WHAT IS LOVE

Baby don’t hurt me, no more. 

Oh Haddaway, you’re welcome in my head.

But, I’m processing camp. I’ve just come back from an incredible week away, “leading”a bunch of high-schoolers through some thoughts about life and God, the universe and everything. 

taking senior high kyacking.

messy wide game aftermath.

It was an amazing, extraordinary, emotional experience and right now I’m stuck somewhere in the middle of a camp high and the camp blues. Have you ever eaten an entire packet of pods of an empty stomach? It’s kind of like that feeling, so terrible. so worth it.

What does it all mean.

We talked a lot about love.

Being a girls cabin leader - most camps - we talk about love; about hot boys and biceps, broken hearts and double dates. Just my kind of conversation.

But this year, we talked about love. We talked about poverty. We talked about climate change. We talked about cow farts, and letting our pee sit un-flushed in the toilet bowl. We talked about sweat-shops, and op-shops and aph.gov.au. As I said, we talked about love.

“What is love?”

I asked, a great many things? An emotion, a feeling, a party for hormones?

Can a man love with his wife and ignore her? Can a kid love its dog and kick it in the face? Parents love their children and I love mini-wheat cereal. Perhaps then there are types and sub-categories.

1 John 3:16 (what is it with those John 3:16’s variations!)

 ^“This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for others.”

What does it mean, practically, actually – if love is not so much a feeling as an action, a sacrificial action, and we love our neighbor as ourselves?

And now for a sentence as opposed to a question. The choices we make on a day to day basis can be cruel, selfish and unloving, with or without us knowing about it (or caring about it). For example, the clothes that we purchase, who made them? Where do they come from? Is the shirt I’m wearing produced by an over-worked and under-paid child? The answer is probably, maybe. Do I care about that.

Under what conditions is the food that we buy produced? Transported?

Does the amount of resources that I use – power, electricity, etc – mean that others around the world have to go without?

That is not loving. That is not sacrificial. That is selfish, the way of the world.

My heart has been tying ends together these past few days, it’s formed a bit of a fur ball – and this is what I’m coughing up:

Love is sacrificial action, epitomized in Jesus Christ.

Loving Christ is loving others.

Making informed choices about what I wear, how much power I use, what I choose to eat and how I effect the environment – directly effects the lives and living conditions of other people, and the distribution of goods around the world.

Being wise in these areas therefore is a part of loving others, and loving Christ. It’s sacrificial action. It’s love.

Loving Others. Loving Christ.

For in the end and after all:

“The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.”

(Galatians 5:6b)

I want that tattooed on my heart.

Amen. 

HIV & ME

   

(This is a little something I wrote for the latest issue of simaid’s magazine, imagine. I’ve been wanting to write this, Smith’s story - for years, and was thrilled with the opportunity to do so! To download the mag with the article, or check out some back issues – click here!)

His name was Smith. It was November 2009, rural Papua New Guinea. The sun was hot, the people were lining up for our health care clinic and we, my team and I - were scattered around the place; sitting on the dirt floor, cross-legged amongst our stethoscopes and ‘Where There Is No Doctor’s’.

I, just 18 and completely thrown into the deep end was seeing a patient, a woman – probably in her 40s – when she pushed to me a very little boy. A very special boy, which rocked my world and changed my life forever. 

His name was Smith. He was a tiny little man, with the body of a four year old. I guess he was 10 or 11. He was an orphan, she told me, and his brothers were away. 

Smith and I.

He was severely malnourished, he had a belly full of worms and his skin was covered in scabies. His eyes were dull and as I listened to his chest, I gravely suspected tuberculosis. Where do I even start, was all I could think as the crowds drew in around me.

HIV. We had learnt about it in health class and I even knew what it stood for; human immunodeficiency virus. I knew that in some parts of Papua New Guinea 40% of the population were infected. I knew how it was transmitted, and treated, and I half suspected that during my travels I would come across a case or two. But then there was Smith. This little, brittle boy and his breathtaking smile.

This was the first time I came across HIV with a human face and not as a statistic, and it broke me. I rubbed cream on his scabies, prescribed him a worm tablet and prayed my little heart out – skin on skin. I looked him in the eye, and tried to make him smile. And when he left, I walked over to our pharmacy and I cried.

