My brain is on overtime.

Nevermind the ceaseless articles to be read, papers to be written, exams to be marked, presentations to be prepared, meetings to attend, sleepless nights to spend pouring over textbooks that I am sure were written solely for the pleasure of the author. That I can take. I have been a student before. The expectations are ridiculous and one has to literally sacrifice everything else in their world to buy into what University is selling. But I can handle that. I am actually pretty good at it.

This whole analytical thing is what might “push me over the edge” - “Give me a run for my money”. I could go on. (nothing like a good colloquialism to put a smile on my face)

I just keep thinking. Wondering whether I am doing the right thing. Wondering why God didn’t want me to stay in Africa. Somebody’s gotta be there. Why not me? I am right here. Totally willing. Send me.

But don’t worry, my brain doesn’t stop there. Twenty-six years of obsessive overanalysis of every aspect of my life wouldn’t allow me to settle for such a one-dimensional approach to my future. Because, I am all about the making connections. Nursing school taught me to find themes. And, you see, I think that perhaps that my brain likes to see the “grass as always greener on the other side” (last one…promise).

Grad school is hard. I wonder why I ever left a full-time job in exchange for this. I wonder how, in the matter of just a few months, I went from a world where I experienced more love and purpose than I ever thought imaginable to this seemingly self-indulgent world with a goal so far off that I can't even see it. And, as much as hindsight encourges me to idealize everything about my African life, I have a stark understanding that the far-off land of my dreams is just so horrifically full of pain that it is hard to imagine what I could ever acheive, even if I devoted the rest of my life trying. I just read a movie review on my brother’s blog of a documentary (Darwin’s Nightmare) about perch fishing in Tanzania, which is as far from my idea and associations with fishing than I am from Africa. I wonder why there is so much sadness and hurt and pain in this world. I wonder what I can do about it. Almost everybody we come into contact with is suffering. From something. Sometimes, it can all just get so absolutely overwhelming to the point where I wonder how I will ever realize my goal of changing the world. I wonder why I am right here, right now.

The good news is, I am not figuring out this life on my own.

Kate and I had just the greatest talk the other day about how all anyone can do is their small part. We would be foolish to think we are capable of something more.

And, despite all of the confusion and stress and chaos of this new life I have found myself in, at the end of two years, I will have helped some parents in Ontario optimize their babies’ development. Parents who have the threat of a diagnosis looming over them like a sentence. Babies who might not otherwise have had much attention. Not much hope. Might not have grown up to be the best that they could be. I hope I can help them do that.

And, I’ve got just the greatest God I could ever hope for. Because I know that in the confusion, He is my direction. When I feel that I would rather be anywhere but here, He shows me exactly why I am here. And that gives me faith to keep at this.

I used to listen to this song a lot when I was on the ship. I think I liked it mostly because the whole concept of “storms” was quite relevant on the coast of West Africa. But, here, in Canada, facing a different type of storm, I am just as in need of direction and strength. And I couldn't be more thankful that it is right there for me the moment I ask for it.

Because I know I am not going to change the world. But, I need to be here, now, changing whatever small pieces of the world that I can.

How long have I been in this storm?
So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form
Water's getting harder to tread
With these waves crashing over my head

If I could just see you
Everything would be all right
If I'd see you
This darkness would turn to light

And I will walk on water
And you will catch me if I fall
And I will get lost into your eyes
I know everything will be alright
I know everything is alright

I know you didn't bring me out here to drown
So why am I ten feet under and upside down
Barely surviving has become my purpose
Cause I'm so used to living underneath the surface

If I could just see you
Everything would be all right
If i'd see you
This darkness would turn to light

And I will walk on water
You will catch me if I fall
And I will get lost into your eyes
I know everything will be alright
I know everything is alright

- Lifehouse "Storm"

Last night, Baby Greg fell off. It was inevitable. The single strand of blue hemp that had been tied around my ankle for 4 months didn’t have a hope of making it till Christmas. But, like I told Marion on the phone last week, everytime I look at it, I think of her. And Bendu. And Darling Boy. And Joanna. And Friend. And Ali. So, I wasn’t ready for it to be gone

But then, just when I thought I might not have a reason to remember, I find this:

http://www.kltv.com/global/video/flash/popupplayer.asp?vt1=v&clipFormat=flv&clipId1=2869229&at1=Sport&h1=Malcolm

The baby you see sucking the bottle is Greg. And there are all of the rest of them. All of my incredible Liberian friends who I told “I will not be forgetting you” as I left.

Thanks God.

And maybe, somewhere in this vast expanse of a country, I will be able to find another small piece of blue hemp.