Night shift and speaking life

Time on the wards is so hearty for my soul.  I’ve just worked a string of night shifts, but even those were times of rich conversation getting to know our Malagasy Day Crew a little deeper, praying over children having issues with pain or itching, and becoming more aware of the spiritual warfare raging on our patients in the wards. 

I got to take care of one particular patient, she was from a different ward; she had a facial tumor removed, and they had to pull some creative moves to remove part of her cheek bone and replace it with a muscle from the top of her scalp.  After a 5 hour surgery, needless to say, she had a lot going on.  An extremely long incision, a tube running from her nose to her stomach so she could receive nutrition instead of eating and possibly harming her facial incision; she had one tube keeping her nasal passage open, and her poor face was still very swollen from surgery- even several days post op when I took care of her.

Working night shift with her, I had very minimal contact, since she slept for most of the night.  She remained in A ward, while I cared for the majority of my patients in B ward.  We kept a Day Crew interpreter in her room so that if she needed anything she could come fetch me.

Interacting with this patient brought me back to my medical/surgical days.  She had a lot going on, more so than the little orthopedic kids we have in the ward.  Meeting her at shift change, she was visibly downtrodden.   I could tell all the liquid feedings, nausea, vomitting, tubes and pain were wearing on her.  The eyes truly are the channel to the soul.  I had sympathy for the struggles and uncomfortable days and nights that probably felt like they would never end.  So most of the night looked like keeping up with her pain medication, moistening her nasal tube to keep it from getting crusty and stuck and administering her liquid tube feed in the morning. 

Courtesy of Mercy Ships Communications team

The morning came around and she had at least 6 medications due, all liquid antibiotics (the gross chalky kind you have to take as a kid) and pain medication.  Before I even started the tube feed, she had to retch, I cannot blame her, receiving liquid nutrition for 5 days straight along with gross medications (I’m sure she could taste when she burped) would take a toll on anyone, physically and mentally. Again, I could see the defeat in her poor swollen eyes.

Instead of starting her tube feed and leaving, I decided to stay in her ward and coach her through the last part of the morning I had with her.  So I gathered her meds, her tube feed and the interpreter and set to work.  Praise the Lord the Holy Spirit nudged me that morning not to rush off to my next task, because the time I got to sit with her was well spent.  I started her tube feed, told her I would go slow and split up her medications so she didn’t get them all at once; I told her I would try my best not to make her sick.  Then I decided/acted on my conviction to start a pep talk.  Through the interpreter I was able to tell her I could tell she was having a hard time, and that it was okay to have a hard time.  I told her it was okay to be frustrated, and that hungry is not a fun feeling (anyone that knows me knows I can empathize- I don't cope well with hunger at all).  I told her she was doing a good job keeping her incision clean and dry- she would dab it when it would start to ooze if she retched or saline would drip from her nasal packing.  I told her I know it feels like we made her face worse, but to just trust me and have patience.  She had waited years for someone or something to take care of this tumor in her face, and unfortunately it had to get worse before it could get better- sounds like our hearts before we trust the Lord, ehh?  I told her I thought her face was beautiful before and after her surgery.  And you know what?  She already had plans for when she was going home.  She just got married to her husband apparently, shortly before coming to get surgery, and for whatever reason they didn’t have a party or “reception-like” party after their wedding, so the first thing she gets to do when she gets home is celebrate! And what an appropriate thing to celebrate!  A new face and a new husband! 

While I did a lot of talking, I realized I not only spoke “true” things to her, but I spoke life.  I became very aware of what slowing down can do, what eye contact and genuine smiles can do, because I was rewarded with a smile before I left her ward that morning. 

Then today I read in Matthew  9:20-22 “Just then a woman who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years came up behind him [Jesus] and touched the edge of his cloak.  She said to herself, ‘If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed.’ Jesus turned and saw her...”

