Full Circle

Today is the day I receive my white coat.

Today is the day I stand with my 164 classmates and say the Hippocratic Oath.

Today the China chapter ends.

One year ago today, I was in Beijing, China, dreading a year in that crowded, dirty, crazy country. Praying I would survive to make it to this day.

Now that day is here. And now, I look forward to the day when I can return to serve in China as an M.D., if Father wills it.

The year has come full circle now. The best, hardest year of my life.

And I wouldn't trade it for anything.

My heart goes to the people I love: my team, my babies, Dustin, Lee, Gavin, Tina, Zora, Vera, Nina, Jeff, Answer, Sonjie, Bourne, Connie, Yang, Gerry, Guo Ya Bin, my co-teachers, my Jenny and her family ...

Today I put on that white coat and take that oath, not for me. Not for my family. Not for my country. But for God. For China. For the people I will serve.

I know today, when I put that coat on for the first time, my heart will be in China.

And these faces, the faces of the people I love most in this world, will be the only faces I see.

Class 1

Class 2

Class 3

Class 4

Class 5

Class 6

Class 7

Class 8

And now, the China chapter of my life has ended. That interruption that I once hated ... is the best thing that ever happened to me.

Because I got to love those beautiful babies.  And they changed my life. Forever.

Steady Hands

Breathe ... just breathe ... Dad's right there ... you aren't going to kill anyone ... just don't mess this up ... breathe ... breathe ...

This was what I was internally saying to myself as I made my first cut into a living human being.

Warning: if you have a weak stomach, you might not want to read this post.

One of the purposes for the trip to Haiti was to do some medical work. Three docs, including my dad, were on the team. We had 3 days of clinic planned and ended up adding two half-days for minor surgeries.

First day of clinic, I worked with the docs, making sure they had the right meds to give to the patients and whatever else they needed. Also served as scrub nurse for my dad when he removed this weird thing off a guy's toe. There were so many people packed in the church, all of them waiting for hours to see the doctors. It was crazy.

The pharmacy

The docs getting set up

People waiting to see the docs

The OR-real high tech. That's how we roll

Working with my Dad

Around 3pm, Larry, our team leader, came up to me and said, "Hey can you see patients?"

My mouth dropped, and I said, "Wait what?!"

"Can you do it?"

I took a big breath and said, "Sure, no problem."

So they set me up with a translator, and I got to see about 36 patients in the space of two hours.

IT WAS AWESOME!

Of course, anything I didn't know, I would just ask the real docs or send the patient to see one of them. Usually my dad.

At the end of the clinic day, Larry came up to me and said, "Were you scared?"

I grinned and said, "Nope."

It was amazing, listening to people tell you what's wrong with them, examining weird rashes, seeing raging ear infections, fungal infections, scabies, listening to heartbeats and lungs, just helping people. I felt so alive, like I was actually making a difference.

The next day was surgery day. Dad was going to take this lipoma off an elderly man's hip. And guess who was his scrub nurse? ME!

It was so cool to see my dad in action like that, and to get to help him. He walked me through every step, showed me exactly what he was doing. It was so cool! The tumor was benign, praise Father. My exact words when Dad took the thing out were, "That is beautiful."

Beautiful isn't it?

Dad closing the wound up

Yes, I'm weird. I know.

The next day, we had clinic out in one of the poorest areas of Haiti. There were so many sick kids-it broke my heart. Chikungunya is wreaking havoc in Haiti. We had a kid come in with a 105 temp. Su, the nurse on the team, took him out and gave him a cold bath, trying to bring his temp down. He was so sick. But he was a trooper.

That day out in the bush, my dad took a cyst off a woman's hand. The poor lady was so scared, but one of our teammates held her hand and comforted her. Before my dad made his first cut, he bowed his head in silent prayer to the Great Physician. It was one of the most precious moments of my life, watching my Dad pray over his procedure.

After that day of clinic, dad told me he was going to let me glove up for the surgeries on Friday. Oh and he said he would let me cut and then close.

To say I was ecstatic would be the understatement of the century. The night before the procedures, he taught me how to do an interrupted stitch so I would kind of know what I was doing the next day.

The first patient Friday morning was a young guy who hd a cyst on his forehead, right near his scalp. Dad did the cutting and the dissection on the cyst. Once it was out, I gloved up and prepared to close. It was 3 simple stitches, but it was AWESOME!!!!

Me and my Dad before surgery on Friday

Su setting up the OR

Holding the needle driver and the forceps, I was terrified for a moment. But once that needle went through the skin, all my fears went away.

Our second surgery was removing a lipoma from a woman's shoulder.

