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