Monday, August 4, 2014


Years and years ago, when taking care of my sisters, when I began at age of seven, I did all the stuff that was necessary. 
Several years later than described, of course!
I changed diapers... in those old days the cotton ones that needed to be washed, hung out, and re-used, of course... and fed and put to bed.  Sometimes, which is normal in our world, one sister or two or three or four or five, might be sick [flu, chicken pox, mumps, measles, etc.], throwing up, bleeding from something.  My dad, even though he was very alcoholic in his life, he often would help clean the mess up off the beds, the floors or the stairs if the girls threw up and that ugly, stinky mess was there.  Dad and I would do it together.  My mom, for some reason, couldn't deal with it at all!

I was ten years old when Jim Elliot and the other missionaries were killed in Ecuador, January, 1956.  I read it in the newspaper, while laying on the floor in our living room in Tacoma, WA, and my future desire piled into me then. I had very little knowledge of the Lord at that time, but, as I read that, I wanted to go to South America when I grew up, travel on the Amazon River, be a nurse and go around and about forever and help.  Yes, I did NOT know much of the Lord then.  And the abuse and struggleness I walked through nearly every day, was making me a Tough Cookie.  To have been a nurse, I would have been quite unpleasant, I'm sure.

Yes, I took care of my sisters, no matter what the sickness was.  And then something strangely occurred.

Shortly after I left the family the day after I graduated, except for some significant events in the next two or three years, I could NOT deal with vomiting and cleaning it up.  I could handle some forms of blood, but not much.  OH, and I could NOT EVER deal with needles, at all, anywhere.  Even as a kid, I had to have people cover me and keep me from seeing.  IF I was helping someone else, I would put a piece of sheet covering between us, and I could hold the other's hand, but couldn't watch.  Would explode in fear. 

My kids had to deal with this years ago, too, because if they were sick, and the vomiting and other smelly things happened, I couldn't do what needed to be done quickly
enough, and I feel sorry about that.  I would freak out when any of those needs were in their lives, and, as the mom, I felt thoroughly guilty for not being a good enough mom.  They were young in my mid-twenties and it didn't change for quite a number of years. They deal with it well with their kids.  Sorry I didn't.

Something amazingly just turned around.  All these years, if I had to help someone in Uganda, various parts of our states, etc., I could do it, but I still was horrifically fearful.  NOW, in the past three years, beginning when I was sixty-six, my life has changed.  How?  The Lord dropped Bhutanese into my life four years ago.  Suddenly, I was taking the gals to a local hospital when they were going to be having a baby in the next few months.  I was just a helper and encourager.  At
first, even in the hospital area when a baby was going to be born soon, I was simply a hand-holder and not looking at much of anything, connected to shots, IV, and the other "baby" issues.  The first time, one of the doctors told me to count loudly one-to-ten during the birth.  So, I did, the few times necessary.  The baby arrived.

Over a period of time, I became much more involved in what was necessary.  What's funny, is that it finally hit me in this July when two babies for two families suddenly were coming early, and I was heavily involved at the hospital with them. Now I'm more like I was as a kid.  I hold hands, I help clean re: vomit or blood, I help and hold arms and just rub their forehead no matter what kind of needles are being inserted.  When the baby is due, I'm holding the mommy's leg, hollering the numbers, grabbing whatever is needed by the nurse and doctor.  

Life truly has changed.  I have one more baby to arrive in a few weeks.  Don't know that I can do it again.  This will be baby # nine for me.  The nurses and doctors at the hospital always are grateful for me and appreciate what I am doing for these people who are fairly new in our nation and need to be encouraged.  I take the mom to the hospital when the man is working, or I meet the family there, and I usually stay the whole time -- even if it's a couple days or so -- until the baby comes.  Then, I stay for about an hour so I can see how the mom is doing and I can hold the baby or take photos of it.  THEN I go home and sleep and rest for a day or two.

Still it's amazing that I am actually accepted, appreciated, and loved by many when I'm doing something I couldn't do for approximately forty-four years.  What a treat!

OH and this last time, after a significant number of hours, the baby needed to come through surgery.  AND for the first time in my life, I was in the surgery for C-section and was holding the mom's hand.  Couldn't see MUCH of the surgery, but, since it was 3 AM, and the windows were in the other side of the room, sometimes the events showed in the window.  Then I also saw the baby brought out and the situation, momentarily was pretty serious, but he began to turn be OK.   That was a whole new world for me.

God healed me...a re-opened God-job... and, hopefully, I can help heal others.  Life has changed.  I'm a happy lady, because of that.

Tell Me a Story


Hazel Moon said...

I was the one to clean up after the babies, or the animals, because my husband just can't handle it. What a change in your life and God is in it. Thank you for sharing your lovely post with us here at “Tell Me a Story.”

Floyd said...

That's the epitome of "A God thing". Only He can make the strong weak and the weak strong. Glad you walked through the open door He created for you. What a blessing and honor for all involved. I appreciate your honesty, Joanne.