After Dad numbed her shoulder with lidocaine and epinephrine, I glove up and picked up the scalpel.

And I made my first cut.

Cutting

There's a kind of rush you get while holding a scalpel. For me, it was the most natural, normal thing in the world to hold that blade. Of course I was nervous that I would make a mistake. But Dad was right there, ready to jump in if I messed up.

Gotta do the China pose in surgery

Stitching

It almost felt like I was 5 years old again, learning to ride my bike without training wheels. Dad was standing right next to me, coaching me as I cut down to the tumor. And when I was having trouble holding the forceps, he said, "Hold them like you do chopsticks." And I got it. Thank you China.

One thing he said to me was probably one of the greatest compliments I've ever received. As I cut, he said, "Linz, you have steady hands."

Steady hands. Father gave me steady hands. Now what am I going to do with them?

For the longest time, I've been convinced I was meant for pediatric oncology. But down in Haiti, cutting and stitching, Father showed me another path. Holding that scalpel, sending the needle through skin-it felt so right.

Father gives us each our own passions, our own gifts. He gave me the drive, the love for medicine, he steady hands. And through working with my Dad down in Haiti, through cutting and stitching, He's shown me what I can do for Him, for His people, for the lost, poor, and sick.

How can I say no to Him? For a little while after China, I wasn't sure medicine was my calling anymore. I was so confused, so heart-broken.

Then He sent me to Haiti, where I got to learn from 3 amazing physicians, where I got to cut and stitch, where I got to serve a desperately poor people.

It's what He wants me to do.

In two days, I start orientation for medical school. The China chapter is ending. For now. And the med school chapter is beginning.

Let's do this thing!

After my first surgery-Thanks Dad and Su!!!

Home

I stepped off the plane in Cape Haitien, Haiti and took a deep breath.

I was home.

Hello Haiti!

No, I'm not going to up and move to Haiti. Hang on and I'll explain.

As we rode in the bus through the streets of Cape Haitien to our hotel, some people on the team were in shock. Shock at the poverty all around us, shock at the heat.

But for me, the shock was different. Haiti looked like China, sounded like China, SMELLED like China (those of you who have been in China know what I mean about the smell.)

Ok so it's like China with palm trees and the Caribbean ... you know what I mean

I was home.

I discovered on this whirlwind, crazy trip to Haiti that I no longer belong in America. I felt more at peace in the first hour we were in Haiti than the entire month I had been in the states.

Before my trip to Haiti, I was pretty discouraged. Reverse culture-shock is real, y'all. Good grief is it real. And it's overwhelming some days. You know those people who kiss the ground when they get back to the states? I was not one of them.

It's hard to describe reverse culture-shock if you've never been through it. If someone you know has just come back from a month-year long service trip, please, please be gracious. They, like me, are probably not the same person they were when they left. As they re-adjust, take time to listen.

Ok, that was a random rabbit trail. Sorry for my soap-box moment. Back to Haiti.

The people of Haiti welcomed us with open arms. And the children ... oh the precious little Haitian babies! I didn't get to work with them much, but I cherished the moments I spent with them. My second night in Haiti, I found myself being mobbed and pulled all through the church by about 10-15 little ones. I felt like I was back in my hall with my Chinese babies. It brought tears to my eyes. We sang and we danced and we laughed. Being mobbed and dragged by the Haitian babies was one of the highlights of my trip.

Me getting dragged by Haitian babies

I was home.

Being stared at, laughed at, yelled at, mobbed-it was so normal to me. I know it freaked some people out, and I think a year ago it would've freaked me out too. But what I've learned is just to open yourself up. Laugh with them, let them touch you, let them pull your hair, let them teach your words in their language, let them LOVE you.

I had a little buddy while I was there-her name was Westalin (I have no clue if I'm spelling it right but that's how it sounded). She was maybe five or six, the age of my Chinese babies. Whenever she was at the church, she would come find me and drag me off to whatever the children were doing. She let me carry her around, she danced with me, held my hand, LOVED on me. Father knew I needed her-she helped so much to heal my broken heart.

Me and my little friend Westalin

Father knew I needed to go to Haiti. He knew I needed to be back in a place where I could do something that mattered. I needed a break from life in America. What Haiti did was reinforce for me that Father wants me to go to the nations. As a doctor (more on the doctor stuff in the next post). Again, "Ruined for the ordinary."

They say "home is where the heart is." For me, home isn't in America. It's in China, it's in Haiti. Actually, it's not even in those places. Home is wherever Father wants me.

Where is your home? Where does He want you?

Go home.

