My time here in Congo is almost done. The last four months have flown by, and I am preparing to return home. I have been working on several blog posts, but honestly just don’t know what to say.

I have no eloquent words today. It is the Easter season. A time to remember the sacrifice of Jesus, who gave up His own life so that I might live, that humanity might find redemption and choose life everlasting. As I think back on the Easter story – I see Judas. A man tempted by greed and not understanding the cosmic significance of his actions. How he traded Jesus for 30 pieces of silver.

And then I think how many times I have done it for free. How many times I have ignored, cheated, defied, betrayed, maligned or just plain forgot about Jesus.

And in the face of all of that – He still looks on me with love. What GRACE.

Without Him, I am nothing. Seriously. People think I do these really great things and go far away to dangerous places and must have such faith. But I don’t. I am just an ordinary person who God has called and made it possible to follow one of His greatest commandments – the Great Commission. I get cranky and mad, I do things I should not, I doubt and don’t always understand why things happen like they do. I am selfish and like things my way. I have days that I just don’t care or get too tired to do it again another day. I am weak….and in that, there is room for Jesus to be strong.

I come home from a trip to Africa or Haiti or somewhere in the world that is not a vacation spot. People always ask me “How was it?” and “Doesn't it make you so grateful?” Yes. And no. Gratitude is not a passive response in the face of suffering or poverty or disease. Gratitude is not an adjective that comes when I have seen something hard to face, experienced things I cannot put into words – making me feel better about what I have. I think I use it as a shield to keep me from feeling the inconveniencing responsibility that I now have. Gratitude should be an action that comes from asking “Because I am grateful, what am I doing to change my world?” Wherever I am.

Today I found out that a little one, Sebastian, from the baby home Mercy Ships visits weekly has died. Died from malnutrition, dehydration and some viral sickness probably. No one really knows. Maybe also from a lack of love, of attention, of cuddles and laughter and interaction that should have been his. A little boy- slipped quietly from this life.

A couple weeks ago, I rested my hand on this little guy’s head. He was just sitting, looking at the white people who came to visit. Sitting in corner. I brought him over and he just sat quietly and rested his head on my legs. So sweet. I never thought he would be gone from this world such a short time later.

Even though my heart is broken,  I am grateful. Grateful to have met him and others like him. Grateful to the point that I know I will spend the rest of my life fighting for children to be loved, people to be valued, Jesus to be glorified in the nations. It is not and cannot only be an emotion I feel when I remember, but a life action that colors my choices and future.

May we all find something in our lives today to be grateful for – and because of that to take action and do something to change our worlds.

Thank You, Jesus, for Your sacrifice. Thank You that You hold little Sebastian in Your loving arms, where he is safe and surrounded by all the love he needs.

Scars are viewed as ugly reminders of an event that is best left unspoken. They come with a trail of memories, painful and negative. Society says cover them up, do whatever needs to be done to hide them. We feel ugly and ashamed if our scars show.

This is Benjamine. She has massive scars covering the upper part of her body. Her house caught fire when she was young, and she was left with contractures that made it impossible for her to close her mouth or tilt her head backwards. Her armpits and elbows were also contracted, making bending or writing impossible. In her short fourteen years of life, she has endured more than most of us ever will.

Benjamine arrived a week after I did, at the beginning of January. In one day, she had a massive surgery with burn contracture releases on both arms, axillas and neck areas. She had several graft and donor sites, meaning she was bandaged at the neck, both arms and both legs. She had an IV in both feet. And she had splints on both arms, not allowing her arms to bend, meaning her arms stuck straight out for a good couple weeks. She was on a morphine and a ketamine drip, requiring a lot of pain medicine to keep her comfortable. This type of surgery back home would be done in stages, but because of time constraints, it had to be done all at once for it to heal by the time Mercy Ships leaves this country.

Over the span of two and a half months, this girl endured raw pain, uncontrollable at times. She endured so many dressing changes and daily physiotherapy to regain function of her extremities. She endured several setbacks with infections and some of her skin grafts not taking, meaning she had to go back for surgeries. She endured wearing splints that kept her arms up all the time, slings and braces. She endured the lovely nutrition drinks that she received twice a day that tasted like sweet syrupy grossness. She endured days of weariness and despair, thinking she would never be well. She persevered through endless days that she was forced to be vulnerable and in pain.

I remember one night when she was found to have lice. She was lying in bed, staring up at us with wide frightened eyes as we prepared to wash her hair. She screamed and cried as we moved her head and started to wash. Not only was the movement painful, she was scared. She kept saying something over and over, and it was translated to us that she thought we were going to shave her head. And that she wanted to die. Tears escaped from the corners of my eyes as I held her head and softly rubbed in the shampoo, praying softly under my breath for this insanely courageous girl. Eventually she fell asleep as we finished washing her beautiful black hair. As I gazed into her face that night, her tangible bravery in the face of so many challenges touched my heart.

Each day I came in to work, she would smile sweetly at me from her corner bed. It was a miracle to watch her go from being bedridden and wracked with pain to a spunky, cheeky girl who likes to refuse her medications, sleep until noon, watch movies and do crafts with us.

Benjamine left us two days ago. She was discharged to the Hope Center, but she still comes in for dressing changes and physiotherapy appointments, but is no longer a part of our ward.

For Benjamine, her scars will always show.

 SCARS

On the girl’s brown legs there were many small white scars.

I was thinking, ‘Do those scars cover the whole of you,

Like the stars and moon on your dress?’

I thought that would be pretty too,

And I ask you right here to please to agree with me

That a scar is never ugly.

That is what the scar makers want us to think.

But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them.

We must all see scars as beauty.

This will be our secret.

Because a scar does not form on the dying.

A scar means ‘I survived.’

-          Chris Cleave, Little Bee

Her deepest scars did not come from burns – but from discouragement, despair and hopelessness. I am so thankful that Jesus’ healing is not just skin deep. Benjamine left here knowing she is loved – by the King of Kings and by His people. She is blossoming into a confident young lady who knows that her scars are not ugly. They mean she survived. 

Here on the Africa Mercy, goodbyes are almost a daily occurrence. The past couple of weeks have been particularly full of goodbyes, hard ones that have left me feeling melancholy.

Last week was the end of plastic surgeries on board in the Congo. Dr. Tertius, our plastic surgeon, has departed and most of the patients have been discharged to either the Hope Center or home. There are only about ten plastics patients remaining in the hospital. Some of our plastics patients have stayed with us for a couple months, meaning we get to know them better and form deeper relationships with them.

The Plastics Team

Their lives are changed forever – but they still have a lot of work ahead of them. They will have many follow up appointments, lots of physical and occupational therapy and will need a lot of determination to have the best outcomes from their surgeries. While I may have only played a small part on their lives and chances are they will not even remember me – I will always remember them.

Also last week some of my closest friends have left the ship, headed for either more travel adventures or headed for home. It is such a sweet community here on board – you meet so many others with similar passions and goals, similar life expectations and stories, similar love for God and His people all around the world. You live in close community (sometimes too close)- working and eating and doing everyday life with these people who you quickly form lifelong bonds with.  This is so precious, but makes the saying goodbye part even harder. For we are spread out all over the world – and who knows when or if we will see each other again.

I am so thankful for my myriad of friends all over the world. It means I have friends who are diverse and different, who challenge me in my thinking and way of life, who are going to the ends of the earth to share the gospel or who are going back home, when it is sometimes the hardest thing to do when you have changed but nothing else has.

God has been teaching me over the past few years that goodbyes are just opportunities for hellos. Sometimes with the same people, more often with new people He is bringing into my life. Hellos are a chance for me to be real, to share myself and hopefully be a blessing to others. And most often, instead of goodbye, we say here in Africa, “See you!” – leaving hope for the next encounter.

"Don’t cry because it is over; smile because it happened."