HIV Rates Are Rising Among America’s Youth

Infograph Designed by John Hanawalt

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) recently released a report stating that over 50% of young people in the United States who are infected with HIV are not aware of it, and adolescents between the ages of 13 and 24 account for 25% of all new HIV infections in the United States.  Out of 12,000 new infections in the U.S. among this population, 72% occurred in young men who have sex with men (YMSM).

According to the Massachusetts Department of Public Health, 44% of all HIV infections occurred among YMSM.  Although this percentage is slightly lower than the national average, it underscores the dire need for therapeutic and behavioral interventions which are tailored specifically for this cohort in Massachusetts.

Addressing sexual health needs and HIV prevention among YMSM can be tricky because many are questioning their sexual identity and orientation and are not open with providers about their sexual behaviors.  Additionally, stigma and homophobia can prevent at-risk individuals from seeking medical care or HIV testing.  According to a recent report by the CDC, only 35% of young people have been tested for HIV.

The Adolescent Trials Network at Fenway Health has opened a research study for YMSM between the ages of 18 and 22 called Project PrePare which seeks to find out how youth can take and benefit from Truvada for pre-exposure prophylaxis (PreP).  Truvada was approved by the FDA for HIV prevention in July 2011; however, adolescents were not well represented in the initial research.  Project PrePare projects that by making PrEP, along with condoms and regular risk-reduction counseling, accessible to this young cohort, HIV transmission rates among YMSM will be reduced.

Project PrePare lasts approximately one year.  Study participants will receive regular blood work, HIV testing and counseling, Truvada, and medication adherence counseling while participating in the study.  Additionally, each participant will participate in a behavioral intervention called Many Men Many Voices.  Many Men Many Voices is a seven-session, group-level HIV and STD prevention intervention for gay men. The intervention addresses factors that influence the behavior of men who have sex with men, including cultural, social, and religious norms; interactions between HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases; sexual relationship dynamics; and the social and psychological influences that racism and homophobia have on HIV risk behaviors.

If you or someone you know may be interested in finding out more about this study, please visit the Project PrePare website at: projectprepare.net.  On this website, individuals are given the opportunity to take an eligibility quiz to determine if they can participate in this study.  All answers are completely confidential; a simple “yes” or “no” will be sent to a study recruiter, along with optional contact information that the individual can provide so that they can be reached.  Additionally, anyone who is interested and would like more information can email Emily George, RN, MPH, the Boston site Project Manager, at egeorge@fenwayhealth.

2012 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 8,400 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 14 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

The Woman Who Carried Our King

Your entire being must have quaked when that angel showed up in brilliant glory.  You couldn’t have been more than a teenager; a young, plain Jewish girl.  Betrothed to a man who knew you not.  And when Gabriel appeared and knocked you to your knees, it says you were perplexed by his strange salutation.  He called you favored one, but your favor stretched beyond that moment.  You were born with it.

You recognized his words, the ancient ones, written on tablets from long ago, written on doorframes and on your heart.  The King was coming.  You knew He would.  And yet you had no idea that He would be coming through you.

You ran to Elizabeth’s house, confident that she would understand the miracle, because she was on the journey, too.  Her formerly barren body was bursting with new life and you must have known that she would be expecting you.  And when you came reeling through the door, the little babe inside of her leapt because he recognized your voice.  The voice of the woman carrying our King.

And as women do, I’m sure you dissolved into tears and held each other tightly.  And stared incredulously at each other’s swollen breasts and flat bellies, wondering what toll this would take on your youthful frames, and how you would ever make it through the next nine months.

It says that you stayed there for three of those nine, without your mother.  Without the man who was planning to divorce you silently.  You needed to be next to someone who was full of belief.  You needed another woman, a sister.  You needed her strength to pull you through, to remind you of the words written long ago.  Someone who would help you remember, when the progesterone and estrogen were at immeasurable heights, that you were favored among women.  Someone who would lie beside you in bed and whisper the prophecies of old when you were too tired to repeat them yourself.  Someone who would sing over you, “For the Mighty One has done great things for me; And holy is His name,” over and over, while holding your hair as you threw up in a bucket.

