God is in the Midst of Her...

Looking back on the first half of this calendar year, I can say that both nursing and lobbying were better and worse than I thought they would be. I suppose they both surprised me. Let’s start with lobbying. My desire to take over for Mary & Debbie at the Capital had everything to do with my sense of duty to my midwifery sisters and the women of Missouri, and nothing to do with caring what Tony Messenger tweeted about, or why Senator Crowell insisted on reading “The Shack” when he was filibustering. It’s not that those things don’t matter; it’s just that they weren’t interesting to me. I cared about the ins and outs of daily life at the Capital in a narrow, peripheral way – if the gossip it had anything to do with midwifery, I forced myself to care about it, and if not, I would just think about how many more hours I had to stay there and be fake before I got to go home.

I thank God for Sarah – the brains of our operation, and the majority of the manpower. She very generously offered to help me at the Capital, and yet it ended up being me helping her. While I found most of Missouri politics annoying, she found it invigorating. She was and is, always, amazing. I found that going back to that place day after day, week after week to be draining, intimidating, and often extremely boring. However, being at the Capital was better than I expected in some ways too: I was hardly ever alone (which makes SUCH a difference at that place!), when I was alone I found that I generally knew what to do (or could text someone who would tell me what to do) and towards the end I actually got interested in some of the bills unrelated to midwifery. The best part was that in the end I felt a great sense of pride for the part I played to ensure that midwifery remained legal…and, of course, being at the Capital meant I wasn’t at the hospital! :)

Now for the surprise of being an RN, being a staff nurse. I suppose I thought it would be easy – boy, was I wrong. It’s so physically exhausting, and frequently mentally unsettling. It definitely demands more of me than I expected. I pray every morning as I go into the hospital that God would let me (and my patients) survive from 7A to 7P. I learn something new every day, and I’m thankful for that. Granted, it’s things like “You don’t need an order to draw from a central line, only a PICC line,” or the difference between expressive, receptive, and global aphasia. Good things to know, and interesting things too, but nothing that makes me say “WOW!!! I can’t wait to go to work tomorrow!” It seems like a rip-off that my work as a staff nurse would be SO draining, but not SO rewarding. If it’s going to deplete me, I sure wish I felt like it was all worth it…you know? I do love being able to sign my name “Halley Watson, RN.” I take a lot of pride in having those letters behind my name, and I know that my work is valuable. Nursing can never be completely swallowed by technology….a machine cannot convey empathy, a machine cannot listen to someone’s story, a machine cannot keep someone’s soul alive. So, I do feel important as an RN. But I also feel quite underappreciated. I’m constantly overloaded to the point that I cannot convey empathy, I cannot listen to stories, and I can’t keep souls alive, just bodies – all I have time for passing meds and doing brief assessments. It’s good time management, sure, taking care of five patients at once, but it’s not healing. I didn’t sign on for this.

This past March I heard back from Newlife, about six weeks after submitting my application. I took a deep breath before I opened the email attachment, sure that my life was about to change forever when I’d read the words, “Congratulations! You’ve been selected to the 2011 class of Newlife International Midwifery School!” But that’s not what happened. Instead of a congratulatory letter, it was a shocking but very sweet rejection letter. It was probably the kindest rejection I’ll ever receive in my lifetime. I didn’t believe it. I was frozen; time was frozen. It could not be.

God had been telling me, “Apply for Newlife, apply for Newlife” for over two years! Since when does God tell people to be missionaries and turn their entire lives upside down, and then prevent them from going where He calls them to go?!? What in the world was I supposed to do now?!? I was angry with God; furious, even. I felt that He had deceived me. Perhaps that sounds blasphemous, but it’s true. Thankfully, my anger didn’t last too long, at least not the acute anger I couldn’t ignore. An unexplainable peace came to me within a few days, especially after sharing my sad news with some sisters in Christ. “It must be a God thing…that’s the only way to explain it,” my aunt said to me. “And He has a reason.”

My aunt was right. My reason came along just a couple weeks after our conversation. Jeremiah came along (via my aunt, funnily enough) – and he is the reason I was not supposed to go to the Philippines. I knew within our first few meetings that he was a gift from God…an incredible gift that God had been preparing for me for a long time…and a gift I wanted to hold onto. As you read a few entries ago, my romance with Jeremiah ignited immediately and still continues to get sweeter by the day. He is the love of my life, my other half, and I am so, so thankful that I am living in Missouri and not in Asia. God’s plan, as always, was far better than my own.

