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."

There is something about an elderly person that draws me. Someone whose eyes have seen the world, good and bad, and has a wisdom that comes from living. Someone whose skin testifies to the weight of time. Someone who seems her fragile shoulders cannot hold up against the weight of time, but somehow they always do.

This is Momma Claire. She is 94, and she has had a massive thyroid goiter for more than 20 years. It started out small, but just kept growing and growing. Her small frame bent over the weight of it. She came to the ship from far away to have it removed.

The night before surgery, we were sitting together in the ward, talking about the surgery and taking pictures so that when it was all over, there would be proof of the amazing change that had happened. Since there are communication barriers - my French only goes so far and continuously comes out in Spanish first - we did a lot of hand gestures and facial expressions. When taking the photos, Momma Claire was so serious. I mean, I guess if I had a massive growth on my neck, I would be serious about it too. But the staff and I - we decided to make it fun. We started making crazy faces. Momma Claire decided to show her spunky side and showed us how it was done. We spent the night before her surgery laughing until the tears rolled down.

The surgery went well. Momma Claire ended up staying the first night in ICU, as the goiter had completely surrounded the trachea and there was question about her airway. After that, she returned to the ward and was her spunky little self. Even with two drains in and a large neck bandage, she would always grin mischievously from her bed. She loved to go to ward church, where all the patients gathered on Sunday mornings to worship. As I wheeled her down the corridor in a wheelchair and sat holding her hand in church and raising our arms in worship together to a God who has great plans for His people, my heart was so full.

Claire has gone home twenty pounds lighter, with little more than a scar to prove what had happened to her. And that scar is a beautiful thing. It reminds her of what she used to have, of her deformity and her body's own rebellion against her, and most importantly, of how the Lord provided a way for her to be healed. That scar is a reminder, a tattoo of the faithfulness of the Lord. It means she lived. It means hope.

I hope you are encouraged by what God is doing around the world. 

     Meet one of my very special patients, this brave girl - Ravette.

Ravette was born bow legged. On top of that, she has sickle cell. She came to Mercy Ships sick and needed a lot of care before she was even eligible for surgery. She has never been able to walk normally, play or run like a kid should. Her surgery went well - her bones cut and realigned, having to wear casts for more than two months. This girl - she faced it all with bravery and more than that, with joy. 

She is the best patient anyone could ask for. When you went to draw blood from her, she willingly gave you her arm – only after she did a little dance. Her smile was still in place. Even when you checked on her and she was clearly in pain or uncomfortable, she would smile. And not just any smile – a brilliant, all-teeth, light up the eyes type of smile. She would flash a thumbs-up. Whenever there was any hint of music, this girl would be dancing. Getting down. Her hysterical giggles could be heard at any moment in the ward. She was such a joy to care for.

Ravette is now staying at the Hope Center, a center that we have set up for the patients who no longer need acute medical care after surgery, but still require dressing changes and follow ups frequently enough that they cannot go home.  When I last saw her, it was precious and heart wrenching at the same time seeing her learning to walk, hesitant to bend her knees and taking baby steps. She had spent her whole life walking one way and now, she is learning all over again.

Just like us - when our eyes are opened and we see we have been walking the wrong way. God gives us the grace to be able to walk uprightly, to start out taking baby steps and learn to bend the knee so we can bow the knee before Him.

  

Just recently, Ravette got one of her casts off! She is on the road to a changed life! Sometimes I sit in the middle of the ward, quiet amidst the chaos of twenty patients and caregivers in one room, and look around at the lives being changed right in front of my eyes. I am privileged to be a part of this, of visibly seeing how God changes the outside of a person and imagining the same transformation on the inside of a person, transformed by the grace and love of Jesus. 

I have learned from Ravette - about joy and how to relearn to walk uprightly. I will never forget her face.

More than two weeks on board! I would imagine most of you are wondering about what I came here to do: chatting about Jesus and taking care of patients! I will confess it is very difficult to write down everything…so much is new and overwhelming. Throughout my time here, I will try my best to paint a full picture of what it is like. So please feel free to ask questions about anything you want to know. This is dear to my heart!

The hospital on board has three surgical wards, an ICU, an isolation unit and an overflow unit. There is a lab, pharmacy, occupational and physical therapy and four operating theatres. Each ward consists of 20 beds.  There is not much privacy for patients. The beds are all side by side, with just enough room to squeeze in between. Caregivers that come with the patient sleep under the patient’s bed. It works, especially because the culture is such one of community. I sleep on the same deck level as the hospital – so it is great not to have to brave the weather or traffic to get to work. I have gotten really good at rolling out of bed and getting ready in ten minutes. Since I can only take a two minute shower, this works.