What happened when you left there?  When your clothes were getting too tight and people were starting to whisper?  When you had to walk around in the city with a protruding belly and no man beside you?

Perhaps you stayed up late into the night, feeling tiny hands and feet and hiccups on the inside.  Rubbing your belly and struggling to get comfortable on scratchy sheets with swollen feet and heartburn.   All the while knowing that the Messiah was growing within you.  That every nutrient you placed in your body was sustaining Him, that your very blood was carrying all of His unmet needs and that soon His would be shed for yours.

Nine months cannot be long enough to comprehend carrying the Savior of the World.  And yet you tried.  You pieced things together, pondering them and storing them up in your heart.

And then it was time.  And in the midst of this, you had to drag your contracting body onto a donkey and ride miles and miles to a town far away through the cold, dark night.  And when you finally arrived to the City of David, I can only imagine the pain-stricken look on your face as Joseph carried you door to door, trying to find a place to lay your weary self down.  Filled with dreams of hot water and clean sheets and quiet.

But instead, you were led to a barn, where you had to stretch yourself out with the animals.  And with every labored breath, you inhaled the stench of dust and excrement.  And as you twisted and writhed on the hay, you must have been crying out in disbelief that the King of all Kings would be born here.  In the midst of this mess.  In the midst of your mess.  And my mess.  Amongst all things unworthy.

And yet He was.

And still is time and again.

And you had no idea that your anguished cries would be matched by His own someday and that the blood that you spilled for Him would pale in comparison to the blood He would spill for you.

May It Go Well With You…

“Children, honor your father and mother, which is the first commandment with a promise, so that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth.”  Ephesians 6:2-3

In the early spring, my oldest sister sent out an email to her six siblings that said, “What if we planned a blessing ceremony for our parents this summer while we are all home together?  It will be a time to honor them for all of the things they have instilled in us.”  Plane tickets were purchased.  A slide show was created.  A song was written.  Each one of us gathered around my parents, and oldest to youngest, read aloud a letter honoring them for their lifetime of devotion to us.  We watched their shiny eyes gleam and brim with tears; their souls sigh with relief.  It truly was a sacred evening full of joy complete. 

Dad and Marmee,

What an honor it is to stand before you and tell you a few of the hundreds of ways that you have blessed me as a child and woman of God with the hope and confidence that it will bless you in return!

As a man and a woman, you took a stand when you entered into marriage and proclaimed that your hearts and your home would be dedicated to the Lord.  You halted the generational curses of idolatry, drunkenness, abuse, greed, divorce and lust by calling upon the power of the Cross and proclaiming the blood of Jesus over your home.  As a husband and a wife, you dedicated your lives to instilling the Word of Life into your children and their children and their children.  You unleashed the saving grace, mercy, and healing of our Savior so that every life that comes forth in your lineage will have a supernatural, magnetic pull on their spirit to enter into “sozo,” or complete wholeness in Christ.

You gave us a home whose builder and maker was Christ.  You called upon the peace and grace of the Lord to fill each person who entered into our midst.  You opened wide your arms to the poor, the needy, the destitute and demonstrated pure, undefiled religion.  Our table was a mere extension of the banqueting table on which the saints are continually feasting and there was always enough.  You created a haven for the lonely, a place of refuge for the brokenhearted, a shelter for the wandering.  Countless men and women have poured through our doors, sat at our table, found rest in the presence of the Lord, and experienced deep conviction by simply watching the way that you lived unabashedly for the purposes of the kingdom.  

You lived below your means.  You have provided an inheritance for your children and their children.  You taught us what it means to live freely from debt, to store up wealth in the heavenly places where moth and rust cannot destroy, where thieves cannot break in and steal, and to give generously to those in need.  You made decisions purposely and with prudence.  

You instilled confidence in us by making decisions confidently, where your yes was yes and your no was no.  You nurtured our gifts by encouraging us to dream big, to not be afraid of man, to run wildly into the unknown, to take risks, and to never stop asking the questions in life that ultimately always lead us back to the Answer for everything.  You encouraged us to open wide our eyes, to look in the face of injustice, to weep, to be broken, and to find freedom in those desert places by extending our roots down deep and finding living water in the depths of our heart.  You wrote the ancient scriptures on our heads, on our hearts, on the door frames of our home, so that when we were like sailors lost at sea, we were always led back to the light source by the still, small voice that you taught us to hear.  