HIV. The acronym had taken on a new meaning for me from that point, and has done so ever since. My heart broke for him that day, not just out of my own helplessness, but the sheer injustice of the whole situation; I was filled, am filled, with a sense of this should not be. As I learn and read more about it, in preparation for my year with Orange HOPE, and my time in Malawi – I’m growing to understand just a little bit more; its overwhelming presence in the world, its scientific makeup, the process of infection, the subtypes, the risks, the statistics, the search for a vaccine, the prevention programs, the stigma; all of it. But for me, it all comes back to Smith. 

the little man, munching on some sago.

HIV is the worst. It ruins nations and generations and families and children, the pregnant, the sick, the unborn, the strong, the poor, the vulnerable. It’s both preventable and treatable, and yet 95% of new cases occur in the developing world. It is therefore unjust, and its roots run deep. For one quarter of the world, living in a state of absolute poverty is their single greatest health determinant, and thus defines their susceptibility to HIV. The cruel reality is then that HIV and AIDS is both caused by and exacerbates conditions of poverty. HIV is thus so much more then biological, and runs deeply along social, class, caste, race, gender, historical and national lines. It’s messy, it’s complicated, it’s more then it seems.

As the 2012 Ambassador for Orange HOPE I’m entrusted with inspiring others to raise much needed funds for those infected and affected with HIV, and under the care of SIM’s Hope For Aids Malawi programs. I’m faced with the questions; how do I get people to care about HIV? Especially young people, of my own generation? Personally, I’m growing to understand just a little bit more. I’m growing to care a great deal more, and I’m building a heart and a story – hopefully – which is engaging, contagious and inspiring. And that’s the only place I know where to start.

1 in 8 adults in Malawi have HIV. There are around 1.2 million HIV and AIDS orphans, within a population of only 15 million. How do I even begin to take that information in? When this is just one country, and each of these statistics is a beloved, created, intricate and amazing human being? In finding out I want to do something, and find my place in all of this. HIV is bigger then me, and I’m just beginning to fully take that statement in.

I don’t know where to start other then with my own heart. And this is why I care. I don’t claim to know everything about HIV, far from it – I am completely aware that I know basically nothing, and that my experiences come from a few, short isolated incidents and many hours snuggled with academic books in my warm, safe, Sydney home. But this is my beginning. And when I boil it down; the facts, the figures, the symptoms, the spread, for me, it all comes back to Smith.

straya'

happy australia day!

Not going to lie - I’m one of the least patriotic people in the country (& there are plenty of parts of my culture & history that I'm not proud of), and what I really wanted to do today was drive on down to Canberra and celebrate the 40^th Anniversary of the Aboriginal Tent Embassy. But, alas - it wasn’t to be, and there are still plenty of things about my homeland that I love to love.

And in all, it was a pretty perfect Aussie day (except for the rain, and the lack of beach). Barbeque. Cricket. Poolside chats. Triple J top 100.

I’m super blessed to live here.

community entertainment.

visiting the beagle pups.

terrible bbq foods.

australia shaped shapes.

street cricket.

lazy newspaper afternoon.

cider.

tacky serviettes.

ready for greasy meat delights.

aussie day outfit.

green & gold donuts.

Australian friends and Aussie-wanna bee’s, how did you spend yours?

OFF THE STREETS

   

People tend to raise an eyebrow when I say that I want to be involved in the human trafficking industry, but I do.

I can’t help it. After I watched ‘The Jammed’ a few years ago, it’s been an issue heavy on my heart. 

 

(I’m kind of proud of myself for learning to embed a video)

Anything to do with vulnerability, the human body, unequal circumstance and helplessness tends to have that effect on me.

An estimated 2.5 million people are involved in forced labor world wide, a great deal of which involves sexual exploitation. I wouldn’t care if this number was one, it’s horrifying and heart breaking. It confirms to me the fact that our fallen world is run so much by sex and money.

Yesterday, simaid launched their new website for their Girls Off the Streets Campaign; check it out!

Let’s not be naive about human trafficking and global sexual exploitation.

There’s plenty more to be said and read and done.

I invite you to be outraged with me!

House Post

You shouldn’t be defined by what you own – or don’t own – but here’s a few self speaking dribs and drabs around my abode.

Come on in.

the greatest collection of board games.

glass & brick perfection.

combined DVD collection. i love them movies.

this has hung on our wall for years. prophetic?

compassion calender.

thank you flowers.