Saying yes

"You want to go to Haiti on July 18?" 

"You have to decide by tomorrow morning.”

Wait ... WHAT?!

This was what my Dad said to me 2 weeks ago. 

My little sister, Elise, was supposed to go to Haiti with my dad and a team from our local fellowship. Coming home from China, I was looking forward to sending her off on her first service trip and hearing all about it upon her return. She's an amazing young woman who loves Father with all her heart. I knew she would have an incredible impact in Haiti. 

But, my dad made the call 2 weeks ago that Elise should probably stay stateside due to some recent health issues. That's when he looked at me and asked if I wanted to go. 

Needless to say, I was a little shocked. I had just been home less than 2 weeks after the best, hardest year if my life in China. And Elise was supposed to go-not me. And Haiti?! Really?! China was one thing-but Haiti?! 

And on top of that, I'm starting medical school August 11. I don't have time to go to Haiti for a week! Are you nuts?!

Of course I knew the minute he asked me that I was going to go. After all, what have I learned this year:  to say yes to Father. He says "jump." I say "how high?" He says "go to Haiti." I pack my bags. 

People tell me I'm crazy. I just got back from China, I'm going to medical school soon, I need to stay home and rest. Go to Haiti?! Ain't nobody got time for that! 

But Father has time. And when He opens a door, you go through it. You have to be flexible, and you have to say yes to the life interruptions. 

Saying yes is hard. Because Father calls us to some hard things-often we don't know how hard it's gonna be. I think of Elise-Father is walking her through some major disappointment. She wanted to go to Haiti, but He had something different. I'm amazed at the maturity she has shown in the face of all this-and I'm amazed at how she has been so supportive of me going.

I am not taking her place on this team. There are not 14 of us-there are 15. I told her I was just her pinch hitter. She didn't know what that was. 

She said yes to Father, so I said yes too. 

Just say yes to Him, whatever He's calling you to, say yes. It's worth it. Because HE is worth it!

And besides, these interruptions in life-they aren't really interruptions. That's the beauty of it. 

Ruined for the ordinary

It's been a month since I said goodbye to Taiyuan. Some days it feels like my year in China never happened. Like it was just a dream.

But I know it wasn't a dream. It was real. I can still feel the hugs of my babies, I can still hear them calling my name,"Meesa Lindsay! Meesa Lindsay!," I can still see their precious, beautiful faces every time I close my eyes.

For a while I wasn't able to look at the pictures of my babies. Because I would just start to cry. It was still too hard. 

People keep saying to me,"I bet you are just so glad to be back in America!" And sometimes I just want to scream at them, "NO I'M NOT!!! I hate America! I want to go back to China!! My heart is there!"

I'm not glad to be back in America. Now before you jump to conclusions, let me explain. I'm happy to see my family, I am excited to go to medical school in a few weeks, I like being able to drive my car, flush toilet paper down the toilet, eat Mexican food whenever I want. I'm still getting used to light switches being on the inside of the bathroom instead of outside.

But my heart is in China. My heart is with my babies. The week before I left, I begged Father to let me stay in China, to stay with my babies, with my friends.

But He said "No." He reminded me that He wants me to become a doctor. My passion is not teaching. My passion is medicine, and my passion is now China. And I have to trust Him that some day, He will bring those two passions together. 

At training last August, they told us they hoped this year would "ruin you for the ordinary." I didn't understand what that meant then. I was still in my "let's get this year over with so I can get back to medicine" mode.

Now I get it. I am ruined for the ordinary. I no longer just want to become a pediatric oncologist and work at St. Jude's and live out the rest of my days in the comforts of America. I can't live the typical American doctor life. I have to do something more. 

Father has lit a fire in my heart-a fire for China, a fire for change, a fire for His kingdom. I've got to go back, if it's His will. Medicine isn't enough anymore. HE is all that matters. 

Big Love

Saying good-bye is hard. Especially when you don't want to say good-bye.

I think of all the memories from this year; all of my babies' faces flash through my mind. They are the highlight of my year, they are my heartbeat, they are what kept me going.

Me and Class 1

Me and Class 2

I think of all those moments with them-all the hugs, the kisses, the singing, the laughter, the dancing, the terrible English. They stole my heart this year. And they won't give it back.

Me and Class 3

Me and Class 4

The last night I was in China, we were in Beijing for debriefing. We had just finished our commissioning service when I got a phone call.  It was from a number I didn't recognize, but I knew it was from Taiyuan. In my heart, I knew who it was. But my mind was like "no way."

I answered the phone, and I heard her voice. It was Dustin's mom. And I heard the tears in her voice and tears began to flow down my face.

