August 30, 2025
We were finally on our 5th flight and the final leg of our epic travels to Toamasina, Madagascar, the Malagasy name, for the chief seaport of the country. The city is also known as Tamatave, the French name. Around 9pm, we boarded a small turboprop plane to our final destination. The flight was less than an hour and Dustin did not have any Pepsi sightings on this flight, but not a worry, neither of us were really awake for this final flight. We landed and were told not to move as we landed to not tip the airplane. We collected our luggage and were only missing one bag. It appeared no one had helped themselves to any of our material possessions inside the luggage as the zip ties I had placed on the bags days before remained intact. From past experience, I learned securing my luggage was required. I saw the familiar white Mercy Ships Land Rovers that were picking us up from the airport. We safely made the 20 minute drive to the ship.
It had been 12 years since I walked down the gangway from the Africa Mercy in Brazzaville, Republic of the Congo. It was surreal to be once again walking up the gangway, greeted by the Nepalese Gurkhas, the ship’s security guards. According to Google, “Gurkhas are special due to a combination of factors: their legendary bravery and loyalty, a grueling recruitment process that selects only the fittest, their exceptional physical fitness and endurance developed from their mountainous upbringing, and the distinct cultural value placed on honor and duty.” I didn’t recognize any of the Gurkhas on duty, but was pleased to learn two of the incredible men that stood watch by our ship daily when I was aboard 12 years ago are still onboard!
The gangway to the ship lands you on Deck 5. The reception area remains identical to what I remembered. I didn’t get the opportunity to take my epic, jet lagged, bedraggled, exhausted rat looking, badge photo when I came onboard as they had my awkward photo from 15 years ago already printed on a badge for me this time. The hospitality team greeted us and ushered us into the dining hall for basic orientation mandated by maritime regulations. I remember many a meal and the laughter shared with friends in this location. I remembered late night talks with my friends. Discussions on life, love, and loss, three questions my friends and I used to ask one another at meal times. We had to say one sentence with each of those words. Many days it was,” life is great.” There were times that life was “hard”. I recollect that I often said, “Love is real, alive, complicated, or distant.” Loss was “imminent” or “raw and fresh” with friends leaving daily and the reality of the colossal need of those around us. Some even would say futile.
The “Starfish Story,” a portion of a literary work by Loren Eiseley, was often quoted by Dr. Gary Parker, a world renowned maxilla-facial surgeon, my friend, who volunteered as a surgeon with Mercy Ships nearly 40 years, https://www.mercyships.org/dr-gary-parker-honored-2025/. The “Starfish Story” remains a powerful force in my life. At times it has energized my life’s work in face of all the pain and suffering observed in war torn Liberia and Sierra Leone and in the face of horrific poverty in the African nations I volunteered in and the brokenness of people worldwide. The “Starfish Story” is moving, but let there be no mistake, I am not moved by a story alone, and it’s not the fuel for my perspective on life, love, and dealing with loss. A moving “story alone” would never be enough for me to reason with all there is in this thing called life, love, and loss in the world. I am compelled and following the 2000 year old motto of Jesus, bringing hope and healing to the world’s forgotten poor (Mercy Ships’ Motto) and Jesus was more than a story.
One adaptation of the “Starfish Story” reads:
One day an old man was walking along the beach in the early morning and noticed the tide had washed thousands of starfish up onto the shore. Ahead, he spotted a girl gathering up the starfish, then one by one tossing them back into the ocean. He approached the girl and asked why she spent so much energy doing what seemed to be a waste of time. The girl replied, “The starfish cannot live if they are left out in the sun.”
Then the old man gazed out as far as he could see and responded, “But there must be thousands of miles of beaches and countless starfish. You can’t possibly rescue all of them. What difference is throwing back a few going to make anyway?” The girl bent down picked up yet another starfish and threw it as far as she could into the ocean. Then she turned, smiled, and said, “It made a difference to that one!
I reflected on conversations with folks back home over the last few months as we told them of our anticipated volunteer work in Africa with Mercy Ships. Some applauded the sacrifice and guts to take on an adventure of this sort. Some expressed sadness, fear, or anxiety with the distance, unknown lands, and status of the world. Others shared the sentiment of the old man in the “Starfish Story” and noted the absurd waste of time, money, energy, and futility in an undertaking of this sort.
More memories flooded in. I reminisced about the line dancing classes I once taught on my evenings off. Memories that have replayed in my mind on a regular basis over the last 12 years continued to enliven, growing stronger and stronger.
