Running the race

It all started back in high school. I had never been much of a runner until my sophomore year when I joined track and feild. To be honest, it was a sport I joined simply because my friends wanted to do it and encouraged me to come along. Positive peer pressure I suppose...But, I grew to love running....getting out, finding some release after a stressful day, enjoying the wind on my face and just feeling free.

I often enjoyed a good run from time to time in Africa. A little over a month ago, I decided to start training for a half-marathon that I wanted to run in Arizona after I got home. Akbar, another crewmember who is also a distance runner decided to start coming along with me. I thought it would be good to run some longer distances while I was still in Guinea, so we started running 10K's every week and a few shorter runs in-between.

Running in Africa has proven to be quite a different from home. The air is not always so clean and fresh, but it is always guaranteed to be an interesting and often entertaining experience. You never really know what you're going to see, but there's always a wide variety of sights along the way...all you have to do is keep your eyes open and take it in. Along the road, I pass by a little girl of no more than seven years old bathing her baby brother in a bucket. His little black body is covered in soap suds as she scrubs away the dust of the day. The baby sits in the bucket unwillingly and cries, as she tries to calm him and finish his bath. After that, I see a group of boys playing soccer in the street, a very common sight in the evenings. Occasionally the boys kick the ball to me and I join their game for a few minutes before continuing along on my run. A little further down, a woman is selling fruit on the side of the road. "Di courage," (Have courage) the woman cheers as I pass by. I may not have music with me (We've been discouraged from running with Ipods because of the risk of theft), but I enjoy the sound of a man playing a drum as I run by. We turn the corner and a group of little children are excitedly chanting "Fote, fote, fote" (white person) as they wave their little hands frantically to catch my eye. I wave back and call out "Sava" (How are you). They giggle excitedly that the white girl has greeted them and their little faces light up with pearly white smiles against their ebony skin. With all of the people cheering us on along the way, it sort of does feel like we're running a race.

As we run along the path, we often have to dodge goats, chickens, or an occasional hole in the sidewalk. Along our normal route is a funeral home, so we occasionally see a ceremony taking place. A little farther down the road, we pass by the cemetary. It is always good to be reminded of the brevity of life. We turn the corner and pass by the slums near the sea and I am struck once again by the trash, the filth, and the utter poverty. I am reminded of how incredibly blessed I am and send up a prayer for those who are not as fortunate as myself. The next stretch is marked by the fishing boats and the little shops that surround the port. Occasionally, we pass by the boats at just the right time to watch the sun setting over the water.

The last week before I left Guinea, Akbar and I headed out for our last 10K. I was feeling extra excited and energetic that day and decided we should run a bit farther than normal...it was probably only one kilometer more than usual, but I wanted to go all out. As we finished the last stretch before the port, I began to sprint. "Well done Becca," Akbar remarked as we finished and headed back to the ship.

I am home now and things are a little bit different. I still go running several times a week, but there are no goats, no flying soccer balls, and no small African children waving to me as I pass by. I can wear my Ipod and play my music now, which I enjoy, but I still miss the sound of the beating drums when I come around the corner. I decided to a run a different half-marathon than I originally planned so that I can run with a friend, so now my race is not until March. Knowing that brings a sigh of relief because now I have plenty of time to train!

While I enjoy running, I have no expectation of getting any sort of recognition or prize in the Phoenix Half-Marathon. But, while I still want to train and prepare for my half-marathon, I am reminded of a greater race that I am already running and will continue to run until the day I die. And as I press on, I think I can hear the saints up in heaven cheering me on...

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us RUN with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God." ~Hebrews 12:1-2

God has me running this race called the Christian walk. Some days are harder than others. There are times when I am injured and I want to give up. There are times when my "muscles" are sore and I feel weary and tired, unable to go another step. But, through it all, I see Jesus, my Saviour, cheering me on at the finish line...and I pray that when I cross it, I will be sprinting toward Him! I long to hear Him speak those precious words "Well done" when it's all finished!

 

"Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it." ~1 Corinthians 9:24

Joy comes in the morning

It's amazing how God's timing is always so perfect. I think that God knew our hearts were heavy after a hard week of disappointing biopsy results, cancer diagnoses, and lots of tears. So, the day after we sent Betty and another patient with cancer back to Sierra Leone, all of us in outpatients needed a little something to lift our spirits. So, we were all filled with joy when we saw a patient named Mr. T come in for his first post-op appointment that day!

This wasn't our first interaction with Mr. T. He had started to visit our outpatient tent over a month beforehand for a dressing change to the new wound from the site where the biopsy had been done. The first time that Mr. T had come in for an appointment after his biopsy, I looked into his eyes and saw the deep shame and sadness that he carried. Like so many other patients who have large facial tumors, he came to us filled with a mixture of hope, fear, shame, and nervousness over what his final outcome would be. I didn't know if we would be able to help him and a bit of the sadness I saw in him filled my own heart. We prayed that he would be able to have the surgery, but hope was looking pretty bleak. The tumor was enormous and very vascular, which could present increased risks, even if the biopsy showed that it was a benign tumor. At this point, we couldn't do much more than wait and pray. He continued to visit us regularly for his dressing changes and consultations with the dietician. He began to take supplements that would help him grow and gain as much weight as possible, as his tumor had made it impossible for him to chew solid food, leaving him very thin.