II.

MDG fridge magnet.

high up hints of family heirlooms.

Bible verses tacked in the cups cupboard.

live music.

what i'm reading atm. its good.

hanging in the study.

amen.

OH wrist bands a plenty.

i would be lost without you.

snail mail from far away friends.

PNG grass skirt on my bedroom wall.

my old greek man.

candle by my bedside.

Oh how blessed I am.

 

Malawi Photo Drop

Some photos from our HOPE for AIDS Malawi programs:

JUNE. JUNE. JUNE.

I’m so excited, to say the least.

AFRICA BOUND

That’s right, I’m heading to Africa!

With and for Orange HOPE. It’s official, I have my ticket, I'm getting my shots and it all goes down in June. 

Malawi here I come.

Africa, the continent of diversity, history, culture and heat. I’ve wanted to visit you forever! I am just so excited it consumes me with happiness whenever I think about it. 

What comes to mind when I think about Africa:

little black babies.

Nelson Mandela.

amazing fabrics.

& safari animals.

I’m so ready for this superficial perception to be blown out of the water. 

Africa, I'm ready for you!

Friends, I’m so happy you’re joining me – I can’t wait to share this with you all.

GOODMORNING USA

I’m not proud of the fact, but I have watched every single episode of American Dad, bar none. There is something about it, and the US of A in general – that attracts me. 

don't even ask how this came about.

Perhaps and in part I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that other then Australia, it was the first country I ever visited.

And when I was there, I loved it.

The squirrels.

oh gosh, the cute.

The i-Hop.

funnel cake, i still dream of you.

The monumental monuments. 

mr. lincoln

oh hey.

american equivalent of parliament house.

The ‘this is like a movie’ moments.

yellow school busses, they exist.

forrest.

yes!

The ‘can he/she/it/that really be serious?’ moments. 

25c drink can? um, yes.

pizza - size of my car. with broccoli? mm.

30cm tall 99c drink.
sandwich: chips, sausage, surprise sauce.

Last time, I wasn’t there for long. I was a tourist, sort of – living with a family, and everything was weird and different, bizarre, surreal and strangely wonderful. 

unlike my cornrows, which were just strange - and not wonderful.

I was there on an exchange between my high school and a Baptist Church in Philadelphia, which turned out to be more of a semi-paid holiday and an excuse to have a home-stay and eat plenty of fried chicken. Seriously, so much fried chicken.

ok yeah, 90% of the photos I took were of food.

For months, even years after my trip I had an American flag hanging on my bedroom wall. It’s not there any more, I consider myself a little less loyal, and a little more a citizen of the boundary-less world. But, none the less my trip - I loved it, perhaps because it was my first plane trip, my first ticket into the travel world, but also for what it was, and who was there.

And now I’m going back.

This time for a lot longer. At the end of March I leave, and I’m taking a quarter (what a great word) as an exchange student at the University of Washington. I’m going to live there, I’m going to eat there, I’m going to exercise there and I’m going to do my best not to get fat there.

I’m terrified. I’m excited. I’m nervous. I don’t really know to expect.

The timing is terrible, and there’s a lot of things – I know – that I’m going to miss, and a lot of lessons I’m going to have to learn, and a lot of adjustments I’m going to have to make.

I’m scared of being me in a foreign place. Living with people who don’t understand my weird habits – like getting up ridiculously early, not being able to eat chocolate without water, my sarcastic sense of humour, etc etc.

I’m excited about being out of my comfort zone, exploring a new city, seeing American football, catching up with old friends, going to Mars Hill (determined!), American accents, adjusting and making new friends, being the Australian girl (struth bloody ocha mate) and studying and learning in a different place. 

borrowed this today.

I expect to struggle, to miss home, to love it, to never want to leave, to be frustrated with cultural differences (oh golly please say basil not bay-zil), to miss just about everything about my life here, to question why I left, to fall in love with things I never knew existed, to develop a strange yankie twang to my words, and to have a small crush on any guy who says absolutely anything in an American accent.

There will be plenty to say on the blog front I’m sure, so this is my way of announcing it, I suppose.

Any tips? Travelers, Americans, exchange students?

USA 2012. 13 weeks. Seattle. Colorado. Omaha. Chicago. Philadelphia.

Ready.

(almost).