The basic layout of the dining hall had remained the same, but there was the addition of booths, sound barriers, new paint, more partitions, new tables, and a few other structural changes. Bread is now available 24/7 next to the famous “cheese toasty maker” also known as a “grilled cheese sandwich maker” for Americans that revolutionized dining experiences in 2009. It became the backup meal for anyone not pleased with the main course that was offered. The “cheese toasty” line used to be a hurried gathering point as around 600-650 crew eat three meals a day on the ship. I remembered the creativity my friends and I had in inventing the “apple slammer” as we called it. This was our attempt for the taste of a homemade apple pie with sliced apples, cinnamon, and sugar squished between two pieces of bread, and topped with some caramel sauce highjacked from the Starbucks Café on the ship.
Covid had brought in hand sanitizer bottles to every table, plexiglass dividers on the new booths, the implementation of mandatory washing and disinfecting at the dining tables after you were finished eating. Those practices remain.
The hospitality team ushered us to our cabin on deck 4. The cabin looked exactly how I remembered when I had visited other couples on the ship during “open house-cabin” events we used to have. I remembered my weary state of arriving to Monrovia, Liberia in 2008 for the first time. I was sick to my stomach for most of my flights. I arrived into my 6 berth-person cabin on deck 3, was sick in the toilet, couldn’t figure out how to flush the toilet, thought my new cabin mates would hate me for what I left in the toilet, as no one was there to welcome me, or teach me how to use the toilet. I recall tripping up the steep stairs on my way back to the dining hall to get water, and then returning to my cabin and bursting into tears wondering what the heck I had done with moving to Africa for 8 months. Oh, the fond memories.
I fully anticipated crashing in bed immediately, but was hit with a second wind as a mental cyclone of memories rushed through my mind. I asked Dustin if he was up for a tour of the ship. I showed Dustin the five cabins I had lived in during my years aboard. I showed Dustin where to get water, the ship shop, the laundry room, the library, the bank, the post office, and the gym. I was pleasantly surprised to see the gym had doubled in size and was no longer a small sweaty closet. I took Dustin up to the outer decks on the ship, deck 7, and deck 8. I was pleased to see permanent hammocks on deck 7 and the addition of a porch swing. I frequently checked in with Dustin to assess if he was in sensory overload, or if he could handle more of the tour and my memories.
We made our way back to the cabin and settled in for bed. I felt like I was in a “twilight zone” but “home” and ready to “throw starfish back in the ocean.”
When God asks you to go somewhere, you go. Or you don’t. Anyone know the story of Jonah in the Bible (Jonah 1-4)? Obeying God often requires sacrifice. Sacrifice looks different for everyone. For example, I don’t mind living in a 257 square foot ship cabin with a 6 square foot size shower where the shower curtain clings to my legs. My favorite foods from home, shopping access, cooler weather, changing seasons, access to a car, my garden, or my own home, are not essentials for me. I sometimes dislike sweating, but it’s not really that big of a deal for me. My parents raised me with roots and wings, as I’ve heard my mom describe to people over the years. Does that mean I don’t care about family bonds, friendships, or my job in the USA? Not at all, but as great as those things are, they are not imperative for me. For others, sacrificing those things and relationships would be terribly difficult and unthinkable.
Dustin has been faithful in following God’s lead to temporarily leave behind the electrical business he has been growing. Dustin has left the comfort of our home in Idaho. Dustin has left the church family he has been a part of since he moved out on his own after college graduation. Dustin has left his parents and siblings. Dustin has left the food he loves. Dustin has left the routine he enjoys and the familiarity of life in Idaho. Dustin will miss a hunting season. Those things and relationships were on the forefront of his mind when we discussed leaving for Africa. I assumed those were the things he missed most.
I just asked Dustin what he felt he has sacrificed to be here, volunteering as an electrician with Mercy Ships, so that others may have hope and experience healing. Dustin’s first response, “Pepsi!” I knew that was something he missed, but I sure thought he would talk about leaving our house and business first. And apparently, for today, Dustin has a LOT of thoughts. He just informed me:
“I miss carpet, my high arches aren’t a fan of hard wood floors” (there used to be a thin carpet in the cabins years ago, but now it’s a faux wood floor, which is far easier to clean and sanitize).
“I miss air temperatures I can control, our own thermostat.”
“I miss a full-size refrigerator and freezer.”
