Guest Post—Dr. Kim Milhoan Shares About Her Experience In Fallujah
August 16, 2012 by Craig · Leave a Comment
On our recent Remedy Mission X in Fallujah, we were privileged to work alongside Drs. Kirk and Kim Milhoan. Dr. Kirk, one of the most traveled and experienced cardiologists in the world, brought a team of 6 Americans to Fallujah last week and provided 12 Iraqi children with an operation—it was an incredible success!
We had such a great time working with the team that we’ve asked them to share a little about their experience, and Dr. Kim Milhoan has graciously obliged. Keep reading below…
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So, I’d be absolutely lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about this trip. Everyone who reads my writing prior to this trip knows that I spent the week really asking God for what He is trying to teach me. And often I find the lesson is very different from what I thought it would be.
By the time I arrived in Fallujah, I was actually excited for the honor and opportunity to step out in faith. In my mind, this had never been required of me to this level, where I truly thought my personal security and safely could be at risk. Here comes the part where I absolutely praise our Fallujan hosts: they have gone out of their way to protect us with constant armed guards, armored vehicles, etc. I never felt unsafe.
I believe that all of man’s defenses are ultimately penetrable, but they did everything in their power to keep us safe. They were gracious, welcoming, generous, and concerned for our every need and comfort. I could relax. And, as strange as it might seem, this confused me. I was actually looking forward to a difficult week of utter reliance on God. I realized how quickly I can revert to reliance on man.

The same is true in our care for the children. We’ve done this a lot. We’ve gotten good at making the best of less-than-ideal-circumstances. Once again, I began to rely on my skills or supplies rather than on God’s provision. So if I wasn’t exercising utter reliance on the Lord for safety or for patient outcomes, I was at least being a good witness for the Lord in whom I believe. It’s like the bible says, “they will know we are Christians by our love.”
We can laugh as a team because we’ve been doing this together so long that we know each other’s idiosyncrasies, weaknesses, and hot buttons. I’m sure mine are quite evident to my teammates. After we finished our five days of twelve caths and all the children were doing well, we were treated to a trip to the province Governor’s house late one evening. What an amazing caravan we were part of, absolutely impossible to describe! On the way home I was reflecting on all these things. I was disappointed in myself for not relying on the Lord like I wanted, for not praying without ceasing like I thought I should, and for failing to let His light shine through me. Then one of my favorite verses in the Bible (Injil) came to mind:
But we have this treasure in plain, earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves.
It brought tears to my eyes. It’s not about me. I’m so “earthen” and limited, and so I fail. But the power to heal and love is God’s, not mine—thank God!
Once again I’m astounded by the freedoms I enjoy. No one chooses the country they’re born in. I was born into opportunity and choice. I’ve been given the gift of privilege and position. I can choose to be courageous and go and visit and hopefully help, serve, love, and encourage those who find themselves in completely different circumstances not of their choosing.
I pray we have the opportunity to bless and be blessed by the Fallujan people many more times to come.
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Craig's Mom is our hero. She brought not one, but two sets of twins into the world, and Craig is the best that we've met of his siblings. As our copy editing intern, he is spending his summer serving Iraqi children through writing and editing, and on the side he enjoys playing Taboo, hanging out in teashops at night, and jamming out to classical piano music. |
Looking Back—3 Ways My Internship in Iraq Changed Me for the Better
May 17, 2012 by matt · Leave a Comment
As I write this, our 2012 interns are in the air and headed toward Iraq! So it only seemed appropriate to share a few lessons-learned by former intern Lauren Sawyer. Lauren wrote out 3 of the most beneficial things she took away from her time here in Iraq, and we’re hoping this year’s interns will also benefit personally as they help us save lives.
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It’s been two full years since I boarded the first of three planes that would take me to Iraq.
Yet I still remember what I was talking about when I first landed in the desert country. Another intern, Lydia, and I were trying to rewrite the words to “Party in the U.S.A.” to fit our situation. By the end of the summer the song became “Party with the P.U.K.,” for a political group in northern Iraq. (Sophisticated conversation? Not so much.)
I have so many memories of that summer in Iraq: the places I ate, the taxi rides, the late-night chats on the roof of our house. But more than that, I have a series of life-changing realizations. Iraq changed me: it changed my perspective, it changed my behavior. Here are a few ways:
(1) People are just people wherever you go.
While in Iraq, a fellow intern Claire and I used to hum Regina Spektor’s song “The Ghost of Corporate Future” with the lyrics: “People are just people; they shouldn’t make you nervous.” I’m convinced we got that song stuck in our heads as often as we did because of that first line: “People are just people.” We found ourselves saying those words all the time, whenever we met another Iraqi we had something in common with.
