This Is a Soul

The estimate came in for Ella's tonsillectomy tomorrow and to say that I was taken back a bit is an understatement! Even with insurance the cost is pretty steep. UGH!

Ella has had strep four times in the last three months and her tonsils fill the back of her throat - she sounds like she is talking underwater. Her last round of antibiotics cost around $160 and they refer to it as liquid gasoline - still didn't solve the problem. They need to come out. I called Pete to let him know the cost and then waited in line to pick up Anders from kindergarten.

I have been reading This Is a Soul by Marilyn Berger. It is the story of Dr. Rick Hodes (who someday I would love to meet). He works in Mother Teresa's clinic in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia and has for around 30 years.

This is what I read:

(from p. 64) "The boy's heart was more than twice the normal size, and he was clearly in severe heart failure, probably Rick assumed, the result of rheumatic fever. The boy was suffering from a combination of ailments rarely seen any longer in the United States. At one time entire wards in America were filled with cases of rheumatic fever, a consequence of strep throat. These days, in the developed world, strep is cured in a day with antibiotics. In the third world, it is aggressive and often left untreated, causing complications that can lead to early death."

Never mind - I think I have quickly found my thankful heart. Oh and by the way - highly recommend the book.

To live with regret

I’ve always heard “live with no regrets” but I think sometimes if we don’t have regrets we don’t have the motivation to change. I think of these young girls climbing with loads most American men couldn’t carry. We drove by them rather quickly and I faintly heard them yelling something. It wasn’t until we had gone several more miles before I realized they had been yelling for water. I had water; it was in a huge container rolling under my feet in the van. I was the only female in the van and it surprised me how much that affected my ability to find my voice. I was in a different country where as a woman my voice was not equal. Oh how I regret not finding my voice. The voice that wanted to scream, “Turn around! Please - they need water! I have more than my share. Please turn around.”

Whenever I start running in the foothills near where I live or even the simple act of heading to the sink to refill my water bottle I remember them and I remember my voice. I will live my life to be heard and for God’s glory. Because of those women and their simple cry I am changed. Yes, I live with regret and I am thankful.