Well, after 10 solid days back on US ground, life is feeling a bit more like my own: might I even say, a bit better? :)
I love toilets that flush...and the throne with which to rest! I enjoy the luxury of brushing my teeth with water from the faucet...and that with one reliable turn of the nozzle, water comes out...every time. I am loving that my amoeba friend who took up resident in my belly appears to have surrendered to the antibiotics. Oh, the list could go on and on. Not because I didn't love every bit of Africa--I loved it more than I could have ever dreamed but simply because I needed fresh eyes and a realigned heart. Even over the basic, nonessentials of living.
Two random things I want to share:
Forever and always an Andrew Peterson fan, I loved his most recent journal entry and I thought some of you might too. So if you have a second click on the link below. Just further evidence of why he will always be my most favorite musician, song writer, and author...even if it's by way of his blog. :)
The Tick of the Clock-Andrew Peterson
And for the ladies out there: At Christmas I got this purse that was hand-made by Hands of Hope. I'm enclosing a link (just click on hands of hope in the previous sentence) because I love it that much. (thank you Milzareks!) It was my constant companion on my recent travels and now that I'm back I'm still loving it for every day stuff. It's simple; small; definitely Megs...not so much Kitty-(haha) but nonetheless, for kindred spirits out there, I think they make incredible gifts. If you go to the site, it's hard to tell by the pics just how beautiful the fabric is, you'll just have to trust me.
I copied a small blurb from their site because its worth noting who they are and why they exist:
Hands of Hope is a sewing business that aims to provide former commercial sex workers and other at-risk individuals in Cambodia further opportunities to build new futures for themselves and their families. Hands of Hope began as an extension of House of Hope, a Christian rehabilitation center located in Kompong Cham Province. Hands of Hope is a part of the ministry of InnerCHANGE, a Christian order serving among the poor.
Hands of Hope has created sewing and handicraft jobs for graduates from the House of Hope program. The anticipated goal is that each seamstress will remain an independent contractor and will successfully run her own small business sewing and creating Hands of Hope products. Through this, each woman will achieve an improved quality of life for herself and her family.
Good stuff.
Last Day of Clinic
The least, the lost, the last.
…back at clinic for our 8th and final day. Morgan and I were told that we could triage 100 patients that morning. After a break for lunch we would then try to see some of the pastors and their family members who were not able to register due to the conference. Our plan was to be completely done seeing patients by 3:00 pm, pack up the supplies, and go to bed early so we could leave at 0400 for the game park and some African wildlife!
Oh, how plans change.
As Morgan and I were triaging the last two patients that morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about the people waiting outside the door. I wondered what their chief complaint might be…how long they had waited…did they come from far? Hasn’t someone told them yet, that this is it? Why do they still sit and wait: patient; hopeful; expectant? As we sent the final two on their way to see the doctors, I closed the triage door and accidentally made eye contact with what would have been patient #101. As Morgan and I packed up our stethoscopes and papers neither one of us spoke. It wasn’t until the triage door closed behind us that I realized she was crying too. We linked arms and did our best to move forward through the people; our eyes fixed on the ground in front of us. I wasn’t about the make the mistake of locking eyes with someone else.
Self protection. Even after everything, I couldn’t look the people who were left waiting, in the eyes. The thing is, no matter what...whether we were there 1 week or 2 weeks, there would always be one more. And I cannot tell you how awful it feels to walk by...to look away.
At lunch, I didn’t have much to say. We were out of jelly so I couldn’t tell if the lump in my throat was from the tears that were walled up within me or from the peanut butter that just wouldn’t go down. One of the clinic workers spoke with a member of our team. She didn’t think it would be wise to bring the pastors in to us, with people still behind the gate hoping to be seen. To avoid any risk of rioting, they made the decision to allow 50 more patients—a combination of local people and the pastors. And so, that afternoon, #101 came through the triage doors after all.
Just as were closing up for what would in fact, be the last and final time, I stepped outside the triage room and was met by a small crowd of men, one yielding an AK 47. “Sister, sister, please. This man is seriously ill”. I looked down and there was a man, lying in a make shift stretcher with a blanket covering his face. I kneeled on the ground beside him, and removed the fabric. He was emaciated and hot to the touch. I could tell by his appearance that he was indeed dying-likely from AIDS-and while I knew we could do very little, I had them follow me to the treatment room. Unlike hospice patients in the US, there were no morphine drops to offer him for comfort. Instead we gave him a few liters of fluid with hopes that it might lower his fever and make him more comfortable for at least a short period of time. Through the aid of our interpreters we learned that he was a prisoner-hence the AK 47. We offered to pray with him, and he refused. And so, we waited while the fluids trickled in. As I sat on the bed beside him, Scott looked at me and said, “it’s ironic, isn’t it, that he’s our very last patient.”