April was a big month for me. I met JMac and started falling head over heels, and I also started exploring other paths toward midwifery, now that Newlife was a no-go. I sent out an email to my midwifery friends about possibilities in St. Louis, and it was suggested to me that I contact Julia (name changed) to inquire about an apprenticeship. I emailed Julia, she got back to me, we chatted on the phone, and she invited me to meet with her about the terms. That meeting was a weekday evening at the end of May. I was very, very, very nervous about it. I felt like my whole future was hanging on that meeting. I invested everything in it.

The meeting was so characteristically Julia – laidback and comfortable. I was dressed up; she was in sweatpants. I expected her to sort of interview me for such an honorable and highly-sought position as a midwifery apprenticeship, but she really didn’t. She told me she knew I had “put in my time” at the Capital and done my homework, and she said she thought I deserved a chance at the real thing. I was ecstatic!!! I left her house on Cloud 9 that night. We decided that we would start on a trial period before hammering down any terms, partly because I lived in Columbia and would only be able to work with her 3 days a week until I could move to St. Louis.

Immediately I started looking for part-time work in St. Louis. Julia understood that I would need to work on the side; as a beginner-level apprentice, she would be compensating me with an education and not an income. And so I spent most of June looking for nursing work in St. Louis, and coming up empty-handed. Everyone wanted me to have a full year of experience to be considered for part-time work. It was reasonable, but frustrating. Despite not being able to move to St. Louis, at the end of June I started working with Julia 3 days a week as we had discussed, Wednesdays through Fridays. Just a couple days into our time together, I got to attend a birth with her. It was awesome (albeit more exciting than we planned on!) and I felt like I was back in the saddle again.

Within a few weeks, the wear and tear of commuting between two cities every three days started to get to me. This was my life: work 12hr shifts on Saturday and Sunday, breathe (and pack) on Monday, work a 12hr shift on Tuesday, drive to St. Louis Tuesday night, work with Julia (and be on-call) Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and then drive back to Columbia on Friday night to repeat the cycle. Sounds insane, right? It was. It may not have been so draining if my time in St. Louis wasn’t also my time to be with Jeremiah. But that’s how it was – we live in different cities, so when we could be together, we stretched our dates until 2am, sometimes even 3am. It was and is a complete joy to spend my STL nights with the man I love – I wouldn’t have it any other way. In fact, I started hoping on a daily basis that no one would go into labor because I wanted to spend the little time I had in STL with JMac, not at a birth. And I started feeling very guilty about that.

What’s wrong with me? I’d wonder. Being a midwife’s apprentice is what I’ve been dreaming about for the past three years! This is my purpose and the deepest desire of my heart! I felt terrible about my inner turmoil. I felt like I was betraying Julia and her clients by not being excited about midwifery and birth 24/7. What *was* going on inside me? Had my passion for woman-empowering, baby-honoring birth faded? Not in the least. Was I drained, emotionally and physically, and therefore just didn’t have the energy to be “on” all the time? Certainly, that was definitely a part of it, a big part of it actually. Did I hate being on-call? Yes, I did, I’ll say it. Is that selfish? Maybe…but it’s honest. (You never realize how much you value being able to turn off your cell phone or go on a weekend road trip until you can’t do it).

But it was more than exhaustion and annoyance with the on-call life. Because for almost 3 years prior, I would have gladly sold my spleen for the chance to miss sleep, answer 3am phone calls, and do postpartum visits on national holidays. And for nearly 3 years I HAD exhausted myself running back and forth between nursing school and the Capital…I HAD paid a lot of money to attend a Midwifery Today conference in Philadelphia over my last-ever Spring Break…I HAD stayed up until 3am reading about births I wished I was attending…I HAD taken abuse from countless family members and friends for my unorthodox passions. It was definitely more than the exhaustion and the inconvenience – it was that quite suddenly and without my permission, midwifery ceased to be the deepest desire of my heart. Love took over.

Birth. But not the birth I expected.

As 2008 began, I saw "The Business of Being Born" with my mom and my roommate Katie (and instantly turned two skeptics into staunch supporters). I can't say I learned anything new when I watched that movie (I had spent the past year researching maternity care!), but it did shake me up. It dawned on me that birth was not just something that affected ME as a career path, but something that would profoundly affect all the women I know and love -- most of whom live in Missouri, where midwifery was at the time a felony. In early February I discovered Friends of MO Midwives, our statewide advocacy organization. I decided quickly that I had to do my part to contribute to the legalization of midwifery in my home state. I made a batch of brownies and drove to Jefferson City for "Cookie Day." The Capitol loomed before me, and somehow it looked even bigger than it did on my 4th grade field trip. My heart pounding within me, I set foot into senators' and representatives' offices, gave them my brownies with a note "From an aspiring midwife" stapled to the bag, and asked to speak to them about the matter closest to my heart. I did not feel like a worthy authority at all, but I did know that doctors should not be slicing women's vaginas open without their permission or awareness. I knew that mothers -- not health care providers -- know what is best for their bodies and their babies. I told the elected officials what I knew and what I wanted. Although I know realize that some of the people who "listened" were just being politicians, it was enough to make me want to come back.

And I did come back. I came to the Capitol every Wednesday for the rest of the 2008 legislative session, and a couple times a week at the end. It worked out nicely because I didn't have any classes or clinicals on Wednesdays. However, at a crisis point towards the end of session, I called my nursing instructor the morning of our Thursday clinical and told her it was more important for me to be at the Capitol lobbying than for me to attend my mental health clinical. Part of me can't believe I had the gall to do that, but what's even more amazing is that my instructor agreed with me! Now that I think about it, making that phone call was an outward declaration of what I had been feeling about nursing school all along: indifference. I just didn't care about it very much. (I cared about doing well, but that had more to do with my disease of over-achievement than it did with a passion for nursing). What I did care about was justice, and safety, and excellent care for women and babies, and I knew that I would need a voice louder than an RN's to make a difference.

The 2008 legislative session ended in mid-May. It came down to the wire: the Senate waited until the afternoon of the last day of session to pass our licensure bill, and the House was not able to get it passed before the solemn hour of 6pm tolled. I cannot and will not speak of the politics involved, but it was messy and ugly. I prayed and prayed and prayed that our bill would be passed and midwifery would be legalized. But 6pm came, and midwives remained felons. I was numb. I was heartbroken. I couldn’t imagine how my friends felt, who had already spent four years at the Capitol trying to legalize midwifery, and had already tasted such bitter disappointment four times over. It was so unjust. But we still had a small glimmer of hope: at the end of the 2007 legislative session, a bill legalizing certified professional midwives (or someone holding “tocological certification”) was passed. When the state medical organizations realized what had happened, they challenged the law in court. We hired an attorney and fought back. Those big wigs assumed we were just a bunch of silly housewives, but they were about to learn we were a force to be reckoned with. When the 2008 session ended, the Missouri Supreme Court still had not ruled on the tocology law. And so we continued to wait.

I was cruising on the Mediterranean Sea with my mother when it happened. Knowing the Supreme Court was going to announce their decision any time, we (well, she, honestly) shelled out the cash so we could check our email on the cruise ship. It was about 3am in Missouri on June 25th when I logged in and saw the email that dumbfounded me and brought tears to my eyes: “MISSOURI WINS!!!” It couldn’t be! But it WAS! The Missouri Supreme Court had sensibly determined that the Missouri State Medical Association (MSMA) and the other physician groups didn’t have standing to sue, so they threw out the case, thereby making the tocology law immediately effective and making midwives instantly LEGAL!!! After half a century of Missouri women not having legal midwives, and Missouri midwives running from the law, justice was served. My mother and I spent the rest of our delightful European vacation on Cloud 9, and I knew I would not be returning to the same Missouri I had left.

I returned to a Missouri where midwives were legal, to a Missouri where my sisters and daughters could have homebirths with legal midwives, and a Missouri where I myself could BE a legal midwife. It was an awesome feeling. I do not have sufficient words to describe how huge that was, how huge that is, how huge that will always be. I started my final semester of nursing school, and I could no longer deny that my graduation from college was around the corner. Full-blown adulthood was screaming toward me like a bullet train, and every day went faster than the one which preceded it. Ever since I had first become interested in midwifery – two years before this time – I had thought about it in a future context. When I’m done with nursing school, then I will pursue midwifery. Or, when I’ve graduated college, then I can start midwifery school. All of a sudden, I could think about midwifery in a PRESENT context: the time has come! It’s here, it’s now! If I’m honest with myself, it was just as nerve-wracking as it was exciting.

I decided about this time that I was going to stop battling God over whether or not I should go to Newlife/the Philippines, and just take the cosmic hint, and apply. (I’m a little slow on the pick-up sometimes). Newlife started in the fall, like all schools do, so I knew I would have an awkward eight-month chunk between graduation and when my “real life” would begin. I quickly decided that I would get some “silly nursing job” to bridge the gap and save money for tuition. I applied at University Hospital here in Columbia, where I had done the majority of my clinicals. My classmates were all flustered about applying to ten different hospitals and getting a jump on things on September 1st. Myself, I applied for two University jobs in mid-October, roughly two months before graduation. I had two interviews, one with 5 West and one with Labor & Delivery (I’ve thought soooo many times, Maybe I could *change* L&D, maybe I could make it a whole different world all by myself…). But I always wake up from that fantasy pretty quickly. Plus they wanted me to work nights, which I could not do because I had already committed myself to lobbying at the Capital in the 2009 session at least two days a week. (Plus I have a firmly ingrained circadian rhythm).

I knew I had to take a “silly nursing job” that wouldn’t (a) get me fired, or (b) make me go home crying every night. I had already done my senior practicum on 5 West, so I knew the people and the protocols. It made for an easy transition. The patient population on 5 West comprised all things traumatic: car accidents, motorcycle accidents, gunshot wounds, knife wounds, horseback riding accidents, falls from ladders/balconies, you name it. It also included all things surgery: hernia repairs, gastric bypasses, dialysis accesses, appentdectomies (appendix removal), cholecystectomies (gallbladder removal), and surgical complications (chronic wounds that never heal). Nothing about this excited me; in fact I found it pretty lame. However – I had no ethical problems with trauma/surgery nursing either (at the time -- I do now, wouldn't you know it?), which is a LOT more than I could say for OB nursing!

I got my silly nursing job squared away with as little effort as possible as I poured myself into my Newlife application. I prayed over it. I wrote a book of an answer to each essay question (they said to be thorough!). I had multiple people read it and edit it. I finally submitted it in early February of 2009, right at the deadline. Meanwhile, graduation had come and gone, which was celebratory and awesome, yet surreal and frightening. Christmas had come and gone, and I felt like the happy-go-luckiness of childhood slipped permanently away from me, tossed to the curb with the wilting Christmas tree. I was stricken with fear. What had I been thinking? How could I possibly manage to work as a full-time staff nurse (which I had never done before) AND be a full-time lobbyist (which I had never done before)?? I felt very alone. January 5th came all too quickly, and, seemingly without my permission, my life crossed the threshold into “the real world.”

Part II: Finding Myself...Again. I'm back. Time to discuss what I hardly know how to put into words: the over-hauling of my heart and purpose that has taken place without my permission this summer. Honestly, I'm terrified to pen the words.

[This blog of self-discovery has turned out to be much lengthier than I anticipated, thus I am posting it in three sections. Here is the 1st chunk].

For the past three years, my soul has been aglow with the peace of knowing exactly what I wanted to do with my life: become a midwife. Most of my 23 years has been spent not knowing who I am at my core and trying desperately to discover it. But in the fall of 2006, I stumbled upon midwifery. I learned to my horror that millions of women are manipulated, traumatized, wounded, and needlessly cut open every day in our "modern" maternity system. I found out to my great happiness that there is another way, a beautiful, under-appreciated, constantly misunderstood, and sometimes illegal way to have a baby: at home with a midwife, a wise woman, by your side. And I instantly wanted to be a wise woman myself. Conception.

Gestation began as I started to nurture this dream within me. I quickly became engrossed with the study of all things birth. I joined Yahoo groups and email lists. I poured over advocacy websites and read every book I could get my hands on. First it was "Baby Catcher," by Peggy Vincent, a homebirth nurse-midwife's autobiography. I devoured it in 3 days; the initial story was about the first birth Peggy ever witnessed. She was a nursing student at the time, and so I felt a special connection to her from the start. Every birth story was beautiful in a unique way and I wanted more than anything to share in that beauty. The next thing I got my hands on was "Born in the USA: How a Broken Maternity System Must be Fixed to Put Women & Children First," by Marsden Wagner. In sharp contrast to "Baby Catcher," "Born in the USA" was an infuriating unveiling of our money-driven bloodbath of a maternity system. "Baby Catcher" warmed my heart and "Born in the USA" made my blood boil. I started nursing school in January of 2007 and I continued to study midwifery ravenously on the side.

During the summer of 2007 I witnessed a birth for the first time. I was working as a camp nurse at a Young Life camp in northern Georgia, and the secretary at the camp arranged for me to meet a friend of hers who happened to be a midwife. Charlotte* invited me over to eat cantelope and discuss all things birth. She told me she had three ladies due in July, and did I want to come to a birth if it was alright with the families? I was ecstatic!!! My dream come true!!! Charlotte called me a week or so later to let me know that one of her clients had agreed, and that she would call me as soon as she went into labor! It was 3AM July 20th when I got the call. We sped off into the Georgia mountains and my heart was racing with anticipation. Grace* labored beautifully with her husband at her side. The lights were low, the house was quiet, the children were sleeping. A sweet baby girl was born at 5:05AM, when she was ready, and she slipped gently from her mother's body into waiting hands on the bed she was made on. No one ever took that baby from her mother. There was no need. I was a silent observer and I took it all in with awe. I was so humbled. So overcome. So enchanted. I knew I would never be the same.

A couple months later I completed my OB rotation in nursing school. The contrast between home and hospital birth was stark and cruel. The second birth I ever saw was a cesarean section. I'll never forget seeing that woman's uterus sitting on top of her abdomen, silverly blue and sickly looking, with the fallopian tubes hanging off like chicken legs on either side. It was so violent, so taboo, and yet all too real. It will be reality for 31% of all the women who give birth in the US today. I'll never forget in OB lecture when we were learning about episiotomies (a surgical cut into the vaginal tissue toward the anus, done to enlarge the vaginal opening for delivery). Our instructor (a mother of 4) talked about episiotomies as if they were no big deal, mundane even. I raised my hand and tersely asked why informed consent was not required for doctors to perform episiotomies (read = surgery) on women. My instructor did not know what to say, and stammered through an answer about how episiotomies are simply part of the labor & delivery process, and a woman consents to a possible episiotomy when she starts receiving care from an obstetrician. (Hmmm I thought, I should keep that in mind if I ever see a cardiologist; I'll be consenting to open heart surgery by walking through the door!).

I should mention here that I started thinking about how and where I would pursue my midwifery education very early on, before my OB rotation, before I witnessed that beautiful homebirth in the Georgia mountains. I have always been a researcher. I have always been a scientist, wanting an answer for every question. (I really don’t know how people lived without the Internet!) I endlessly OBSESSED over what route I would take into midwifery: certified nurse-midwife (CNM), or certified professional midwife (CPM)? I would think to myself, Well, I’m going to be an RN anyways, so it really makes more sense to become a CNM, and it’s more socially acceptable, and it’s legal everywhere…but CNMs practice in hospitals, and pretty much have to do whatever their collaborating physician/hospital says. Two seconds later I would think, Well, then I should be a CPM instead. CPMs attend homebirths, which is what I want to do, and they often have more autonomy. But being a CPM might make me a felon, and the Board of Nursing won’t like me being a RN/CPM! What a quagmire! (OK, maybe I don’t use the word “quagmire” in my thoughts, but you get the picture.)

Eventually I decided that I was going to be a CPM, because homebirth was and is *so* important to me, and I just figured I’d move to a legal state, and the heck with the Board of Nursing. I POURED over CPM schools/distance learning programs/apprenticeship possibilities, but I was enchanted by one of the first I discovered: Newlife International School of Midwifery in Davao City, Philippines. It was everything I was looking for: the mission, the passion for women and babies, the passion for sharing Christ’s love, the clinical experiences and curriculum, the opportunity to learn about a different culture, the chance to stretch myself immensely and grow extravagantly as a professional, as a person, and as a believer. I was in love. Even so, the thought of uprooting my life and moving across the world for TWO YEARS terrified me. I would brush it aside…and the Lord would put it on my heart again…I would brush it aside…and the Lord would put it on my heart again. I did this repeatedly over the course of two years, unable to ever completely dismiss or embrace going to the Philippines. In the midst of my confusion, the action continued…

I love when Gene Wilder says that in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory..."We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams." He's so confident of the inherent good in dreaming. His eyes twinkle and he knows the magic of his reality -- the chocolate river, the flying glass elevator, the lickable wallpaper, the everlasting gobbstopper -- are the magic of dreams come true. His dreams are his life, and his dreams are vibrant and beautiful and good.