This woman with the bleeding is actually a side story when Jesus was on his way to a ruler’s house to check out his dead daughter.  But this “side-story” woman made it into the Holy Word of God.  This woman didn’t even want to be made known or acknowledged; she came up behind Jesus.  Her story could have been left out, ‘Sure, she touched his robes and was healed and slipped back into the crowd and left healed because of her faith.’   But she is included, and what did Jesus do?  He turned and saw her.  He saw this woman that had likely been neglected, shamed, embarrassed, outcasted, ignored, made to feel like nothing, and saw her.  The Messiah, stopped his pursuit to raise a dead girl to life- casual- in order to turn and see this woman who had probably not been “seen” or not wanted to be seen for 12 years. 

What an example we get to live by and how amazing that we get to strive for this type of interaction on Mercy Ships.  Jesus showed us the power in turning and seeing people.  Not just physically healing, but addressing the inner most part of the person, stopping, taking time, and lifting people out of the pit of feeling unworthy and making them feel human again.  

If I accomplished even an ounce of that with this woman, then what a victory for the Kingdom.

I am a nurse

Finally! It feels good to be able to say that again.  The time and experiences leading up to the hospital opening have been great and beneficial, but finally being able to do what I originally signed up for…it feels right.

That being said, there are many lessons that go into getting back into the nursing swing.  There’s a lot of new learning going on: learning the patient population, paper documentation, Malagasy phrases, where supplies are kept, how to slow down and play with the kids when my Western background is so task focused, relearning compassion in a place where the tendency IS NOT “how much can I abuse my nurse” but, “let me ask for bread and butter because I’m actually starving from traveling 1,000 km to seek help at Mercy Ship because I have nowhere else to turn for the infected burn on my head.”

I’m relearning how to put my trust back into my patients, giving them the benefit of the doubt, because they actually do tell the truth.

After only a week of nursing shifts, I’ve come to realize a struggle, and probably a lie, I am believing.  Yesterday I had a day off and went to the beach with a few people. I got caught up with myself in feeling bad for enjoying my time out.  I think the root of it is I don’t feel as though I am doing much with spreading the gospel to my patients.  I get very task oriented in the wards, but if I’m totally honest, I don’t know how to deliver the gospel here.  I’ve had thoughts of praying at their bedside before they go to sleep, using the Malagasy names for God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit.  Or I’ve thought of bringing a picture of my family to show them and segway into Jesus after that.  I feel like I’m not giving them the full story of Jesus, that I’m not doing this “calling” of mine, justice.  I struggle with being satisfied in doing my job well, and being satisfied in acting on the nudges I get from the Holy Spirit.  I struggle to realize this is a “big picture” story.  I know the whole burden of their salvation does not land on my shoulders.  I shouldn’t neglect or let pass up any opportunities to share Jesus, but not be defeated because I’m not shoving Jesus at them.  I think the biggest anxiety that has popped up is fast forwarding to when I’m leaving the ship, looking back and feeling like “what did I really accomplish” and feeling empty.

I really want to get my “works” to the forefront as something to show for being on Mercy Ships.  But it’s not clicking because it 1. It’s not scriptural; “by grace you have been saved…not by works so that no one can boast” and 2. Jesus says in Matthew 9:13 “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”

So I struggle with the question “what does putting mercy at the forefront of this time look like?” I’m on Mercy Ships for Pete’s sake.  How or what does that look like here? How do I know if I’m on the right track?  I asked the Lord this question last night in the quiet back corner of our library- I was craving a quiet place in private with Him.  I looked up at the bookshelf in front of me and saw the “MacArthur Bible commentary” bible right in front of me. So I picked it up and started studying the phrase that I was stuck on in Matthew 9 “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”  Jesus quoted this from Hosea 6; Israel had been broken and injured by the Lord because of their way of living, but the Lord promised to heal and bind up their wounds. God is in the business of reviving and restoring.  God just wants Israel to acknowledge Him, press on in acknowledging Him, have faith He will appear and not love Him like the morning mist or early dew that disappears (paraphrased Hosea 6:3-4).

Amongst several minutes of struggling I also turned to Psalm 51:16, 17 “You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.  The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”

Then MacArthur said “Ritual without genuine repentance is useless.”

Then it clicked.

I am here because I grasp the enormity of the gift that is offered to me through Christ’s death.  I want nothing more than to live in a humble posture before the Lord, in complete submission with my life, my words and my actions in order that God’s glory be shown through my life and me as a vessel.

A life of repentance looks like this.  I’m standing, I have a huge rubber band strapped around my waist, connected to the world; connected to its lies, to my flesh that fights to cause me to sin.  Repentance is taking a step in the opposite direction of the world and toward God.  With each step, that rubber band gets tauter and threatens to drag me back toward the world, but walking with the Lord give me strength for each step.  Walking with Him, we already belong to Him, it’s just how tight am I willing the make that rubber band- repentance is a lifelong thing.  I slip sometimes, and that’s okay, but as followers, we will never snap back completely to the world, we can’t, the Holy Spirit acts as a wall, standing as a permanent barrier between us and who we used to be.  It’s recognizing when our feet are losing traction and realigning our eyes on our end goal.  As that band gets tighter, its pull toward the world becomes more and more noticeable, manifested through doubting God, looking to myself for control, becoming anxious when I look at the enormity of the task I have been faced with in Madagascar.   But the tauter the band gets, that means I am that much closer to the Lord than the world.  I know Him better than I know the world, I live in His presence instead of allowing the world’s voice to be louder.  It is that much more vital that my time with the Lord is set apart, that I pray with fervor and ask questions and remain in Scripture- all things the world influences me not to do. 

So I have recognized my feet threatening to slip, I have realigned my eyes not on my own feet, but the Lord.  I take heart in knowing the One who pilots me through places I don’t know how to navigate, and remain in a place of repentance before the Lord.  

The Lord timed a country briefing perfectly for last night, titled, "Living Internationally in Madagascar." Our speaker talked about living "incarnationally"; living in Madagascar as people who are doers and speakers of the Word, making the Word flesh.  She touched on the simplicity of what striving to love and be a part of this nation does for the people, and at the same time how our love, rooted in Christ is what speaks.  She specifically touched on the disadvantage of the "foray" type of evangelizing- a quick sudden attack of the gospel and expecting immediate transformation- exactly what I was believing I was supposed to be doing.

The Lord is speaking truth into this lie I have believed.  I have uttered it out loud to friends, so there has already been so much freedom.  But especially after our speaker last night, I feel settled. There are definitely times where a bold presentation of the gospel is warranted.  For me, living in Madagascar for 6 months, I want these people to learn I am their sister in Christ, not a foreigner come to fix them and leave.  Oh, the peace that surpasses all understanding.  I believe the Lord will do this.  His army is mobilizing and we are motivated.

A letter to Ifod and his mama and papa

A letter to Ifod and his Mama and Papa

I saw you in the line at screening.  I could tell you couldn't talk, your eyes wandered and your muscles were small and you didn't have control of them.  Your papa had you on his lap, fanning you in the hot sun.  You seemed uncomfortable, so I tried to help fan you with my paper as well.  The double teaming worked, you looked appeased.  I stroked your arm and asked your name.  I can only guess and mimic what your papa said.  I can call you Ifod, but I’ll rest in knowing your Father knows you perfectly by name.  Your eyes were wide, you furrowed your brow often.  Were you hungry? Did your belly hurt? Was it just too hot for your poor body lying against your papa?  I smiled at you, but you didn’t acknowledge me, I don’t know that you could.  And that’s okay, you didn’t have to. 

I left you in line not knowing I would see you again inside the gate, where our pre screened patients made it through.  Only, it was relayed that I wasn’t taking you to further screening, I was escorting you to our hospital chaplaincy for prayer.  We as Mercy Ships were unable to help you, but I’m thankful your mama and papa agreed to an opportunity to pray.

So as I met you and your family walking toward me, I asked your papa if I could carry you.  I wanted to give papa a rest.  I wanted his hands to be free not because you are the burden, but so that he could see his son in my arms and see someone else loving him that really didn’t know him at all.  I wanted to hold you because your papa deserved a pat on the back for the good job he has done.  He wanted to bring you to us to see if we could help you.  When we said “no,” he wanted to pursue what we DID have in abundance, which is prayer and love- and whether he knew it or not, this brings healing too.  I don’t know what kind of life you have lived, Ifod, but today you are interacting with people who love Jesus.  Your mama and papa deserve credit for bringing you here and walking further to receive prayer.  Ifod, that gives me hope to know your mama and papa have hope.  I can hold you during the minute walk it takes to meet with chaplaincy, and I can cuddle you and rub your back and tell you you are about to go talk to a God that loves you so much, and loves your mama and papa so much. 