Over the weeks that Mr. T came in for his dressing changes, I learned more of his story and got to know him and his sweet mother. He was 38 years old and had formerly played on a professional football team, just one level below the National Guinea team. He had been a strong, healthy guy with a bright future. But when the tumor started to grown inside his cheek, the rest of his body began to weaken and deteriorate. It was hard to picture such a scrawny man as a strong athlete. I tried to imagine what it must've been like for this man to go from fame and success to being an outcast who tried to hide behind the cloth that continually covered his face. The tumor had been growing for the last five years and had completely overtaken his face and his life.

When Mr. T heard that a hospital ship was coming to Sierra Leone in 2011, he desperately wanted to come for any help he could get. However, he didn't have the money to travel over from Guinea and had to keep waiting. But, when he found out that Mercy Ships was coming to Guinea, he made sure to be present for the big screening held at the People's Palace. "I remember you from screening," he told me. "You do," I asked surprised. He went on to describe where I was when I greeted him as I was walking to my station at screening. To be honest, I don't actually remember meeting him. I had just said "hello" as we passed each other. But, somehow it stuck with him and now we were more than acquainatances. We were friends.
The weeks passed as Mr. T came in for his dressing changes and nutritional supplements. Finally, the waiting came to an end and his biopsy results came back and the surgeon was able to further assess his situation. His biopsy showed that his tumor was benign and after a closer evaluation of what would be involved in the surgery, our amazing maxillo-facial surgeon agreed to perform the surgery! Mr. T's big day came and everything went well. The surgery itself took more than six hours and the end result was the removal of the entire tumor- all two kilograms of it!

Checking out the new incision



I made several visits to see Mr. T on the ward after his tumor had been removed.In spite of all the tubes and bandages, he was full of joy and gratitude. I went to see him again after the bandage had been taken off and I could hardly believe my eyes! He looked like a brand new man! His incision looked perfect and the tumor was completely gone! He and his mother were both smiling and all of us could hardly contain our joy as we celebrated with him!

Mr. T getting stronger on the ward



So, hearing Mr. T's incredible story, it is obvious why the sight of this man stepping into our tent for the first time after surgery brought so much joy to our hearts on the day we needed it most! Since that day, Mr. T has been visiting us regularly to check his wounds. He is healing well and the swelling in his face where the tumor used to be continues to decrease every day! Every time he comes in, he always thanks me over and over again for all we have done to help him. I remind him that it is a privilege for us to be able to be part of this transformation and the we do it becasue of God's love.

Down in the Outpatients tent, we frequently get calls from the wards asking us to bring Mr. T down for a visit. He captured the heart of everyone he met during his time in the hospital and the nurses there miss him. Every time I escort him from our tent on the dock to the wards on the ship, I tell him "You are so popular and you have so many friends!" " Yes, I have so many friends here," he responds. And it's true. He really does. I am grateful to be one of those friends. There isn't one day that passes that his smile doesn't bring joy to my heart and a smile to my own face. He is no longer hiding behind a cloth. He is smiling and proud. And he was our reminder that even though we can't help everyone, the ones we can help will leave forever changed...and they might even leave a mark on our hearts that will change us too!

"Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning" ~Psalm 30:5

He wipes away the tears

The first time I saw her, my heart sank at the sight of the tumor. Betty had come from Sierra Leone in hopes that we could remove the tumor on her chin that had already grown from the size of an orange to a grapefruit in only a few months. As I began to remove the bandage for the first time, I tried not to react in horror at the sight and smell of a tumor unlike any I had ever seen before. I could see her gazing deeply into my eyes, searching for a response, trying to find reassurance that everything would be ok. I looked past the tumor and into her eyes and smiled, trying to forget the nausea I was feeling over the smell. I practiced the small bit of Krio that I remembered from Sierra Leone and began to form a bond with this amazing woman and the sweet sister who had brought her to us.

Weeks passed and Betty and her sister Safiatou came every day without fail to see us in outpatients. It didn't take long for every person in our department to fall in love with Betty. Although she was timid and ashamed during the first few dressing changes, we soon grew to know and love the real Betty that was hiding behind the massive ugly tumor and the shame that came with it. Betty latched onto me quickly and became very comfortable with me changing her bandages. We had a lot of fun on her visits, as I would play my African music from Sierra Leone, dance around and attempt to speak Krio. It made my heart so happy to see her smile and watch her sister laugh, even if that meant I had to dance around to the lyrics that I could barely remember. Betty and Safi grew to be more than "patient" and "caregiver"...they became our dear friends. The hope still lit up their eyes as they prayed and hoped that we would remove the tumor and be able to celebrate the new Betty together. I pictured what Betty would look like after she had her surgery. I prayed that her biopsy results would come back negative and that we would be able to do the surgery soon.

But the tumor began to grow rapidly and along with that, the fears of all of us began to rise. From one week to the next, the number of supplies that I needed for each dressing change was mulitplying quickly. Betty and her sister noticed it too and the look of hope in their eyes began to diminish. Biopsy results can take up to four weeks to come back here and the waiting time felt like an eternity. The agony of the waiting was almost as hard for all of the nurses as it was for Betty and her sister. But seeing how fast it was growing, I began to prepare myself for the worst. Betty was losing hope as well. We began talking about her three children one day and she fought hard to hold back the tears. Her husband had died two years beforehand and her youngest child was only five years old. "Please God, don't let her die," I begged silently. What would her children do without their beloved mother? Her youngest was so little that she would probably only retain a few faint memories of her mother if she died. I could tell that Betty was thinking about her children. Her tears began to roll down her cheeks and I did my best to hold back my own as they welled up in my eyes. I had to step out of the room before I broke down. "Please God, I know you can heal. Don't let Betty die."

A few days later, our team leader came back with a stack of new pathology results.  "Betty's results are back and it's not good," she told me sadly. I started blankly at the piece of paper in front of me and read the awful word "adenocarcinoma." Her tumor was cancerous and they would not be able to operate. Betty had already left for the day and we were heading injto the weekend, so we wouldn't be able to tell her until Monday when our hospital chaplaincy team could meet with her. I swallowed the lump in my throat and said a silent prayer for God to prepare Betty's heart for the news that would follow.

Monday came and there was a sadness in the air. We told our translators the news that morning and they were struck with grief over this woman that we had prayed for together for God to heal. The moment Betty stepped in the door for her dressing change, I think she knew something was wrong. We all tried to smile, but the translators didn't want to come near to Betty because it was just too hard for them to face her and hide their own emotions. After her dressing change had been done, she and her sister went inside to meet with Clementine, our hospital chaplain. They were inside for a very long time and when they came back out, I was inside for an appointment and didn't get to see them before they got into the shuttle to go back to the Hope Center where they were staying. I was disappointed I had missed them and couldn't hug them and wipe their tears, but said a prayer for them and saved my hugs for the next day.

Betty and Safi walked into Outpatients the following day, heads hung low and sadness in their eyes. There were few words to say, just hugs to give. I began preparing the supplies for Betty's dressing change and Safiatou broke down in tears. I sat down next to her and put my arm around her and we cried together. I know that it's important to hold everything together at times as a nurse, but in that moment, I just needed to be a friend and share her tears. The tears I had been holding back began to pour out and we sat and cried together. I told her I was so sorry for the bad news and that I knew how scary it was to face losing a family member, that it was ok to cry, and that we loved them both. After a few minutes, I hugged her again and encouraged her to be strong for her sister. She wiped her tears and we began to do Betty's dressing change together. I wanted to give them a little more time to just process everything, but I had already been asked to begin the teaching process with Safiatou so that she and Betty would be ready to go back to Sierra Leone a few days later. As I explained what Safi needed to do, she mustered all the strength that she had and focused intently on performing Betty's dressing change as best as she could. She did a great job and I told that that we were now going to call her "Dr. Safiatou" and she responded with half a smile. We shared more hugs and the two of them headed back to the Hope Center.

The following day, we finished all of the teaching with Safiatou and Betty, gave them the huge box of supplies that they would use for the dressing changes at home, and gathered around them to say one last prayer. When I opened my eyes, Betty's tears were rolling down her cheeks. I brushed a tear away and thought of God's promise to wipe away all of our tears in heaven. I don't know when Betty will go home to be with Jesus, but I know she'll be in His arms soon. And when she gets there, she won't have an ugly tumor on her chin anymore....just a beautiful smile on her face and a heart full of joy...because when she enters into heaven with Jesus, she will experience the ultimate healing of the wholeness of His love.

Betty and Safiatou with our outpatients team



I often find myself overwhelmed by the suffering and pain I see around me in Africa. I ask God why he allows the pain, the suffering, and poverty. My heart aches over knowing that a woman like Betty would have a good chance at life if she had been diagnosed in my own country instead of a poverty-striken West African country where the resources of chemotherapy and radiation are not readily available. I question why God doesn't miraculously heal her for the sake of her three little children and her loving sister. But, the truth is, no matter how many times I ask why, I know that I will never fully understand until I get to heaven. Maybe God's plan of healing is not for Betty's tumor to be removed, but for the full healing and restoration of entering into heaven with Him, a place where no suffering and disease can exist. Even though I may not understand, I cling to the truth that God is good and that He does what is best for His children. So, I leave Betty in His hands and rest in knowing that she is headed to a better place.

The truth is, we live in a broken world, tainted by sin and evil. The truth is, people still die every day from treatable diseases all over the world. The truth is, life isn't always fair and even if I volunteer in Africa for the rest of my life, I won't be able to save everyone. The truth is, I don't have all the answers and I can't carry all the burdens I encounter. If I try to, I will be crushed under the weight of it all and unable to move forward and make a difference in the lives of those who I can help. So I have been reminded this week by the One who called me here that I can give my burdens to Him and allow Him to carry them for me. He is the only One who is strong enough to carry them anyway.

I'm not sure what God's purpose was in bringing Betty to us, but I am grateful to have known such a beautiful, strong, amazing woman. Even though she couldn't have her surgery, I know that the last month spent with her was not wasted. I feel privileged to have been given the opportunity to walk with her through a difficult part of her journey, to love her, and to help her experience a deeper emotional healing through the love of Christ. I look forward to the day that I see her in heaven and we can dance together in the presence of our loving Saviour.

I hold onto this hope and the promise that He brings

There will be a place with no more suffering

There will be a day with no more tears, no more pain, and no more fears

There will be a day when the burdens of this place will be no more

We'll see Jesus face to face

But until that day, we'll hold onto You always

~Jeremy Camp~

Defining "normal"

I have a friend here on the ship who regularly reminds me: "There is nothing normal about living on a ship in Africa." But, it seems that the longer I am here, the more I feel at home and everything just feels normal to me. I often forget that this is not the life that the average Westerner lives. The uniqueness of it all doesn't usually hit me until a new crew member arrives who I get to take into town for the first time.  A friend from home recently arrived on the ship and I had the privilege of taking her out into Conakry and showing her around the city. It was the first time she had been in Africa in five years and I was excited to be there with her to take in a fresh perspective on this place I call "home."

There is something very unique about seeing a familiar place through a new set of eyes. Let's be honest, when compared to life in the States, there is something abnormal about a place where:

-A man is walking his goat (rather than dog) on a rope down the street

-You can take a break from jogging for a few minutes to play soccer with a random group of kids in the middle of the street

-There are beaches and restaurants in every other city named after Obama

-There are so many people crammed into a taxi that everyone is sitting on someone else's lap

-The load on top of the car exceeds the load inside

-It's an average day when you see men peeing on the side of the road

-Most people drink water out of a bag instead of a cup

-It is not uncommon to see chickens or goats strapped to the roof of a taxi or bus

-The most valuable bills in the currency are worth so little that it is not uncommon to be given a wooden box for your dinner bill

-Your weekend at the beach requires a boat trip to an island

-Your "neighbors" are French marines who offer you a tour of their ship an hour before they sail away

-When you look out the window of your home, you see boats, not cars passing by

-It is not uncommon to find out that your patient (or one of your best friends for that matter) has malaria...but not to worry, it is a common problem here and there is medication to treat it

-You are regularly met by strangers in the street asking you to help them with their medical or dental problems

-The president of the country you live in comes to your home (ie: the ship) simply because he is in the area and appreciates the work of your organziation

-Meeting random children on your hike to a waterfall and feeding their pet monkey a banana

-You run into patients you have cared for when you are walking around town or driving through the city

-You live and work with people from 35 different countries

-The air is considered clear when it doesn't smell like exhaust or sewage

-You can hear African worship music from your "living room" coming from the deck below you

So, I have to admit that I sometimes forget that my life is very different than the average Westerner's back home. While I may not be living "The American Dream" with a stable job, house, marriage and 2.5 children (I still don't understand what it means to have half a child),  I feel so privileged to be here and am thankful that God has not called me to the norm...This is the life He has chosen for me and normal or not, I am experiencing the "abundant life" because I know He has me right where He wants me to be.

Touring the French naval ship  



 

 The little monkey was happy I had an extra banana for him

 

 

Common sight on the road

 

 

Boat ride to the island

 

 

 

Baby Aisata

Today was a very exciting day, as it marked the first day of surgery for the patients of Guinea. Although I am technically an "outpatient nurse," I had the privilege of helping out on the ward to train the new nurses who have not worked on the ship before.

Amidst the chaos of the new nurses training and morning rounds with the doctors, one momma was tucked away in the corner with her crying baby girl. I walked over and tried to help her momma calm her down. I pulled out some toys and distracted her for a bit, but her hungry tummy started rumbling again and the crying started back up. She was the first patient on the list for surgery and hadn't eaten for several hours (for anesthesia purposes), so she was not so easy to console. A few minutes later, we got a call from the operating room to take Bed D15 down for her clept lip surgery. I showed the nurse in training where to go and we escorted the baby and her momma down to the OR entrance. As we got her chart ready, I looked down at the name and suddenly realized I knew this patient! I turned to her momma and asked "Did I meet you at screening?" She nodded excitedly and I realized why they had looked so familiar to me...I had registered baby Aisata for surgery at our big screening day earlier that week!

We said a prayer for baby Aisata and the OR nurses gently took her out of her momma's arms and carried her to the operating room. Aisata's mother turned to me with a huge smile lighting up her face and said "merci beaucoup" (thank you so much). She couldn't stop smiling and as I thought about the new lip that baby Aisata was going to have in just a few short hours, I caught her contagious smile as well. Aisata's mother put her arm around me and told me in French "You are my friend now." Her joy and excitement was so radiant and carried over to my own heart. Within a couple of hours, Aisata was sleeping peacefully in her mother's arms, her beautiful new lip held together with sutures and steri-strips. Her mother still had a huge smile on her face as she looked down lovingly at her baby girl. "Thank you so much," she told me over and over again.