“I miss a decent sized shower and being able to shower longer than 2 minutes” (water is a scarce resource on a ship, you cannot take a 20-minute shower as you may like at home. We are expected to “ship shower.” Get wet, turn the water off, shampoo, lather, soap up, rinse with water, turn the water off, apply conditioner, turn the water off, and rinse again. I joked with Dustin that he can take a 20-minute shower, it’s just the water can only be running 2 minutes during that time frame. He was not impressed).
“I miss being able to do laundry whenever I want” (we are each allowed one, 1-hour load a week here. The machines are front loaders and small).
“I miss thicker walls between neighbors” (We’ve never lived in an apartment, but we share all the wall-bulkheads with our neighbors now. We can hear our dear neighbor coughing and have been praying for her the past few days, we hear another neighbor snoring).
“I miss our bedroom and kitchen on the same floor” (We live on deck 4, the dining hall is on deck 5, and if we want to cook for ourselves with a few basic ingredients we can buy from the ship shop, or items we find in town, the crew galley is on deck 6).
“I miss real cinnamon rolls” (Dustin did not think what was labeled a cinnamon roll in the dining hall was a cinnamon roll. To be fair, it was very different from anything we may label as a cinnamon roll in the USA. It tasted lovely, I believe it had cashews in it and I did not taste the cinnamon in it at all).
“I miss Pizza Hut Pizza.”
But, at the forefront in his mind is missing his “drug of choice,” Pepsi.
Before taking on this adventure together, Dustin and I discussed that in my world travels to over at least 38 countries, there’s rarely been a Pepsi sighting. In 2004, I was on a mission trip in the jungle in Guatemala where there was no electricity, running water, or access to medical care or supplies. Yet, out of nowhere, peeking out from beyond the canopy of green jungle vines, I saw a giant red semi-truck with the familiar Coca Cola logo floating down the river on a barge. In some of the most remote locations in the world, some would call; ‘God forsaken corners of the earth,’ out of nowhere appears Coca Cola. But, rarely, if ever, have I seen the elusive, Pepsi species.
Dustin is serious about Pepsi. He has a shirt that reads “in case of emergency, my blood type is Pepsi.” Before leaving Seattle for Dubai, we purchased two, 20-ounce Pepsi bottles from the vending machine to last Dustin on his travels. He drank one before we left Seattle. But, to our surprise, we had a Pepsi sighting on our flight from Seattle to Dubai! Dustin didn’t have to break into his precious reserve on that 14 hour plus flight. We were pleasantly astonished to have another Pepsi sighting on the airplane from Dubai to the Seychelles and on the flight from the Seychelles to Madagascar! We entirely forgot about the other Pepsi bottle in my carry on until we landed in Madagascar. We have no idea how that 20-ounce bottle somehow passed, unnoticed, through the security screening of my backpack in Dubai! Dustin was thrilled to have a Pepsi in Madagascar with him.
When I was up at 3:30am standing on the bed, eating pizza, and singing “the Song of the Cebu” I put the stowaway Pepsi in the little hotel fridge for Dustin. Hours after we had checked out of our hotel room Dustin asked for his Pepsi. At that moment I was horrified, I had put the Pepsi in the fridge for him and forgotten. I lost his beloved Pepsi. We were still at the hotel, but I knew the room had been cleaned for the next guest. With little faith, I approached the hotel receptionist and informed them we left a Pepsi in the fridge and wondered if it was possibly still there. Against all odds, the hotel staff found our Pepsi unopened and still in the fridge!
Our Pepsi sightings and the unexpected reunion with Dustin’s stowaway Pepsi were “extraordinary and welcome events,” for Dustin, “that are not explicable by natural or scientific laws and are therefore attributed to a divine agency” which Oxford dictionary via Google, defines as a miracle. It might be a stretch for some to relate these events with Pepsi to a miracle, but not too big of a stretch for God, who is attentive to every detail and delights in giving gifts to his children (Matthew 7:11). Dustin thanks God for his Pepsi miracles.
There have been MANY technical difficulties and I am NOT a tech gal.. Praying this posts to share what God's up to here.
August 29th
We landed, phew! Only one more flight to go! Four out of five flights were complete! Dustin and I were in AFRICA! I was more than ready to get to the ship. Dustin was more relieved to be off of planes for a few hours and thankful Mercy Ships was providing us with a hotel on the layover and we would not be spending 24 hours in the airport. Camping is one of our favorite pastimes, but not “airport camping.” Which we had the pleasure of doing in the Seychelle Islands for 8 hours on our layover when we were refused entry into the country; even though we had already paid for and had multiple email and Whatsapp notifications of approved visas. The water looked pristine in its aqua colors, but only observed by us during landing and takeoff. