community

i'm missing the tea fields- the space of them- the time- the quiet.

in kenya, i realized that something is missing.  

i'm missing a like minded medical community in the big sense of the word community.  i didn't notice this, because in uganda, i have a community and i have a medical job.  but when i came to the conference and saw groups of physicians and nurses practicing and working and living together in community with the same goal- to care wholly for people- body and soul- to collaborate and support each other medically and spiritually- to be the hands and feet of our God- i longed for it.  because sometimes i feel alone in the work part, and overwhelmed slightly and not sure where to begin.

when i  listened to their stories and saw their pictures, their hospitals and clinics and training programs, and their lives woven in, it made sense to me that when people are sent out to the ends of the earth they are sent out together- they are sent in groups or pairs- they are not alone- they are in community and then together, integrate into the new community of the people they are serving.

so i began to think about community.  it's hard to define isn't it?  it can be simple- a unified group of individuals, or it can be more complicated- a group of people with specific shared interests or values and culture, living within a larger group.  i really value community, especially when it involves connection on a deeper level. 


one of the most intense communal experiences i can think of is medical training, especially residency.  living in the hospital (almost), eating all meals together, making major decisions that can result in a patient living longer or not, all those hours, all that sleep deprivation, all that stress and learning and growing and wondering sometimes why, and missing those at home, and grieving the loss of time with them, and grieving the fact that we are mortal, that people get sick and die and sometimes we can't do anything to stop it.  all of that  bound us together in community.

i was remembering zoe in those days- and how much i longed for her, hated leaving her after she and mike would bring me dinner at the hospital.  how i dreaded watching her little face cry and her little arms waving goodbye over mikes shoulder as he'd turned to go back home. i remember running to pick her from day care after those 40 hour shifts- the smell of graham crackers and wax crayons and wood chips - how that smelled like life to me. 

several times during internship when zoe was about two, we got together with our best friends and   her 'best' friend lily, who lived across the country.  the first time the girls saw each other, they got down and crawled around the room exploring it together , even though they could both walk. it was their shared experience.  their vocabulary was still limited, so this was their way of reconnecting- of remembering where they'd left off-it was their shared identity,  their little community. after a few minutes- zoe (who was a much later walker) got up to show lily that she could now walk- and then lily stood up and joined her.  together they moved to the next level and toddled around the house exploring.

 it spoke to me about the importance of really relating to each other- about remembering our histories and our commonalities- and about the importance of shared experience in community.

in kenya i began to dream of being a part of a wholistic (i spelled it that way on purpose) medical community that incorporates the physical, social and spiritual needs of a local community.  a clinic that thinks outside of the box-where people are taught health education and sustainable farming, where food is grown and people learn nutrition, and how to make their own 'plumpy nut' for malnutrition, and ORS for dehydration- and in doing so, become empowered and less dependent. where shared experience is shared, and valued.  where a community can begin to problem solve together, to work together for each other, for water to be cleaner, and nets to be used, and helmets to be worn (i'm getting carried away).  but really, this is the way God cares for us- wholly- not in parts.  because all the parts matter.

i love my community here, and i love my job at clinic.  i'm thankful for them.  but i hope that i'll find or grow a truly connected medical community too- one with shared vision and values, shared hope and commitment and location and wholeness.  that i will find people to practice with who just want to be hands and feet with me.