But eventually, I do have to give you back.  I have to set you back down in your papa’s lap and leave you to pray.  But, Ifod, you’ve left something with me I don’t think I can forget.  You’ve left an impact that reminds me that all of this is too big for me.  I haven’t given you anything that will heal your frail little body.  I have no choice, but to give you over to our Father that knows and protects us in this life.  My prayer for you is that you have or will see and understand the Lord, Ifod; that He will reveal Himself to you in a very special way because you have parents that know Jesus and have not lost hope because we can’t fix you.  That gives me hope, Ifod, that I will get to meet you again someday where you will be able to acknowledge me.

Day crew and the local church

Day crew came and visited last Thursday for orientation on B ward. Our day crew is a group of Malagasy people, employed through Mercy Ships.  They are paid workers that are dispersed amongst several areas of the ship such as housekeeping, dining staff, chaplaincy, hospital wards as interpreters and extra helping hands…etc.  They will be our native help for the entire field service, so being able to start forming relationships and spending time with them was a treat.  We got to teach them, eat with them, spend time with them and learn from them; it was a joy to speak with each one.  One of our workers actually knows people who studied abroad from JMU (my alma mater) several years ago, and remembered their names!  Like, what?!  I was floored! This world is truly so small.

We asked each day crew to teach us something about Madagascar or their culture, or anything they wanted us to know about them.  So many wanted to stress the point that the Malagasy are kind and friendly; I have experienced that already and I've only been out in the community a handful of times.  I’m excited to see how they treat their fellow neighbors in the hospital. 

I am ready to love everybody.  I want to take them and all our patients as my own flock and have them know Jesus.  I have this vision of standing before them, but there is a rail separating us.  I’m trying to lean over the rail with arms stretched out as far as they can go, willing my arms to grow longer so I can touch those who are just out of reach.  I hope I stay excited about our day crew.  I cannot force my expectations, they are human too and have stories and struggles.  No matter what they contribute, they have already been loved by their Father and their is grace for their sins, just as there is grace for mine.  

We visited a local church this past weekend.  One of our hospital chaplaincy day crew recommended it and so, we went!  We encountered Jesus there.  The worship was nothing like the way we worship at my church in VA, but the Spirit was evident.  Children and adults were worshiping and dancing, just having a good ole time.  Some of the songs had English verses, so we could sing along to some of the music.  Someone sat behind us to translate the message, and from what I could glean, the pastor taught on the power of being a Christian and having the Spirit.  The first thing I wrote in my journal during that sermon was “These people believe they have power.”

One of the main roads in town

While I haven’t had many conversations with Malagasy Christians, I’m finding I have some preconceived notions I need to rebuke.  These people may be poor economically compared to what I come from, but their spirits aren’t poor.  They have excitement about Jesus.  Their spirits in Christ aren’t weak and lowly, they are active, and they come willing and expecting to meet Jesus.

During the service we had a time of praying with our neighbor, then one of the people with us from the ship shared a testimony on the power of forgiveness.  After this, they asked for the six of us members from Mercy Ships to come up to the front so THEY could pray for us!  As others bowed their heads, I kept my eyes open and watched some 50 Malagasy with outstretched arms, eyes closed, praying.  I could see the yearning in their faces. 

Some of the landscape we get to look at

I’ve had people pray over me before, but I’ve never had people pray over me in a different language and still feel the weight of the depth of their prayers.  I left that service with a deeper grasp of what we are doing here.  Mercy Ships is an answer to the Body of Christ’s prayers here in Toamasina.  We have come at the appointed time and that makes my responsibility here much more real.  I literally am a part of their answer.  I have been hand chosen by an omnipotent, sovereign God to walk in the works He has prepared in advance for me to do.  I realize I am a very small part in the Lord’s grand plan, but I can rest in knowing I’m where I’m supposed to be.  There are many other worldly questions and feelings that pop up, but God solidified, if He hadn’t done so already, this is His time, and we are all part of bringing His kingdom here.  I look forward to working and growing with the Church here.

