medical team in Kingston.

Now, I faced a similar situation on the opposite end of the island. Needless to say, I became quite a spectacle at this highly frequented tourist spot.  However, many people came to my aid.  There are definitely many good people still living in this world.  My friend who was at the hotel with me is a nurse, and she did not panic but simply told the amazing lifeguards  how they could be of assistance.  And, a newly found friend from Canada who is a masseuse massaged my neck while insisting that I smell eucalyptus oil.  A fantastic beach, a soothing massage and two good looking strong men lifting me. This would have been the life, if it weren’t for the gentle sea breeze pounding against my upper left arm like Mohammed Ali - everything made my shoulder hurt.

A rasta taxi driver came and cordially offered to take me to the hospital for US $30. Definitely a problem mon. I would have rather walked the less than three mile journey in my state rather than pay that amount.  Everyone else tried to figure out what to do.  The consensus was to get my shoulder back in its socket without going to the hospital as the private hospital would have been way too expensive (they charge United States prices) and the public hospital would have been way too much drama along with a long wait time.  So, one lifeguard tried to put a bottle of water under my shoulder to move it out, back up and in.  Good idea in theory, but practically it didn’t go so well.  A medic came, but same result.  Alas, the public hospital would be the answer to my old friend’s and new Canadian friend’s prayers to get my shoulders back in place.

The lifeguard who failed at the attempt to relocate my shoulder with a water bottle succeeded at driving me and my friend to the Cornwall Regional Hospital.  Finally, relief was in sight.  Or was it?

Actually, that is where my drama really started . . . all over again.    

Weed it out!!!

The field is the world, and the good seed stands for the sons of the kingdom. The weeds are the sons of the evil one. Matthew 13:38

Gardenweb describes a weed as "a plant that is growing where it is not wanted, it can have strong and healthy growth, and is able to overgrow valued plants by overcrowding, thus depleting soil nutrients and moisture that would otherwise be available to preferred plants."

Bellis perennis

The thing about weeds is that they can be very beautiful.  Sometimes you just don't even want to pull them up.  Unfortunately, if you have planted "preferred plants" they tend take up space, crowd out the sun and take away all the nutrients. It baffles me why in Jesus' Parable of the Weeds, the owner would have the weeds grow with the good plants until harvesting.  He knows the damage they can do to the "good" plants. They also reproduce so quickly.

It seems that only the stronger "good" plants will survive the ravage of the weeds.  Sometimes if you know very little about plants, like I do, you will call a weed a flower and you will keep it until it takes away from the growth of the good plants.

We need to know the difference between a weed and a flower and get rid of the weeds in our life, making sure all the time that we are not a weed stunting the spiritual growth of others.  We may look like we are growing beautifully, but in the end, just like in the Parable of the Weeds we will be harvested and put to the fire.