A few hours later, I was sent to A Ward to help the new nurses with their post-operative patients. Patricia, one of the first patients to have surgery, had come from Sierra Leone and spoke English. She began to share her story with me. "I have had this large bump on my forehead for a long time now and people always ask me what's wrong with my head. I try to cover it up with my head wraps, but I am ashamed. Last year, when the ship was in Sierra Leone, I tried to come for surgery, but I came too late. My friend told me not to worry. She told me the ship would come back someday and I just had to pray and trust God that I would be able to have the surgery. So I prayed and God heard my cry!" It was amazing to meet Patricia and hear her story of God's faithfulness and provision for her surgery. "Now I feel free and I don't have to be ashamed anymore," she said with a smile on her face.

As I sat there listening to Patricia's story, I thought of Aisata and all the others who were having surgery that day. And in the midst of training new nurses on paperwork and medications, I was reminded of why I am really here. It is all about bringing hope...the hope for a young mother who can now see her little girl grow up without feeding problems or criticism because of her cleft lip. It is hope for a little boy who will never be able to walk on his own unless his legs are surgically straightened and hope for a woman who thought she was too late to get help. And as I look around at the ward and see the smiles and the hope on so many faces, the words of Psalm 40:1 resonate in my own heart: "I waited patiently for the Lord, he inclined to me and heard my cry."

In the steps of Jesus

When I started this blog a few years ago, the purpose was mainly to be able to share about my experiences in missions. However, I had a different kind of adventure this summer that was far too amazing to keep to myself. It was the journey of a lifetime...walking in the footsteps of Jesus.

A friend from Mercy Ships decided to organize a group of crew and alumni this summer to take a class called "Jesus and His Times" at Jerusalem University College with the intention of not only seeing Israel, but also learning about the history and culture during the time of Jesus. I have always wanted to visit the Holy Land, so when I heard about the trip nearly a year ago, I excitedly told her to count me in.

My pastor has always said that when you go to Israel, it transforms the pages of the Bible from black and white to color. I didn't fully understand that statement until I was finally there. Actually being in Israel really made the Bible come alive!

It was fun to be a student again and travel around Israel along with twelve other Mercy Shippers and another 30+ college students from the States. There was so much to see and learn during our time in Israel that it was often overwhelming to take it all in. But, there was something so awe-inspiring about going to each new place for the first time: to visit the Mount of Olives and look down at the city of Jerusalem, to be humbled in the somber atmosphere of the Garden of Gethsemane, and walk up the 2,000-year old steps of the Temple.



Looking out at the Mount of Olives with the city walls behind us

One of my favorite stops was at  "The Garden Tomb." I entered the tomb and read the sign that states: "He is not here, for he is risen." Later, as I sat there in the garden outside of the tomb, I pulled out my Bible and read the resurrection account. Suddenly the story unfolded before my eyes right there in the garden! A sense of joy and amazement filled my heart as I pictured Jesus approaching Mary Magdalene outside the tomb, the look of hope and astonishment on her face as her weeping turned to ecstatic joy and she realized that Jesus was alive!

While I loved Jersusalem, it was amazing to get out of the city and spend a few days by the Sea of Galilee! The first night, I opened my Bible as I watched the sunset. I came to the story of Jesus calming the storm and the amazement of the disciples as the wind and waves ceased in an instant at Jesus' command. A couple days later, we actually got to take a boat ride across the Sea of Galilee and I opened to the account of Peter walking on the water. As I looked out on the beautiful sea glistening in the sunlight, I thought about the times in my life when Jesus has asked me to step out in faith and walk on the water with him. Often my fears and doubts have kept me from getting out of the boat, as I cower in the corner, afraid that the wind and waves will come and overtake me. He has so much more for our lives if we will simply choose to trust him and take the first step! For all the times I have been like Peter, I could hear Jesus whisper gently to my heart "Oh you of little faith, why did you doubt?"

Sunset over the Sea of Galilee







From day to day and place to place, we saw the Bible come alive. It is truly amazing to actually walk throughout Jerusalem and sense God filling your heart with the love that He has for the people of Jerusalem. I went to the Western Wall with some friends one Sabbath and watched as the Jews came to pray at the wall, weeping and praying for their city. I even had the opportunity to go to the wall myself and "pray for the peace of Jerusalem" as we are told to do in the Bible. Our group of friends sang a Hebrew song we had learned and then took communion together. As we sat there in the midst of all the activity going on around us, I couldn't help but think how God's heart must break for His people as they wait for the Messiah, not realizing that He has already come!

There are so many more amazing experiences that I could share about our time in Israel: from camel rides to floating in the Dead Sea, watching a Bar-mitzvah ceremony for the first time, visiting the caves where they found the Dead Sea Scrolls, watching the sunset over Jerusalem from the top of the Mount of Olives, swimming in the clear blue water of the Mediterranean, and splashing my head under the Jordan River on a warm summer day, it felt like there was never a dull moment on the trip! Along with all the great sites, there were also some pretty amazing people in our group!

Jordy & Carys were two of my favorite travel buddies



Having fun at the ruins



First camel ride...I got to "drive"

Underground tunnel walk along the orignal city road



But, while I had a great time, learned a lot, and made some amazing friends and memories, the most incredible thing about my whole experience in Israel was that Jesus met me there. He reminded me of his incredible love for me as He went to the cross, his desire to rebuild the broken parts of my life as the walls of Jerusalem were restored, and His call as He beckons me to come to Him on the water, to step out in faith and trust that He is bigger than any storm of life that I will ever face.

Our Mercy Ships group at Cesarea



As I left Jerusalem, I was so grateful to know that I wasn't leaving Jesus behind in the city where He once walked. He is with me wherever I go and goes before me to "straighten out the path ahead of me." Even now, He calls all of us to "walk in His footsteps." We may not all literally get to place our feet on the stones where he placed his, but we can follow His example and love and compassion in reaching out to a lost and hurting world around us. And as I look ahead to this next field service in Africa, I am reminded that He leads me in the ultimate example of love. He laid down His life and calls me to do the same...to die to myself daily, care for the hurting, love the lost and show them the way to the Father. Only then will I truly be able to fully experience what it means to walk in the footsteps of Jesus.

My little munchkins

While it is never a good thing to have favorites, there are always a few kids that just melt your heart. They somehow gain a special place in your heart, especially when you care for them shift after shift! Two of these little munchkins were Chara and Maurice. Their surgeries were fairly complex and both of them experienced post-operative complications, leading to a longer hospitalization. But our little champs hung in there and improved over the weeks. Most days, Maurice was snugly tucked away in the corner with his momma, sleeping or eating. His mother showed the most tender care, but it was apparent that she was still concerned.

One of the last weeks the hospital was open, we decided to have a worship night/dance party on the dock. The nurses who were working that evening decided it would be fun to bring the patients and parents out on the dock to enjoy the festivities. One of my friends took Maurice into his arms and I grabbed his momma by the hand and brought her into the circle to dance. She looked over at Maurice, unsure if she wanted to leave his side. But, knowing he was in good hands, she gradually joined in the dancing. It was fun to watch the anxiety and stress leave her face as she began to let loose and dance. As the drums beat and the music played, a beautiful smile came across her face. It was the happiest I had ever seen her. Singing worship songs together, laughing, and dancing, we found ourselves as more than caregiver and nurse. We were friends and sisters in Christ. It was a very special time!

After many weeks, Maurice was finally able to be discharged from the hospital right as we finished the outreach and closed the hospital down. We were all sad to say goodbye, but grateful that he was well enough to finally go home.

Maurice is too cute not to snuggle







But across the room, Chara still had some treatment that she needed to receive. She was improving slowly, but not enough to go back to her home. Arrangements were made to transfer her to the local hospital upon the ship's departure. The day the hospital closed, we joined her and her Momma on the dock as she waved goodbye. We had spent so much time with her and Chara that it felt as though we were saying to a fellow crew member. They loaded into the Landrover and we waved goodbye, entrusting them into God's hands as they finished their treatment.

Goodbye Chara!

Progress

One of the really great things about visiting a country I have been to before is the opportunity to see the visible progress that has taken place since our last time here. Even though it's only been two years, there is definitely a distinct difference in Togo...new stores and restaraunts, better roads, and lots of other general development has taken place. But one of the greatest moments of witnessing progress took place this past Sunday when I visited the "Fishing Village Church," a church I had attended in 2010.


Two years ago, the "Fishing Village Church" was little more than a thatch roof held up by sticks and a group of people wanting to be a light in a very dark village. The church is at the heart of a village that is full of idol-worship and evil practices...but, the joy and light of that place has always been very significant. So, it was an amazing feeling on Sunday to arrive at the church and see that they now have an actual church building there...and it was full of people worshipping God with all their hearts! The little thatch roof is now used for sunday school for the kids...the congregation has grown, a number of people were recently baptized, and joy is still contagious in that place!


As we all spent time singing and dancing together, my heart swelled with joy as I watched the people light up and dance before the Lord...we sat down for the message and a little boy came over and sat on my lap. The little ones here are always so friendly and loveable.

The boys dancing during worship time



Marty (one of our chaplains from the ship) shared a message with the church, as it was the last Sunday that he and his family would be there before leaving for summer vacation. It was very special to hear him speak, as he is part of my "Gateway family" and has been a big part of my experience with Mercy Ships. He has also been attending the "Fishing Village Church" on a regular basis since the ship came back to Togo in January, so he had lots of stories to share about the positive changes he has seen even in the last five months.

Pastor James and his family



A few weeks ago, we were able to take an offering on the ship to help this church and raised enough money to pay for all their doors (currently the building is finished, but there are no doors or windows). I know that the church will continue to grow develop in a physical sense, but more importantly in a spiritual sense. If I never make it back to Togo, I have a feeling that there will be lots of stories to share in heaven about how God used this church to be a light in a dark place. For now, we praise God for progress and good fruit and entrust them to the Lord knowing that "He who began a good work will bring it to completion" (Philippians 1:6).

Finding hope

Over the last couple weeks, it has been great to be back on the ship and working on the wards. I have been working in D Ward with the maxillo-facial patients, which is quite different than the orthopedic and plastics patients I was caring for last year. Thankfully, the experience I had in caring for max/fax patients in 2010 has slowly come back to me and it all doesn't feel so foreign anymore.

One of the amazing things that I love about Max/Fax is that there is such a drastic visible difference after large tumors are removed...and the infamous Dr. Gary Parker who does the surgeries comes by not only to check on how the patients are doing, but also to offer words of encouragement and inspiration to the staff. And we also have the most children on our ward!

One of the little ones who recently captured my heart was Gloria. Gloria had a large tumor on her right eye known as Retinoblastoma. I've taken care of kids in the States who have had this, but had never seen it as large as Gloria's. The day she came in to have surgery, things were all a bit of a whirlwind. Typically, we admit patients the day before surgery, but Gloria came in the same morning of her surgery. So, the minute she got to the ward, we had to rush to get everything done to prepare her for the OR, as she was the first case.

After finding out about my surprise admission, I tried to keep Gloria as calm as possible as I drew her blood and scrubbed her down in the shower with our special surgical soap. In spite of my efforts to be as gentle and friendly as possible, Gloria did nothing but cry. I'm sure she was terrified....and rightfully so. I imagine that the typical four-year old boarding a big ship for the first time, being surrounded by strangers with a different color skin who speak a different language and stick needles into their body would be scared out of their mind. So in spite of my colorful kid-friendly scrubs, distraction toys, and calming techniques, there was very little hope for me that Gloria and I would become friends. We finished up all the pre-operative cares and I walked down with Gloria and her momma to the entrance of the operating room corridor. We met the OR nurse and said a prayer together for Gloria and her surgery. As the OR nurse carried our frightened little one to the operating room, Gloria's mother gave me a big hug. Her little girl was going to have another chance at living a normal life.

Gloria's surgery took several hours and my shift ended before she had returned to the ward. But, a couple days later, I was reunited with that sweet little one...but, this time she didn't have a frightened look on her face. She was playing happily with a smile on her face. She let me look at her new eye and when I made a fishy face, she leaned in to give me a fishy kiss. I couldn't believe it. I was sure she would hate me for torturing her when she had first arrived....but kids are so forgiving. But we were friends now and she became my little shadow. Over the next several days, Gloria and I had fun together with bubbles, playdough, piggy-back rides, and storytime. When I would come back from my dinner break, the other nurses would tell me they were happy to see me because Gloria needed some entertainment.

Gloria and I on Deck 7



Gloria was healing up nicely and her momma had completed all the teaching she needed for home, so within a week, little Gloria was ready for discharge. I was sad to see her leave. Who would hang onto my legs during handover and beg me to read them a story now? Even though I selfishly wanted to keep her on the ward, I knew it was time for her to go home. I gave her one last hug and kiss and said goodbye. She no longer saw me as a scary yovo, but as a friend. And I was grateful for the opportunity to witness a beautiful transformation and the visible hope that she and her momma now have.

Back to my floating home

Walking down the gangway in December and saying goodbye to the ship was a heart-wrenching experience...I knew I would come back, I just wasn't sure when. But when God has placed a passion and calling on your life, you can't ignore it for long. Within the first month that I was home, God made it clear that I was supposed to go back to the ship and serve in Togo, the first country where I worked with Mercy Ships. My 3 1/2 months at home was filled with lots of good times with friends and family, lots of sweet moments with my nieces and nephews, and many divine appointments with patients and coworkers at my job at Phoenix Children's. I know that God had a purpose in my time at home and I was so grateful for the precious gift of sharing it with so many loved ones. He used it to refresh me, refocus my heart, and remind me of my passion for serving in Africa.

Thursday night, I could barely contain my excitement as my plane landed in Togo. I was greeted by friends at the airport, followed by more friends at the gangway, then a bunch more at the main reception area of the ship. I was showered with hugs, cards, and kind words of how I had been missed...it was a great homecoming. It was a bit surreal walking back on the ship, but in many ways it felt as though I had never left.

I feel like the last few days have been sort of like one big family reunion...I am constantly running into old friends and Togolese dayworkers, catching up on life and sharing about all God has done in the last year. I can't but help think that this is a bit of what heaven will be like...one big reunion with people we love, sharing of God's goodness and faithfulness...and I'm pretty sure it brings a smile to His face to see it.

I jumped back into work on the ward on Saturday, feeling a little lost as I'm working in a different ward than before....but so much is the same as it was when I left...the patients are still grateful for the surgeries they've had, the mommas still love singing and dancing, the babies still love being wrapped up on my back, and God is still very present in this place.

Tonight, I got to watch a momma light up as she brought  her 4-month old baby boy into the ward. Tomorrow his cleft lip will be made whole...and now there is hope in his mother's eyes. I got to cheer up a little boy who was sad that he still has to get food from a tube instead of his mouth...I reassured him that he will be able to eat from his mouth soon enough then tickled him until his frown turned into uncontrollable laughter. A few minutes later, a small baby girl was crying because her momma is still recovering from surgery and can't give her all the attention she needs. I picked her up and tied her onto my back as the other patients and caregivers watched. As I finished tying her snugly in her lapa, the patients began to applaud...maybe they thought I figured it out on my own since yesterday was the first time they all saw me...they don't know I've had two years to practice :) Either way, it made my heart happy and the little one on my back quickly became quiet and content.

I had to stop for a moment and take it all in...and then it hit me: my heart is truly alive again! This is where I belong and where I am most fulfilled, living out the calling that God has placed on my life....and I am so thankful that He brought me back here...because it is here that I discover the joy of serving him to my full potential!

Changing seasons

When I began my adventure of moving to Africa, committing to two years with Mercy Ships seemed like such an overwhelming commitment. They always say that it goes by fast, but now that I find myself at the end of it all, I realize just how true that is. The day I left Africa, my roommate asked me if I was ready to leave. I had to say "no." Africa has captured my heart and the ship has become my home...how could I be ready to leave such an amazing place!


It has been in this beautiful place that I have seen the face of Christ like never before. I have seen it in the pain of a hurting woman who can't hide her tumor or shame, the brokenness of parents on their knees, crying out to God for their child to experience a miracle, and in the pain of a husband who doesn't know if his wife will live to see another day. I have seen it in the joy of a child walking with straight legs for the first time, the bright eyes of a mother whose daughter is finally smiling again after years of being ridiculed for her condition, and the songs of parents who have seen a miracle take place before their eyes.


It is so easy to talk about the power and love of Christ, but it is a completely different thing to experience it. When I left for Africa, I was determined to make a difference and to help those who were in need. I wanted to be obedient to God and his calling on my life to serve Him in missions. But, I hadn't realized that in "changing the world," I was the one who actually needed to be changed the most. I interacted with people who had next to nothing, yet bigger smiles and louder songs than anyone I have ever met...the source of their joy was always Christ. I was so humbled by the patients, day volunteers, and crew members who lived out the example of what it truly means to have "abundant life" in Christ.


In light of all I saw and experienced, I became aware of my own selfishness, pride, and lack of faith. What difference could I make when I was the one who needed to be changed? And yet, in the midst of feeling inadequate and unworthy to be used by God, He so gently began the process of shaping me and molding me into who He wanted me to become. He also chose to use me to impact the lives of many children and parents from all different faiths and walks of life, in both big ways and small. I have cherished every smile, song, hug, and kiss of each child that God has brought into my life. I have shared in their sadness and hurting when the pain was almost too hard to bear. We have danced, laughed, prayed, and cried together, but in the end we had to say goodbye. I am so grateful that God revealed Himself to me through those children and that He has used my experiences to begin to shape me into who He wants me to be.

It's been over three weeks since I left Africa. I've enjoyed the last few weeks that I've been able to travel around Europe, visit friends from the ship, and reminisce about our experiences together. Tomorrow I will fly across the ocean back to my other home in America. But, I haven't even hit American soil yet and there is already a longing in my heart to go back to Africa. Here in London, I have found myself wandering to the African exhibits at the British Museum so that I can feel a little piece of my home in Sierra Leone. I get excited about anything or anyone that makes me think of that place. The other day, I found myself thanking God for another reminder of Africa. I met a Nigerian mother at the train station who had her little black baby wrapped snugly on her back with an African lapa. Every little thing that reminds me of that beautiful continent seems to beckon me to go back. I know that I will. God has given me a love too deep and a calling too strong not to go.


But, for now I am going to America...I'm not sure that I feel ready to re-enter life there, but ready or not, I will do it. As I was thinking today about all the changes that lie before me, I was reminded of the story of Joshua and the Israelites after they crossed the Jordan River. They made a point to set up an altar of stones as a monument to remember God's faithfulness to them in the wilderness. The people took time to reflect on all that God had already done for them before they moved forward into battle. And while there are a lot of exciting things about going home, I know it will also be a battle...going back to "normal life" is never easy when you've seen how exciting and fulfilling life can be in an extraordinary place like West Africa.


So, before I walk into this new year and new season of my life, I am reminded of the importance of remembering all that God has done. He has been faithful. He has carried me through many high's and low's. He has walked beside me in the times that I found myself in the wilderness and has rejoiced with me when my heart was so full of joy that it felt ready to explode. He has been my sufficiency when I felt inadequate, my peace when I felt restless, and my hope when I couldn't see the silver lining in the clouds. And so, with great expectation, I am heading into this new season knowing that "He is able to do immeasurably more than all that we ask or imagine, according to His power at work within us" (Ephesians 3:20). I can't wait to see all that He has in store for 2012!