Screening day

Screening for patients started Monday. HAPPY DAY, SO EXCITING!  Mercy Ships is doing screening a little different this year.  Instead of one massive screening day, they are seeing people every day for a month out in the community, and continually scheduling patients for the future surgeries we will do on the ship.

The hospital getting close to ready for patients!

Tuesday I got to participate on security team.  I had to put on my serious face at times and make sure people stayed in line or didn’t jump in and cut the 600 people that were already waiting.  I got to wear a neon orange vest and carry a radio and everything.

For preparation of screening day, I prayed through Romans 8, specifically the characteristics of the Holy Spirit and how how He empowers my life.  I prayed to desire the mind of the Spirit.  I am controlled by the Spirit because the Spirit lives in me.  The same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead dwells in me, and that’s pretty amazing power.  The Spirit helps me in my weakness and intercedes for me directly to the Father in groans words can't express.

What I experienced on screening day tested my foundation.  Praise Jesus my foundation is set firm in the Rock, because there were struggles I had no idea I'd encounter.

The amount of babies with hydrocephaly was alarming.  My heart breaks and weeps for them because of how capable we are in America to fix this, but here they are doomed to the fluid that accumulates in their head and is unable to drain.  And how the Lord must see them; so cherished, still so loved, still with a purpose, still knit together with the same care and tenderness that was poured into my being when it was just God looking after me in the dark quiet.

God knows we are here to help.  He sent us here knowing that, but He sure keeps us humble by showing us the work still left to do.  If we ever could have been prideful about how great Mercy Ships is, all I have to do is remember that poor baby who’s head was too heavy for her to lift, and her eyes that were puffy from excess fluid and pressure, and her poor high pitched cry.  There is nothing we can do for them, except pray and entrust them to the Father's capable hands.

I did have a sweet encounter with a girl in line who was developmentally delayed and had some muscle tone issues.  I saw her nails were painted so I showed her mine and pretended to paint her other nails with a piece of grass from the ground.  She was so entertained, and so was I.  Only I was entertained with her smile, her face and her joy.  I could have painted her nails for the rest of the day if I was allowed.

My heart tore for the 3 year old girl who was raped by her father and now suffers from chronic leaking and infections.  All we could do was take her phone number and hope the surgeon can do surgery on someone so young.

The only way to cope with the hate one feels after one of those stories is to remember God is a God of justice.  He avenges, and I can take my restless, bitter heart to abide in and with Him.  That’s the only way not to feel completely crushed by the enormity of the need here.  I don't want to completely remove the brokenness and weight of the burden, but I need to be empowered so that I can work and move and pray in the Spirit. I am so tempted to believe lies like “I don’t make a difference” or “people can’t be revived from darkness like this.”  But the truth of the matter is “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. Phil 4:13.” I have the Holy Spirit in me, who it was better for Jesus to leave so the Counselor and Helper could come reside in me.  Another truth: God redeems our lives from the pit and crowns us with love and compassion (Pslam 103).

Luckily the Malagasy people have the same access to the Father as I do.  Jesus is my peace, and He came so that those who were once far away, could be brought near.  He made the invitation open to everyone, not just the Jews.  These Malagasy people are just as capable of knowing the truth as I am.

I’m thankful I can pray big prayers to a big God.  His Spirit is in many of us on the ship and is powerful and mighty and capable of leaving people “gob-smacked” (thank you, Irishman, for teaching me that word).  I can pray for the Malagasy people to be citizens of God’s household; to be part of the building being erected to become a holy temple in the Lord, with Jesus as the foundation and built up with the apostles and disciples…and with confident hope- the Malagasy people as well.

We had a powerful time of reflection and prayer today before all the nurses started working.  One thing that lights up my heart here is how often we pray.  We pray before & after workout classes, we pray before meetings and nursing shifts, and for each other and we do prayer walks and prayer runs and read the Bible for hours and SO MUCH PRAYING! It's mind blowing.  The truth of the matter is this is really what life should look like.  In all honesty, I question how I could function at home without this much prayer.  I need prayer more and more everyday. It's such a blessing to have prayer sewn in to the culture of Mercy Ship.

