DanandDalaina.com

Sometimes, God steps in uninvited. Sometimes it’s with a whisper, “I’m still here.” Sometimes, like today, it’s with an unexpected shout, “I AM!”
I was just getting out of the shower this morning, and I put on a new album I received for Christmas. The first song that came on was “What Do I Know of Holy?” Before the first verse was over, I was sitting on the floor with tears running down my face, feeling… small.
As God seemed to repeat over and over, “I AM. I AM bigger than you, bigger than this. More than you can possibly understand. All that you know of Me is such a small speck of the full truth of who I AM.”, I realized that my world had so shrunk in the past couple of months that it had started revolving around me. 
It’s so easy for me to lose perspective during seasons of illness and busyness, so easy that it goes unnoticed for awhile. Even though I might be going through the motions of Bible study and prayer, my gaze slowly drifts away. And then comes that faintest whiff of heaven that drags my eyes back to where they should be focused.
The crazy thing is that this shift in perspective is not offensive; it’s a relief. His bigness reminds me of my smallness, but it is not a smallness that is insignificant. In the same moment that He says, “I AM,” He also says, “And you are. Mine. Valuable. Worthy. Irreplaceable.”  When I remember the bigness of God and the smallness of myself, my fists of control finally loosen enough to dump my fears, frustrations, and unspoken dreams in the hands of the only One able to hold them all. And then, free from my burdens, I can actually look at Him again and inhale the breath of peace that I didn’t realize that I was waiting to take.
 
 
Here's a link to Addison Road's incredibly powerful song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVScvSBsm40
 
 
What Do I Know of Holy – Addison Road
I made You promises a thousand times
I tried to hear from Heaven
But I talked the whole time
I think I made You too small
I never feared You at all
If You touched my face would I know You?
Looked into my eyes could I behold You?

(CHORUS)
What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

I guess I thought that I had figured You out
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were mighty to save
Those were only empty words on a page
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees

(CHORUS)
What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

(CHORUS 2)
What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life its name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
On earth and heaven above
What do I know of this love?

(CHORUS)
What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?

About a year ago, my teammate Nichole and I assisted a very difficult birth (see Martha) that ended in the comatose woman being evacuated to deliver her placenta. This weekend, I assisted another birth that was erily similar. Worse, actually, because there were issues with the newborn as well (see Silvania's Story). But there were some major differences in my heart and attitude one year later as I encountered another fearful situation far beyond my own abilities - this time I trusted God. I don't write that as a prideful disclosure, more an amazed one. And a thankful one since it shows me that God really is working behind the scenes in my heart, building up my confidence in Him and my hope in His plans.
As I sat next to Silvania in the middle of the night wondering if she would survive until daylight, she asked me to sing to her. I sang exactly what was in my heart - "Amazing Grace." Only an hour before, I had been literally on my face on the airstrip a few yards from their house, begging God for mercy. I begged Him not so much for her life, but for her chance to hear the Gospel. I reminded Him that He left the 99 to go after the one, and could only cry, "What about her? Don't forget about Silvania!" Even as my tears flowed, I was not filled with fear this time, but confidence. I didn't know what God would do; I had no assurance that He would save her. But I KNOW my God, and I KNOW that He is good. Always and every time.
Then I went back to Silvania's side and tried the last (dangerous) medical intervention I could do. When I failed in attempting the same procedure with Martha, I felt so much despair. When I failed with Silvania, I felt peace. God would work in another, better way. So I sang to her about God's grace and goodness until she fell asleep. She didn't understand a word that I sang, but God did and I did.
I still marvel that my reaction was one of hope and peace because that is so unnatural for me. And not a tentative hope and peace, a roaring, fierce kind that saturated every cell in my body. The kind that kept screaming in my mind, "Great is Your Faithfulness!" Oh to cling to this kind of hope and peace in the little moments that seem insignificant! If He is big enough and good enough for the moments when we are beyond ourselves, how can we possibly fear and be anxious about our day to day challenges? He is most definitely Lord over those moments as well.