The similarities between me, a young American girl, and the Iraqis I met were most clear in the English class Claire taught. I noticed how our Iraqi students watched the same TV shows as us (Vian loved “Grey’s Anatomy”) and had similar views on marriage, even, and education.
But more than that, I met people who were fundamentally like all people I knew in the States. I met fathers who loved their children, who would do anything to keep them healthy. I met children who loved games and were happy always—even when they were on their way to surgery.
Now that I’m back in the U.S., I still have opportunities to remind myself of this truth, that people are just people. I’ve spent the past two summers working for a nonprofit that advocates for people with disabilities. I’ve learned there, too, that people are just people— whether they are blind or have Down Syndrome. People are just people.
(2) We cannot accurately critique people without having truly experienced their culture.
Last semester I was sitting in my freshman-level philosophy course—as a senior—counting how many times the blonde freshman-but-sophomore-by-credits said something rude and untrue about Muslims. In that same class I heard my professor and other students make claims about how Iraq is “Worse off now that the U.S. troops are leaving”—as if these silly Midwest American civilians knew anything about life in Iraq.
My roommate and my boyfriend both told me to just say something and I did, once, without much effect. Changing someone’s mind about a culture isn’t easy.
Living in Iraq for two months taught me that you cannot critique or judge a culture without having experienced their culture like an insider. Visiting Italy for a few weeks is not the same as living like an Italian, speaking the language, shopping where they shop, eating their food, learning about their politics, their history. My two-month stint in Iraq taught me that I didn’t know enough about Iraq to critique it.
I need to keep asking questions. As soon as I stop asking questions and think I have it figured out, I’ll inevitably hurt someone or lead others to believe a lie. So when people like that freshman-but-sophomore-by-credits girl say something I know is untrue to my experience in Iraq, I need to do more than just correct them. I need to show them how to ask questions, to hunger for understanding, and to have an imagination, which leads me to my last point…
(3) We are called to be people of imagination.
I heard about the Preemptive Love Coalition when I had lost all faith in my future. I was 19 years old, and I thought that just because my life wasn’t heading in the direction I thought it should, it was over. But after reading PLC’s mission statement and then talking to Jeremy and Cody about their vision for Iraq’s future, my faith was restored. I recognized even before I boarded those planes that those working for PLC were people of imagination, and I wanted to be a part of it.
I’m convinced that you can’t do anything big and life-changing without having imagination. I doubt PLC would have ever existed without Jeremy and friends imagining a life without heart defects, without thousands of kids in line for surgery.
Before I worked for PLC that summer, I let myself live small stories that took little imagination. I expected my life to be like everyone else’s, without real risk, without adventure. But PLC showed me how to have an imagination, to dream up a better world for others and for myself.
Now, as I’m graduate-school bound (“real world” bound, as I say), I know that imagination will save me from living a self-centered life. Imagination will turn me into a person like the PLC staff and the doctors and the business people I met in Iraq, dedicated to changing the world—and able to.
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You can read more musings by Lauren on her blog. Come back next week and we’ll introduce you to our new summer interns—can’t wait!
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As Communication Director, Matt Willingham spends most of his time trying to get the word out on PLC's work in Iraq. On the side, he likes reading stories, devouring the great food his wife cooks up, and DSLR camera work. He's also mildly obsessed with Twitter: @mehtin. |
My Take—The Real Meaning of Mother’s Day
May 13, 2012 by matt · Leave a Comment
We’re deviating from our typical Tuesday-Thursday regimen to bring you a Mother’s Day guest post by the excellent Kristine Brite McCormick.
Kristine is an advocate and activist based in Indiana, and she is responsible for many of the lifesaving operations we’ve provided over the years. Take a few minutes to read her story:
This Sunday will mark my fourth Mother’s Day. I have not held my baby in my arms for any of them.
I was pregnant Mother’s Day 2009. I got cards from my husband and mother, and thought about the next year when I’d wake up to a baby and be a “real mother.” My perception of a real mother was so off. In November, I gave birth to Cora, and she was perfect. Except I didn’t know she was born with a broken heart—congenital heart disease.
She died suddenly and unexpectedly only five days later. The last two Mother’s Days have been spent wishing I could hide from the day’s barrage of images of “perfect families.”
For too many mothers across the globe, Mother’s Day is spent not holding our babies, but visiting their grave stone, or in the hospital willing them to get better.