Since day one we were reminded by our director over and over again of why we were there…to serve and love the least, the lost and the last.
He was all three.
But I wondered what his cup of cool water looked like.
Maybe it was enough just to sit in silence.
As we finally packed things up late that day, I again, felt void of any and all things. Later that night I would become sick…the plans to go to the game park would be put to rest…no 0400 departure. thank you, Lord! But things were stirring in my soul. I craved the very thing I came to offer.
“Weepy Monday” 2.12.07
The weekend came and went quickly. Saturday we ran the clinic and we continue to triage about 200 patients a day. Apparently, without our knowledge, the crowd got a bit wild the other day, and the police were called in for crowd control. The result is that the crowds that used to hover near the triage door have now been moved away from us, behind a gate. Time will tell if this is a good solution. It feels wrong to have them out there-away from us-for we came to engage and connect.
Sunday, we went to church. Morgan, Ryan, Ben, Yeong, and I went with Pastor Jack. There were times during the praise and worship when I felt joy to the deepest part of my soul. Freedom; this is what it looks like—this is how it feels. I know that might not be true for everyone but for me, if I could free myself from all of my self imposed rules of conduct regarding worship, this is what it would look like. Some people might say that it's over the top; that it's showy...not me. I know these people dance and sing and celebrate because they are in the throne room--and He is worthy. Showy? Showy is when I close my eyes and lift my hands when my heart is far away and cold. Showy is when my public displays of worship or praise exceed what I do when I'm alone and on my knees.
One woman pulled out a huge drum and the whole room was filled with the most amazing music and dance. I thought of my church back home…they would love this.
Now, for today and the title of this entry. Scott has, in my opinion, appropriately coined the phrase ‘Weepy Monday’ for the Monday that follows the first full week of clinic. He should know—he’s done this a time or two before. From what I can gather, this is the day when even the most stoic of men become, well…weepy. Fatigue settles in, the meds begin to run low, the bodies grow deep. When I penned the title of this entry it was just a name for the day. Now, I’m afraid I have consecrated the day and made it official.
It is, indeed, weepy Monday.
I have not been emotional thus far on this trip. In some ways, that’s bothered me. I expected to be overcome. I’ve held countless babies with their little bodies ravaged with disease and in those moments, with my eyes upon their faces, I find myself so detached. "How can I feel so little?" I wonder as I look at them. Especially, when I’m a girl who normally feels so much? I’ve definitely had my moments…but that’s just it. I’ve had moments. And, few of them, at best. I expected to live in that real, raw place every day. I came with the desire to be broken but in reality I feel...okay.
or maybe that's not an accurate statement.
I don't feel okay. I feel void; which is so unfamiliar-almost unsettling to me.
After Clinic today, we all piled onto the bus and our driver took us on a “scenic drive” towards home. Or so we thought. To our surprise, a group of pastors planned a surprise certificate ceremony for us. There, in a tiny, brightly painted room in the middle of town, we gathered together. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows into the room, we took our turns cheering one another on 'Ethiopian style'. To my left, through the empty hole of a vacant window sill, curious little faces strained for a glimpse into our festivities. The night was full of energy and joy. As the evening drew to a close the pastors said they wished to pray for us—and of course, we desired to do the same for them. And so, we placed our arms around each other. We did not stand side by side, linked in a prayer circle but rather, we morphed into one tangled web of flesh and spirit. Male, female; black, white; sitting standing; singing, silent. A chorus of English and Amharic filled the room. In this tiny, yellow room in the middle of Yabello-under a big African sky and in the presence of an even bigger God, the room filled with music. And power. I felt the hair on the back of my neck respond to the Spirit in the room. The first tear hovered, threatening to slide down my cheek. I dared to open my eyes and then it was hard to close them. Two tribes of people; covered in grace; broken but free. I realized in those moments, that one of the things I am most called to do is to pray for this band of believers in this forgotten (by the world) little town. Our mighty warriors-few in number but great in strength, courage and power. I often say that prayer is necessary-that it’s important-but do I really believe it? Does my life reflect that? Not hardly. After that one lonely tear paved it’s way down my face, the tears came hard and fierce. I am void, no more; but still perplexed for I don't even know why I cry.
A silent video of Morgan with the kiddos:
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A silent video of the crowds waiting to be seen (wish you could hear the audio...funny!)