Sometimes I get discouraged about chasing my own dreams. Sometimes I feel foolish for wanting to be blissfully happy instead of moderately content. Sometimes I feel selfish for wanting to follow my calling and feel ALIVE in my work, when I have a decent job that I don't love but more than pays the rent in this crumbling economy. Sometimes I feel bad about desiring to do what I love instead of pursuing what's practical.

But I think that's the devil talking. Yes, sometimes I am foolish, and certainly selfish. But when I remember who I am in Christ, and remember the King of the Universe made no mistakes in creating me, I remember that I too can have the twinkling eye of Willy Wonka. I am a music maker, and I am a dreamer of dreams. That's who I am, and that's what I do. I dream all the time about every kiss and every sweet nothing and every moment of belonging that I hope to someday share with my husband. I gleefully anticipate the day I will be pregnant and carry my babies and birth them into this world in fantastic power, strength, and love. (I really hope I make some 10-lb babies so I can be living proof that the female pelvis freaking works!) I want every single day to be a midwife even though I am blessed to be a nurse. I want to do whatever it takes -- quitting my job, moving home, losing money, losing respect -- to become the midwife I know without a doubt God crafted me to be. Just about the only thing I don't want to do is wait...and Lord help me if that is what You want from me.

I want to be alive. I want to stand up and do something. I don't want any more days to pass when women are manipulated, blindsighted, threatened, abused, invaded, and mutilated; when I wasn't doing everything in my power to stop it. I can't save everyone, but I can save this one...and this one...and this one...and it matters to them. I want to protect my sisters and friends and daughters. I want to be a servant for all womankind. I want justice. I want to make no money and be on-call 24/7 and pull my hair out going from one 72hr birth to another one. (It's gotta be a calling when you want to do crazy stuff like that!)

Grad school for $3,300 is incredibly practical. A Master's degree makes so much sense. And it's not that I don't desire continuing education, but it's not what I long for right now. I know I "should" do it now, like you should save for your retirement when you're 20 even though you won't see the fruit of it til you're 50. But I want to catch babies and be up to my elbows in placentas! I want to love, and sing, and breathe, and run! I am and will always be a dreamer of dreams!

As I lay outside atop our trampoline, with the birds singing to me and my skirt ruffling in the April breeze, the Cardinals victory still fresh and sweet, everything seems so simple. The Capitol and the hospital feel very far away. Thursday is my Saturday, and for another 24+ hours, nothing can steal my peace. I don't have to fret about any amendments getting tacked on to any bills, or what Senator so-and-so said about Rep so-and-so regarding issue such-and-such. There is no charting to be done, no meds to be passed, no assessments to be completed...I am not responsible for anyone's life right now except my own. My heartbeat is the only heartbeat I hear...S1, S2, clear, regular, steady.

I wish I could bottle up this tranquil afternoon and keep it forever. It's a sweet escape from the uncertainty and frustration that has accompanied me the past several weeks. About a month ago I received word that my application to Newlife International School of Midwifery was not accepted for admittance into the program. I was shell-shocked, numb, peaceful, crushed, peaceful again, and now lost, in that order. That was the plan! I was supposed to work at University -- and moonlight as a lobbyist -- until September, when I was going to move to Davao City, Philippines to begin the rest of my life as a midwife. God spoke "Newlife, Newlife, Newlife" into my heart for TWO YEARS...TWO YEARS! So I finally listened (it takes me a while sometimes) and applied! I POURED over my application for months, making it as perfect as I could. I didn't renew my cell phone contract. I came to terms with the fact that I was going to miss weddings and Christmases, and silly as it sounds, that I wouldn't get a haircut for over a year. I took a job in Columbia because it was pointless to move somewhere else for 8 months just to pack up and leave the country. I WAS READY TO GO!!!! Yes, I was scared sh*&less, but I was willing! Here I am Lord, send me!!! I was going to uproot my entire life and move to a 3rd world country to catch babies and tell people about Jesus!!! Since when does God tell would-be missionaries to stay home?!How is that not the right plan for me???