You inspired.  You healed.  You gave.  Over and over and over.  And because of you, we have known a love that is stronger than death and possess a faith that the ancients were commended for.

You truly are the blessed and redeemed of the Lord. And so are we.

I love you,
Emily

Exploring Stories of Forgiveness in South Africa

Reblogged from Unabridged:

I am in the middle of a personal explorative journey through South Africa’s history that began with the riveting experience of reading Nelson Mandela’s autobiography Long Walk to Freedom.  Captivated by Mandela’s unwavering devotion to reconcile the nation of South Africa and his courageous forgiveness of his oppressors, I read this book in its entirety in just a few sittings with tears streaming down my face and a passion burning my soul.

Read more… 680 more words

The Matriarch

Reblogged from Unabridged:

• 

She still sends hand-written letters, regularly, to her six children and 16 grandchildren.  Letters recounting the colors of sunsets she watches from her screened-in porch.  Her envelopes hold pressed flowers from her garden and newspaper articles with fascinating tidbits underlined or highlighted.  She used to race us down the winding country roads in our red suburban, a cigarette dangling from her lips, Neil Diamond blaring from the speakers. 

Read more… 352 more words

In Honor of my mother (and all mothers) on Mother's Day...

He Had No Stones to Throw

And the Pharisees brought a woman caught in adultery and having set her in the center of the court, they said to Him, “Teacher, this woman has been caught in adultery, in the very act.  Now in the Law, Moses commands us to stone such women.  What then do you say?”

It was Mother’s Day, 2010.  I was sitting in church, among a community I had known for over 2 years, and yet not one knew I was carrying a child within me.  A child who was to be born to a woman and man who were not married.

I was five months along.  My baggy clothes were pulling tightly across my swelling belly.  I had been mulling for weeks on how to disclose my secret trespass, soon to become visible to the entire world, to the body of believers.  I was drowning in shame, fear, and humiliation.

Our pastor* was standing on stage, surrounded by hundreds of flowers.  He was handing them out to mothers.  He was honoring moms, grandmothers, mothers of 1, mothers of 6, his mother…the list went on and on until finally, my tortured self was alleviated because it appeared that there were no flowers left and we could move on from this part of the program.

Suddenly, the pastor turned and looked out over the congregation.  His eyes widened.  He said, “There is one flower left.  There is a mother here who did not receive a flower.”

Jesus stooped down and with His finger, began writing in the dirt. 

My breath caught within me.  My heart began to pound.  My mouth was dry.  I froze in my seat.  Surely this was not happening.  Not here.  Not now.

He went on.  “There is a mother here, who did not come forward, and the Lord wants to honor you.  There is someone here who has a baby growing inside of them and God wants to honor you on your first Mother’s Day.”

It couldn’t be me.  Why would He honor me?  A woman who stepped outside the bounds of all He had intended.  A woman carrying a child who would be born into a disjointed circumstance, to a mother and father who didn’t even live under the same roof, with no commitment to a future.

The pastor persisted.  “There is someone here whom the Lord wants to honor.  A mother.  Come get your flower.”

But when they persisted in asking Him, Jesus stood up and said to them, “He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone to her.”  At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left with the woman still standing there.

In a burst of faith, of longing, of returning, of overcoming, I stood to my feet.  “It’s me,” I said timidly.

A moment of silence; heads swiveled, necks craned.  Then the pastor burst into a wide grin.  “Praise God!  Come on up.  Get your flower.”  The room burst into applause, commemorating the joy of new life.

I walked forward, tears streaming down my face, my whole body trembling.  The pastor greeted me with his arms wide open.  He placed the gorgeous flower in my hand and I returned to my seat, to a dozen embraces by people who had no stones to throw, to a foundation established in unshakable mercy and grace.

Straightening up, Jesus said to her, “Woman, where are they?  Did anyone condemn you?”  She said, “No one, Lord.”  And Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you.  Go.  From now on, sin no more.”

*Sean Richmond is now the pastor of The River Church in Waltham, MA.