Mark 1:29-38
And when evening had come, after the sun had set they began bringing to Him all who were ill and those who were demon possessed. And the whole city had gathered at the door. And He healed many who were ill with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and He was not permitting the demons to speak, because they knew who He was. And in the early morning, while it was still dark, He arose and went out and departed to a lonely place, and was praying there. And Simon and his companions hunted for Him; and they found Him and said to Him, “Everyone is looking for You;” And He said to them, “Let us go somewhere else to the towns nearby, in order that I may preach there also; for that is what I came out for.
Day 1 of Clinic 2.5.2007
We arrived at clinic and found a crowd of people gathered by the building where we would later triage patients. They waited patiently as our team dispersed and set up each of our individual areas. I was nervous. After all of the stories I had heard about previous trips all I could think and silently pray was “please, God, don’t put me in triage…anywhere, but triage.” I had heard one too many stories about the escalating tensions of the crowds and of last year’s triage nurses having to jump out of a window to get away from desperate people. That day, as we gathered our supplies and set up, we got our assignments. “Megan and Morgan” (drum roll please), you two will be in…
triage!
Funny, how that works.
And so, Morgan and I, the two newbies, took our respected places in triage. Thankfully, the day went smoothly. No jumping out windows. No gun shots to quiet the crowds. Just a peaceful day. At the start of the day, 500 people were ‘pre-registered’ by the clinic to be seen by us. As we closed up shop at the end of that very same day, the number was 1600. Word obviously travels fast. Even in Yabelo.
As the day progressed, we saw a lot of non-specific aches and pains as well as parasites, viral infections, and sick, sick babies. I got my first taste of the local EMS services: people came by way donkey, or make shift stretchers, or even in the arms of others. I saw the face of AIDS in adults and in babies. I’m sure it’s true, that much progress has been made in Africa regarding awareness and preventative teaching but it’s still very real and rampant, killing generations of people; it is still wrought with stigma; and leading officials still try to sweep it and it’s victims, under the carpet.
At the end of clinic today I was feeling overwhelmed. If I’m honest, maybe even a bit angry. Definitely, I was feeling disconnected from myself and from God. From time to time as we worked today, I found myself staring into a sea of people; the sickest people (collectively) that I’ve ever before seen. I began to feel almost as if we were teasing them with our team of health professionals and our meds. They don’t know, I thought silently, that we can only give them a months worth of medication. They don’t know, we can’t make the serious stuff go away. Someone needs to tell those who are walking miles-or for days-to turn back. That it’s not worth it; that there’s nothing we can do.
And then, just when I needed it most: the devotion for today. A cup of cool water to a thirsty soul. Mark chapter 1. Sam read the above scripture to us and emphasized a few important truths.
1. Christ healed many, when with one word He could have healed them all. Instead he chose to heal some, one on one; with compassion and love.
2. He took time away to be alone and to pray. Even in the midst of desperate needs and many desperate people He took time to be alone with God. He chose to connect when it might have seemed inconvenient-or possibly even seemingly less important than healing the sick.
3. As the people and the needs multiplied, Christ makes the decision to leave that town and to travel to another. Why? To preach the Good News…”for that is why I came”.
Today, I mistakenly and pridefully saw myself as a nurse-and my team, as a mere handful of medical professionals. I got preoccupied with treating the physical manifestations of disease. I was overwhelmed that we could not rise above the need; that we could not catch our breath for there were too many out stretched hands. It’s no wonder I became discouraged, disillusioned, angry. I am not God; a glaringly obvious truth but despite it all, I seem to frequently need reminding. God, I am not, but I am His: chosen for this time and this place-and He is a God who is big enough to heal all with one word. He may not; we may come and go at the end of these two weeks and barely make the tiniest dent in the way of physical disease, aches and pains. But hopefully we will leave the fragrance of Christ. And hopefully we will be vessels that can be used to touch lives for eternity.
We are here as disciples of Christ. We are here to love. Above all, and if nothing else, we come to proclaim the Good News. We have nothing to offer these people that’s of any consequence apart from Him. So let the people come; I was mistaken. Don't let them turn back. We come by the grace and power of His Spirit to offer a cup of cool, life-giving water to desperately thirsty souls.
thanks to my tech savvy husband, we were able to post a few photos. There are many, many more but that took much longer than I first anticipated. :) So, the rest will come later. If you were on the team, and do not see your face--it's coming, I promise! Along with a link to snapfish.
I've talked a lot today...so much that I can't muster up the words right now to write about the trip. Maybe tomorrow. :)
In the meantime, here's a glimpse into Ethiopia.
Just a brief note to say we made it home, safe and sound. I will post pictures and journal entries over the next few days. It was the most incredible trip; full of amazing people.
After 4 days of travel this is one weary girl so for now know that your prayers, notes of encouragement, and love made all of the difference.
It's good to be home.
more soon. megs