But it's not. I don't know why. I wish I did. But I got the email saying I'm on the waiting list and to try again next year. I have to make alternative plans now. I wish I could say I'm not at all resentful of the Lord, but I am...(Lord, it hurts. It sucks. I hate it. I know, and I believe, You work all things for the GOOD of those who love You and are called according to Your purpose...but I don't understand how that is so this time. I know it is not my job to know. I know I know all I need to know right now. Help me trust You like I profess to trust You. Remake me once more and gracefully give me peace)...So I'm not going to the Phiippines. The Lord has a plan bigger for me than the one I made for myself, the one I thought was His plan for me. Seeing as He desires for me to do His will elsewhere, I am grateful He caused my application to be rejected, rather than calling on me to turn down an invitation into the program on my own strength. So what is next? Good question.

A few days ago I signed my lease for next year, to stay here in Columbia for the next academic year, until August 2010. Do I want to stay in Columbia? No, not exactly. Do I want to get out of Columbia? No, not exactly. I just want something different. Do I hate my job? No. Do I hate lobbying? No. Does either bring me great joy and make me feel alive? No...no. Does journeying with women from maidenhood to motherhood bring my great joy and make me feel alive? YES! That is what I want to do! I know what I want to be when I grow up! Awesome! Is there a way to do it right now? Maybe, maybe not. One of the great practical perks of the school in the Philippines was that there were no living expenses..."just" tuition, books, and a couple flights around the world. I've been saving 80-90% of my paychecks, each one going into my midwifery savings fund. I was hoping to raise support for the rest, and count on God to bring in the money for the school I thought He had called me to. So now instead...there are U.S. schools, yes. But I would have to pay rent and utilities and gas money and food in Florida, or Washington, or California, or Maine. On top of tuition and books. And I wouldn't be able to work while in school, because such is the life of a midwife: you are on-call 24/7 because babies come into the world whenever they feel like it! So, more expenses an no way to pay them. I'm still saving nearly all of every paycheck I get, but it will take significantly more savings to go to midwifery school in the U.S. I know God is bigger than money, and He will make it fall from the sky for me if it is His will, but my puny human understanding of His power is, well, puny.

Apprenticeship is certainly an option, and an option I'd love to grab on to! The problem is, we have a midwife shortage...which means we have an apprenticeships shortage. My dear friend may possibly be able to take me on as an apprentice this fall (which would be amazing!!!), but she lives 3 hours away from me...I haven't ruled it out but the distance does create a bit of a head-scratcher. Just as I could not work (a typical job as a nurse) during midwifery school, I could not work during an apprenticeship either...and Ameren and the City of Columbia and my landlords will still want money from me in exchange for electricity, and heat and water, and the roof over my head. I could move back to St. Louis and live with my parents (and then they instead of me, in their incredible love and sweetness, would pay for the roof over my head!), but there don't seem to be any apprenticeships available in the STL area. Maybe I just have to wait for Mr. Right to come along so he can bring home the bacon! (Mr. Right, if you're out there reading this, I would appreciate you presenting yourself sooner rather than later).

So, in the meantime, if, as I am starting to come to terms with, I cannot pursue becoming a midwife in the very near future, I must do something else. Starting in July, Mizzou will pay 75% of any Masters program I may want to pursue, so long as I continue to work for them full-time. It is an accessory dream of mine to get my Masters in Public Health. Mizzou has a very new MPH program...but I hear lots of good things about it. Tomorrow morning I have an appt in the Nursing School about the Nurse Practitioner program...do I want to be a NP? I don't think so...but maybe I could be persauded? (I am going to stare at this poor lady tomorrow morning...I don't even know what to ask). It just seems so silly, I *KNOW* exactly what I WANT to do, but life is preventing me from doing it! Will I keep working on 5West, doing the Med-Surg thing? Will I transfer into a OB position? Will I go back to the Capitol next January? Will I have to keep working weekends and forego having a social life? Will I take on the PR Board position for the birth center? Will something take me away from Columbia?

So many possibilities and so many unknowns! I cannot pretend I am not defeated about feeling that the one thing I REALLY want to do is an arm's length (or, on some days, lightyears) away from me. But His plan for my life is for my highest GOOD. And it is for His glory. I have to believe that. My life is bigger than just me. He is at work, and He will not stop halfway. The tranquility will return, despite the passing of this April afternoon. Jesus, make me an instrument for Your peace. And make me at peace with the instrument you fashion me into.