I was pretty cheerful when the knock came at 4:20am because I had been expecting it. Silvania had come to see me a week ago to check the baby's position, and I knew she was about ready to pop. When I got there, her contractions were 6 minutes apart and not progressing very quickly. She had already been in labor for like 5 hours. I told her that she should walk around to bring the baby down, and I thought her mother was going to bust a rib laughing. Like I have never seen a Caquinte woman crack up like this. She was saying, "Bahaha. Go run the airstrip! Hahaha Maybe if you walk all the way to the next village the baby will come!" But Silvania took my advice and made a nice trail around her mom's house. I came and went over the course of the day, and I finally called Dan's dad in the late afternoon because her contractions still weren't getting any closer together (in fact, they had gotten to 4 minutes apart and then went back to 7 minutes apart). I was worried because she was totally exhausted, and we still had a long way to go. Unfortunately, the only thing I could do was encourage her to rest, eat, and wait. I went home.
At 6:30, Silvania's very pregnant cousin came to get me (I was afraid that she was going to go into labor too since she ran the whole way). We jogged back down the airstrip to find Silvania, her mom, and aunt in the dirt behind the house. Silvania had been pushing for an hour, and the head had finally crowned. Word had gone around the village, and a crowd showed up. At one point, I counted no less than 10 neighbors (men and women) and a smattering of kids standing around yelling suggestions and criticisms ("don't be scared" "try grunting" "you're aren't pushing hard enough"). Props to Silvania because I would have been throwing sharp objects if I were her or at the very least telling people exactly where they should go and what they should do with themselves. Ah, the longsuffering of the Caquinte women...
There were 3 women (1 of whom spoke Spanish) besides myself actually assisting the birth, and I was very glad to see that they were a little more creative than typical about getting her in different positions, which was good because she was really struggling to have enough strength to push. I had been very quiet for most of the time, but at one point I caught Silvania's eye and told her, "You can do this! God made you a woman with the ability to bring a baby into the world. You were created for this!" Then I prayed for her. Not long after that, I suggested the good ol', "let gravity do the work" squatting position. I guess I earned some credibility with the last birth because they immediately pulled her up, and somehow, I ended up at the fun-end instead of her mom (which turned out to be a God-thing). Within a couple of minutes, I caught the little guy, kept him from falling in the dirt, and wrapped him in the edge of the blanket covering her legs. He looked fine albeit with a cone head you could pick your teeth with.
The cone head thing I guess freaked them out because all of a sudden, Grandma scooped him up and put one hand under his chin and with the other started smashing his skull. I grabbed her hand and said, "Stop! That can hurt his brain!" I did my best to assure them that his head would look normal in a couple of days and that trying to smash his head down would only hurt him. I told them that my beautiful, round headed Moses also had a pointy head when he was born, but it looked fine after 3 days.
Then it just got bad. I was concerned about the placenta still not delivering 45 minutes after the baby, especially because Silvania seemed completely uninterested in helping it along despite my loud pep-talks. I asked one of the women if we could go ahead and cut the cord because I was afraid the baby was going to bleed out. They were appalled by the suggestion. I knew that tradition is that the cord isn't cut until the placenta is out, but I didn't know why. She told me (in Spanish) that they believe that cutting the cord before the placenta is delivered can hurt the mom. I told her what is done in modern medicine and why, but they would have none of it. So I kept an eye on the baby. When Silvania passed out the first time (from a nice gush a blood), I am not sure what other than God possessed me to clamp the cord while no one was looking, but I did. And I am absolutely convinced that it saved the baby's life. Of course, when Silvania's mom noticed, I thought she was going to deck me or at least send me home. She put her hand around the cord in between the clamps and probably would have killed me if I got too close with the scissors. About 10 people were yelling at me and telling each other what an idiot I was and how I was going to kill Silvania. Silvania's grandpa (a Spanish speaker) was the only calm one in the crowd, so I told him that what I had done was not dangerous, that it was what the medical schools teach doctors to do. I repeated that it was not dangerous and that I would never do anything to harm Silvania. But I would wait to cut the cord until they were ready because the clamps would keep the baby from bleeding into the placenta.
Anyway, Silvania got weaker and weaker, and I got madder and madder simply because she wasn't even trying. Finally, I got all up in her face and told her that I had birthed two babies bigger than her boy in one day with a placenta twice the size of a normal one. I told her if she wanted to give up, then fine, die. But realize that if she died, no one would nurse her son, and he would die too. Mean? Yep. But it worked. Sort of. She gave 3 good pushes before totally pooping out again.
At this point, the blanket had been moved, and the baby was lying in the cool breeze, wet and naked. I was helping prop Silvania up, so I started asking people to get a towel, a shirt, a blanket, SOMETHING and cover the kid up before he froze. Everyone I asked ignored me. So I finally stripped off my tank top and wrapped him up myself (I was really glad I wore a sports bra!). I blows my mind how unimportant the baby is in a delivery. A total afterthought.
They decided that they wanted to move Silvania onto the porch where it was warmer, so 4 of us women carried her and the baby (still attached) to the porch. I went to explore where she had been sitting. There were chunks there, and not just blood clots as you would expect. There was meat. Shreds of placenta. I showed the other women, and they were as freaked out as I was. It was time to call the doctor. Dan's dad was unavailable in Lima, but we called one of his partners (Dr.Jordan) who graciously answered my questions and told me what I could try. He told me that since the cord was clamped, that I didn't need to worry about the baby for now.
For the next hour I tried nipple stimulation, more massage (I had been doing this for awhile anyway), and even tried tugging on the cord (gently so as not to invert the uterus and kill her then). Nada. I told them that they needed to call the helicopter the next morning because she absolutely needed to fly out.
The other women finally went home, and I decided to do the same. There was nothing else I could do, and I wanted to give Silvania's mom some privacy. She was watching her daughter's every breath with a flashlight, just like I would do if I thought my child was dying.
This morning, I was glad to hear that they had already summoned the helicopter. It was supposedly due to arrive at 8:30. When I checked on Silvania, she was conscious and talking but very weak and very pale. They decided to let me go ahead and cut the cord. After I did, I wrapped the little guy up and asked Silvania if she wanted to feed him or hold him and was told by the few people there that it was too soon. Whatever that means. So I laid him on a blanket in the corner where everyone continued to ignore him. I am hoping to find out soon why they want nothing to do with baby until mom has completely finished delivering and is clean and rested. It blows my mind.
Anyway, it is 9:30, and at this very moment I hear the helicopter in the distance! Please keep praying for Silvania. Also pray for me and my relationships with some of these women (especially her mom). I know I offended and appalled people last night (not that I regret it. it was necessary). I just want them to realize that I care about them and would more likely NOT try something than to do something that would hurt one of them.