The coffee lovers will commiserate with me

The last few days this week, I’ve woken up crabby.   Luckily my first instinct is to pray; run to Him in the chaos of my fleshly thoughts.  I was able to shake off my funk on Thursday, but waking up Friday, I was just out to make the world miserable- forgive me, but that was the state of my heart. 

I wanted to be miserable because they only served hard boiled eggs for breakfast and I was tired of not having any control over selecting my breakfast.  I was angry because the coffee just doesn’t taste good to me.  It tastes burnt and strong and the milk we use just doesn’t quite taste like half and half from home.  I decided to cop an attitude in my heart about cleaning today, and I ended up getting splashed in the eye with our cleaning solution.  I wasn’t being careful and was too close to people cleaning the ceiling (don’t worry, Mom, my eye is fine).  I decided to be crabby because Friday was waffle Friday and all I wanted was to drown my woes in a Nutella and raspberry filled waffle.  By the time we went on morning break, someone had bought a ton of waffles.  They were calling number 22, and when I went to purchase one, they were at card 71.  I was never going to get a waffle within our 30 minute break. 

My heart was ugly, I craved someone to pray for and with me, but I couldn’t find someone in that moment.  We were busy, it just wasn’t happening.

Then, God made me stop so He could show me His grace.

We were sitting down waiting for waffles when one of the long term nurses struck up a conversation with me.  I was partially not paying attention because I was also in my “pouty 2-year old” mentality still, emailing my mom about my woes.  This nurse kept talking to me though, we commiserated over the coffee situation, she understood where I was coming from.  Her and some other people normally shared French pressed coffee during break; they knew what they were doing. 

I was thrilled that she had learned how to bypass this coffee dilemma, but it still left me without a French press and good coffee.  At that, the nurse that bought a bunch of waffles came up to our table, seeing I didn’t have a card yet, she offered me a free waffle and my card number was 31!  I was going to get a waffle before everyone else.   And on top of that, Deb told me they sell French presses at the Shop Rite right outside the port.  And double on top of that, she offered me some ground coffee of hers to use when I did get a press.  Though I politely told her I had no problem buying some, I had a brand new bag of medium roast coffee sitting on my bed by the end of the day.

Boy, did I feel dumb and ashamed.

My “creature comforts” were taking first place in deciding my mood for the day and my true colors came out in the meantime.  I spent so much time wallowing in my pity, being bitter and searching for words to pray, that I forgot our Lord has an abundant supply of grace and I just needed to open myself to accept it.

I know there’s refining going on here, He’s making me pure as gold, without blemish.  He loves me too much to leave me where I was when I first left VA to come here.  He’s breaking me of my self reliance, my pride, my selfishness.  I need to learn how to let those things go, to be content with God first and foremost and to be content in plenty and in want.  

I spent time in Ephesians 2 today and studied how often the word “grace” was mentioned in verses 1-10.  It’s mentioned three times.  Firstly, it says “by grace you have been saved” this is because of God’s great love and richness in mercy when we were all dead in our sins.  He gave us life when He raised Christ from the dead.  Next, Paul mentions how we were raised up and seated with Christ in the heavenly realms in order that in the coming ages He might show the incomparable richness of His grace, expressed in His kindness to us in Christ.  And lastly, in verse 8 he mentions again ‘by grace you have been saved, through faith, and this not of yourself, it is a gift from God, not by works so no one can boast’ (summarized in my own words).

Grace was in this from the beginning and it follows us through our walks with Christ.  It isn’t a bonus I get now that I know Jesus.  Grace is the whole reason I can know a life-giving, life-saving Savior and be here serving on MS, processing these events.  His grace in my missing coffee and receiving a fresh bag of Starbucks is an example of His kindness expressed to me through Christ- as small a gift as it is, I love Him that much more for it.  His grace is necessary for as long as I am on this earth, I just need to humble myself to accept it.  My dependence needs to be on Him more than myself, and release the “cookie cutter” version of myself I want to display for everyone.

The other thing in this too is that there was nothing I could do to get myself out of my funk.  It was all God’s grace that changed my attitude.  His grace is quieting, it stills you, like a tight hug when you feel like your body is trying to go a thousand places at once. There’s definitely more to this lesson, but for now I’m enjoying the walk with my Lord.