She told me in her broken English how much Dustin would miss me, how much their family loved me. She repeatedly said, "You are the best, the best teacher. We love you." Through my sobs, I told her how much I loved her son, and I promised to come back. She made me laugh when she said, "You go to America, hard worker."

One of the things she kept saying as we wept together was, "Don't worry about Li tian ho [Dustin's Chinese name]. Don't worry about him."

Every time she said that, it felt like someone was plunging a knife into my heart. Thank Father my teammate Hailey was there, holding me, as I sobbed on the phone with her.

I told her how Dustin would always be in my heart, and I would never forget him. She said something that moved me beyond words, "I understand your heart, Ms. Lindsay. I understand your heart. You have big love."

That phrase, "You have big love," has stayed with me. Because I know it' not my big love. It's Father's. Without Him, I would have no big love. It's only through Him.

Me and Class 5

And yes, I now have big love. He gave me big love for my babies, for China. And praise Him, I know of at least one family who saw that big love. That phone call broke my heart, and after it, I spent everal minute sin the arm of my teammate Hailey, weeping. But even though it broke me, I can rejoice that they saw Father's big love.

And His love is big! His love allowed me to love my babies. His love allowed me to show His light in my classroom.

Me and Class 6

 My city director told me, "Those tears [that my babies shed] are the sign of a job well done and of His presence in your classroom."

For that, I rejoice in all the tears that have been shed by my babies, their families, my coteachers, and me. Because they are a sign of His big love!

Me and Class 7

 My heart is broken to leave my babies, Dustin and his family, and my beloved Chinese friends. But I can praise Father for this year. And I can have joy knowing that His work will continue.

Thank Father for His big love. And thank Him that He gives it to us!

Me and Class 8

Tears

I knew today would be hard. 

It’s the Monday of my last week of teaching at SMBS-so it’s the good-bye week. 

I expected hard. Previous teachers told me how hard it was going to be. So I thought I was pretty prepared. Yes I had lost it on Friday with my kids, and I knew I would probably lose it again today.

But nothing could have prepared me for the intense heart-ache of this afternoon. 

This afternoon I had to break the news to Class 3, my favorite class. It’s also Dustin’s class. 

Yeah …

Dustin already knew that I was going back to America, so fortunately he helped me translate for the other kids. 

I held it together when I told them about how I was going back and how they were going to get a new foreign teacher. 

A few of the kids started crying, but nothing too bad. 

An activity that I had them do was draw their best memory of me. So I passed out the paper, they got their markers, and the drawing began. 

Several of the kids were crying now, and I had a few tears rolling down my cheeks as I tried to comfort them. 

But then, Dustin came up to me and said, “Meesa Lindsay, I can’t draw it.”

I went over with him to his desk and replied, “Dustin, you can. Just try.” I know this kid can draw-he LOVES to draw and color. 

He put his head on his desk, and the tears just began flowing. 

Seeing those tears running down that precious boy’s face, I felt as if someone had just ripped my heart out of my chest and crushed it in their hands. 

I wrapped him in my arms, and we sat there together, weeping. His little arms clung to my neck as he buried his head in my shoulder and sobbed. Through my tears I whispered, “I love you so much. I love you so much.” And he always said back, “Me too.” 

I promised him I will always love him, that I will come back some day, that he will always have a special place in my heart. 

I don’t know how long I sat there, holding him. But finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I wiped his face, kissed his forehead, and got up. 

I looked over to where my co-teacher, Candy, was. She was in tears. I went to her and said, “I can’t do it, Candy. I can’t say good-bye.”

She burst into sobs, and we held each other for a few moments. It took everything I had not to run out of the classroom and back to my apartment to just sob my heart out. I felt like all my strength was gone, my heart was gone, I had nothing more to give. 

But I had to stay. As hard as it was to watch them cry, I had to stay. They needed me to stay-I’m abandoning them in a few days, but I couldn’t abandon them now. 

Then I looked at Dustin, the tears still streaming down his face. 

Every time I see that image in my head, I can’t hold back the tears. Even now, I’m sobbing as I write this. There are no words that can describe this pain. 

To be honest, I’m angry now. I’m angry that I have to leave. Angry, brokenhearted. Why did Father let me get so close to these dear, sweet babies, only to have me leave them? Why did He let me fall in love with them, only to make me go back to America? Why is there so much pain? 

I don’t know how I’m going to make it through this week. That image, of Dustin, my happy, sweet, silly boy, weeping. It’s more than I can bear. 

My heart is broken. I have no more words … only tears.