UPDATE: 11:00am - I met the medic at the helicopter and gave him Silvania's story while he examined her and hooked her up to an iv. He thinks her placenta is attached still. She flew out with her mom and baby to a hospital about 45 minutes (by helicopter) away. I am sooooooooo thankful!
--

My very awesome teammate invited our family over for dinner tonight, so I found myself with an extra hour this afternoon. The boys were chasing the Philistines (the neighbor kids) in the yard, and Dan was on the phone, so I retreated to my room with my ipod. As I lay on the bed, a sense of deep contentment hit me, and I marveled at it.
For two and a half years, we have been in Peru, and for the first two of them I was a royal mess. I was in the pit of depression, disgusted with motherhood, and disillusioned with a ministry that hadn’t even really started. I can remember so many tears that accompanied prayers of, “Please get me out of here! I can’t do this, and I don’t really want to.” Every time we came out to the village, I struggled. It was miserable, and I counted the days until I could leave.
Dan was, understandably, concerned. We spoke about tucking tail and returning to the USA. And I knew that no one would blame us. Heck, how many people told us we were nuts for going in the first place? But each time, I told Dan that we couldn’t leave. God called us while I was in the midst of depression. He called us before he gave us 3 boys in a year and a half, and He clearly brought us to the people group with the impossible language.  Who were we to leave?
Slowly, this past year, I’ve seen change. Not really change in my circumstances. My kids are still wild. The Caquinte language still baffles me. I still feel ill-equipped and under prepared. But I am changed.  I’ve found that as God stripped away all of my strength and a big hunk of my pride – when I found myself bawling hysterically on the bathroom floor after angrily throwing Christmas ornaments in front of my children – He was still there. And I am finally realizing that is the whole point.
Not even understanding what I was doing, I held onto Him like a lifeline and clung to the belief that this was what he called our family to no matter how ridiculous and impossible it looks. This was the path He set before us, for better or worse. Hebrews  12:1-2 says, “let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus.” It seemed like each day, there was just enough strength to finish that one day. One day, then one day, then one day. Until today, I looked up and realized that I am… happy. I’m in the middle of my buggy house, surrounded by my crazy kids running around speaking an impossible language with the neighbor kids, and I don’t really want to be anywhere else. Only God could have done that.
About the time that I decided to change career path from medicine to missions, I stumbled upon a passage of Scripture that captivated me. Hosea 2:14-16 says, “Therefore, behold I will allure her, bring her into the wilderness and speak kindly to her. Then I will give her her vineyards from there, and the Valley of Achor as a door of hope. And she will sing there as in the days of her youth, as in the day when she came up from the land of Egypt. ‘It will come about in that day,’ declares the Lord, ‘that you will call me ‘my husband’ and will no longer call me ‘my master.’’” It goes on in verse 19 to say, “I will betroth you to Me forever; Yes, I will betroth you to Me in righteousness and in justice. In lovingkindness and in compassion. And I will betroth you to Me in faithfulness. Then you will know the Lord.”
As I’ve stumbled in the darkness, through my wilderness, God was so gentle. He spoke kindly to me. There was no condemnation, only grace for the taking. As I hopefully leave that wilderness behind, I feel an intimacy with Christ that I’ve not felt before. The kind of intimacy that you have with a friend who sticks by you though they have seen you at your very worst.  The kind of intimacy that welds you to another, a betrothal that won’t be broken.
I don’t know much of anything, but I do know this: God is enough. Honestly. When everything is bigger than I am, He is big enough.  When voices rage condemnation in my mind, He is loud enough. When I am scarred and bleeding, He is gentle enough. When I am attacked, He is strong enough.
He is the roaring lion of Judah, fighting for what is His.
He is the mother hen who shelters her chicks with His wing.
He is the good Shepherd who breaks the leg of His lamb to keep it from wondering away.
He is the Ancient of Days, making sure that justice is ultimately served.
He is the Father of Lights, from whom all good gifts flow.
He is faithful. He is good. He is mine.
Is He yours?

So this morning, we heard the helicopter land a few kilometers away and didn't think a whole lot of it since we figured they were dropping off equipment for the electric project. A little later, Dan left the house to go work on the Saturday community trail chopping. On his way to the chopping site, a couple of men ran by him. Dan asked where they were going, and they told him that the helicopter had landed without permission and they were going to intercept it. Dan tagged along.
When they got to the site, there were a few Caquinte standing around about 10 Repsol scientist wielding machetes and yelling. The scientists had come to take water samples, but they had not asked permission so the villagers were irate. They ended up marching them back and holding them hostage at the saw mill. There was a big scene - mostly all show - and the poor chief ran around the village looking for a phone card to call Ceaser (the repsol rep for tsoroja). Finally, Dan let him use our phone, but he couldn't get ahold of anyone. Sounds like they are telling the scientists to call their helicopter to come pick them up and come back when they have permission.
Dan and I are laughing our heads off. Poor scientists attacked by "wild natives" with machetes. You know they will be telling stories when they get home tonight! I don't think the villagers were nearly as mad as they acted. But they sure put on a great show!
Gotta love village life!