Category Archives: Re Post

My Dad, the doctor. Another re-post!

She asked if my dad was a doctor.

Uhm…yes, well, kinda…maybe? Sorta.
Hm…I’ll just start at the beginning.
When I was eleven we moved from a big city in Venezuela, Barquisimeto its called, to a small Indian village named Chajurana. It was a two hour plane trip. Not a big plane, a small one engine 206 Cessna. Like a sardine can with wings. We arrived in the village and began the long process of settling in. The bats didn’t like that we were taking over their outhouse. And of course we didn’t like going to the outhouse by ourselves. So who ever had to “go” also had to convince a younger sibling to accompany them.
Josh – “Hey! Jewel! You want to go to the out house with me?”
Jewel- “No.”
Josh – “It will be fun!”
Jewel- “No, it will stink. The out house smells weird.”
Josh – “Please???”
Jewel – “Uh…no.”
Josh – “Uhm…Jayde! You want to go the out house with me??”
Jayde- “AAAA!! I hate bats!!!” (as she’s running away….)
You get the point. Well, one day, right at dusk, the Ye’kwana nurse came to get my dad. He told my dad they needed his help. A little boy had shot an arrow into his shoulder. Could my dad help the men get it out? My dad was ecstatic to help, he grabbed his flashlight, because his idea of “helping” was holding the flashlight so they could see better while they pulled the arrow out. Wrong.
When they got to the small, smokey little hut one of the men handed my dad a scapel and said, “There you go.” My dad asked them just what they thought he was supposed to do with a scapel. “Pull the arrow out.”
“I don’t know how to pull the arrow out. You’re the nurse!”
“Yeah, but you’re the missionary.”
“All missionaries have to do medical stuff.” Of course this conversation did not take place in English, it supposedly took place in Yekwana, which my dad knew very little of at the time. So for all we know the conversation that really took place was…
“Pull the arrow out”
“Hi! How are you? What is your name?”
“What? I asked you to pull the arrow out. Here’s the scapel.”
“We will be here for three months, and Jesus loves you.”
“You missionaries get weirder and weirder.”
Most of our early conversations in Yekwana went like that, and I must admit that my grasp of the language never really got past that point! 😉
Long story short, my dad pulled the arrow out, and he was hooked. He loved medical work and went on to deliver babies,treat burns, stitch, pull teeth, etc. Just about anything you could think of, he could do. Of course his children did not put as much trust in him as the Ye’kwanas did. We were afraid to tell dad we had a toothache, cause he would want to pull it. Practice, he called it. We were not very excited about being his dental guinea pigs.
The Ye’kwana parents would threaten their kids…”If you dont behave, the missionary is going to give you a shot!” Ahh…the good old days. When penicillan could fix everything!


Bedtime Woes

A re-post from my old blog. To busy to blog right now, so enjoy this oldie!

There’s nothing like saying, “It’s Bedtime!” to turn a happy child into a sad, sad, sad, pathetic mess of tears.

My guess is that Elena believes we throw parties after she has gone to bed.

(Because after a long day of giggles, Barney songs, runny noses, peepee accidents and endless questions there’s nothing I would possibly rather do than throw a party.)

Not just any party mind you.

Oh no, in Elena’s mind these parties are some kind of toddler awesome.

I’m sure she pictures elephants, balloons, giant lollipops and an endless supply of grandparents to give you anything your little two year old heart desires.

Which would explain why she is so distraught at having to sleep while we party.

Friends, we are The Meanest Parents In The World. At bedtime anyway.

If only she knew the truth…

There are no elephants. Just two blurry eyed, fuzzy brained adults, who can’t wait to fall into bed and stare at the ceiling.

No balloons. Just dishes to wash, and trash to get out.

No lollipops either. Maybe just a few minuts of reading before my eyes slam shut.

As for the grandparents? They’re not present either, but oh how we wish they were.

The closest we get to a party is giving each other high-five’s and a hearty “Congratulations!” for making it through another day.

And then we go to bed.

Because we’re tired and it’s all going to start again tomorrow.

So, dear Elena, trust me on this…You’re not missing anything.

And one more thing…

I wouldn’t trade it for the world.