In Iraq, Mother’s Day for thousands of moms means knowing their child’s heart is a ticking time bomb. With every pump of blood, their child’s heart becomes a little more weakened. Without lifesaving surgery, they will die. It’s a fact, this will be the last Mother’s Day for hundreds of Iraqi mothers to hold their babies.
I won’t ever hold my daughter again. Instead, I throw all of my energy into hoping all moms see their babies become adults.
To the mothers sitting bedside in Iraq, hopelessly watching your child struggle, I’m glad the Preemptive Love Coalition is here. Hope is coming. It won’t come in time for all of you, but it’s coming. I promise to do everything I can to make it come faster, and I hope other moms will join me.
That’s the real meaning of Mother’s Day for me, working to make sure every mother gets to spend the day with her child, in the U.S., in Iraq, and across the world.
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To see how Kristine is making lifesaving, legislative change on behalf of mothers, visit her website: www.KristineBrite.com
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As Communication Director, Matt Willingham spends most of his time trying to get the word out on PLC's work in Iraq. On the side, he likes reading stories, devouring the great food his wife cooks up, and DSLR camera work. He's also mildly obsessed with Twitter: @mehtin. |
MY TAKE—”Immigrants A Key Step Toward Peaceful Coexistence In Iraq”
March 23, 2012 by Behar Godani · Comments Off

For millions of immigrants in America,
a sense of belonging and successfully handling their dual cultural identity is one of the most difficult and challenging of tasks. On the one hand, your heart is tied back to a land that was once your home—as is the case with my parents—or at least a place that feels a lot like home—as is the case with my siblings and I.
Yet no matter how many times we go back there or insist that we want to spend the rest of our days here, there never seems to be a perfect fit. There moved right past my parents and the memories they could have made had they not been forced to leave thirty years ago, and here feels much more familiar.
As a result, we’re stuck between here and there, never completely belonging anywhere.
But perhaps the beauty in the limbo that so many immigrant families find themselves in is that they are able to understand and exist in both places at once.
And perhaps that’s where the secret to truly co-existing beside one another lies as well.

There are immigrants who have walked in our shoes, but there are plenty more back there—in Iraq—who, like my parents, were forced to leave and if they survived were likely to be internally displaced. And that’s where so much of the current resentment lies. It was never truly an ‘us’ vs. ‘them’ mentality in the sense that entire groups of people became alienated from one another. No matter how bad things became in Iraq, there was always a recognition that the majority of its citizens were good people.
Now, many wonder if the country and its people—in light of recent political developments—will ever live up to the potential that so many of its own politicians boast about and so many in the West had initially hoped for.
The key lies not in government policies, per se—which I yield, can at times favor one group over another and further disenfranchise other groups who already don’t feel welcome in the political system—but in all-natural and real human connections. When people can put a face on families affected by violence, when a doctor from a different faith or ethnicity saves a child’s life, when a Muslim breaks bread with a Christian who’s just as Iraqi as anyone else, the concept of “preemptive strikes” and bombings will become just as foreign and distant a concept as they were all those years ago. Then “preemptive love” and a true sense of commitment to the success and prosperity of the Iraqi state for the sake of its people will begin to emerge.
No more will bureaucrats, insurgencies, or fringe groups attempt to dominate the hearts and minds of the people as much as they have in the past because the people, like my parents, will come to learn the importance of existing in the now. They’ll learn that yes, you may have been displaced and you may have lost loved ones like so many innocent Iraqis have, but our humanity and our hopes for a better future must transcend the easy way out which often involves blaming an entire people or religious group for why things are currently the way they are.

Most immigrants face the challenge of simply reconciling their ethnic identities with their American ones, but families who hail from conflict zones—both those who had an opportunity to escape and those who were forced to stay behind—face the added difficulty of not only staying true to the identity that various groups have tried to wipe out, but also of keeping the anger and sadness in their hearts from ultimately skewing how they view “the other.” That of course can only happen with social projects and movements that focus on bringing different groups together so that individuals can begin to put a face on “that religion” or “that ethnic group.”
Eventually, they’ll come to find—as we all eventually must come to find as human beings—that religion, ethnic identity, the types of clothes a person wears, or the color they choose to dye their hair quickly falls away once that connection is made and “that” person becomes a friend.
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Behar Godani is an American Kurd who has spent years as a youth leader in her community working on several projects relating to Kurdish identity and culture. More recently, she helped create the first Kurdish-American newspaper in print. She is both a practicing Muslim and a passionate human rights activist. For more from Behar, find her on Twitter: @BeharGodani. |
