There are a couple doctors that are on staff with Mercy Ships long term and then there are surgeons that come for shorter time periods, so whatever the type of surgeon dictates the types of surgeries that are done. In the fall, it was orthopedic surgeries and plastics. Currently, we are just finishing general surgeries (hernia repairs, thyroidectomies, lipoma removals)….sorry non-medical friends, lots of medical jargon. Plastic surgeries just started last week again. In the future, I will post about certain patients and their stories. However, I am not allowed to take my own pictures of patients to be considerate of their privacy. I know you all want to see more pictures, but I know you will also understand the respect for patient dignity.

Nursing on the Africa Mercy is amazing! When I thought about being a nurse, this is what I had pictured. At home, a typical day lasts for about 13-14 hours. I spend my day running from patient to patient, never sitting. Charting takes up most of my day, so much so that I cannot spend the time with the patient that I want to. Very seldom do I have an actual real conversation with my patients lasting more than five minutes, despite how hard I try. I don’t ever really know their story or who they are. I may hold their hand, reassure them and educate them. But I want to be a nurse who has the time to see the whole person for who they are, not just what I have to do for them on a checklist throughout the day. Politics are so much a part of the nursing job back home. I get yelled at, disrespected and taken advantage of. I get complaints about too much food on dinner trays, hard beds and service that is too slow. Coworkers are sometimes burnt out, frustrated or frazzled with their workload. I am thankful for the teamwork that I have with my coworkers at home, but normally everyone has their own list of things to do.

Nursing here is so much more relational. I start and end my shift with corporate prayer. I pray with my patients before surgery. I pray with them when they are having a hard moment and the pain is too great. I get to hold an elderly lady’s hand when she comes back from theatre. I get to dance with my kid patients and learn French and use silly sign language to communicate. I draw and cut and make bracelets with the older girls. I go outside and run with the kids for an hour a day. I have played so many games of Jenga and am a pro at it now.  I hold a baby on one hip and give pills with the other. My required documentation is less than ¼ of what it is at home. I have time to breathe and to develop a real relationship with my patients. I can talk about Jesus and read bible stories. I can be a real nurse like I always wanted!

I have met some pretty spectacular patients in my short time here. They have stories of hurt and heartache, discouragement and ridicule. They have been ostracized from society. Because of the surgeries they have on board, their lives are being transformed and you can see the hope in their eyes. And best of all – each and every patient hears about Jesus! In future posts, I will introduce you to some of these patients.

Thank you all for journeying with me to the Congo! 

Yesterday a group of us went hiking. Down a gorge, into the basin, through the jungle and into the savannah. As I was walking and sweating and sweating some more in the heat of the equator, there was a glorious moment when the ocean appeared and a breeze picked up and the end was in sight. I ended the hike by sitting by the ocean shore.

As I looked out into the vastness, doubts begin to arise and questions surface. Yet  I was reminded by the crashing of the waves that Jesus walked on the waves. That He calls us out of our boats to walk out on the water, not alone. With Him. Jesus is the only reason I can do what I do. My heart does not have the capacity to love people unless He enables it. My will does not submit unless He disciplines it. My fears do not disappear unless He takes them.

As I prepare to take care of patients, may they see Jesus and not me.

Oceans

Hillsong

You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown where feet may fail
And there I find You in the mystery
In oceans deep
My faith will stand

And I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

Your grace abounds in deepest waters
Your sovereign hand
Will be my guide
Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me
You've never failed and You won't start now

So I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior

Fifteen years ago, like most girls in their preteen years, I loved to read books about changed lives and adventures and traveling – hoping that I would one day change the world like my favorite characters. I came across a fictional book about a girl who embarked on a mission trip to Africa upon a (non-fictional) ship. This ship was a hospital that treated patients for free, regardless of age or race or religion, basing their model of care on the 2000 year old example of Jesus. From that point on, I vowed to one day volunteer on the ship. The next fifteen years of my life, through high school and college, I had always remembered Mercy Ships. This summer, after evaluating my life, I applied and will be serving on the Africa Mercy until May!

After 37 hours of traveling – I have arrived in the Congo! Traveling from home where it is freezing cold, I stepped out into the 90 degree heat and just about suffocated while carrying all of my bags. The Congo reminds me much of Uganda, so I felt right at home. The people are very friendly, especially when they see the Mercy Ships logo.

The ship is a beacon of hope to the people here. Pulling up to the ship was amazing – it looms massive in the water. It is so much larger than I thought. The pictures do not do it justice. Everything is very organized here – much different than any other medical mission trip I have ever gone on. I don’t start work until Monday, so I am enjoying meeting people, finding my way around the eight levels and decks, as well as getting out to see the city.

As I sit on the deck and watch the ships come in, listening to the waves, I cannot believe God is allowing my dreams to come true. As I sit back at look at my life, I am in awe of the grace God has shown me. I have been blessed to go on many adventures, share the gospel with people all over the globe and see some of my most cherished dreams coming true.

I am looking forward to orientation in the hospital on Monday! There are not many patients right now, as the ship slowed down for the holidays, but this coming week is supposed to be buzzing with new surgeries. Bring on the patients!!!

The ship!

My very small space:)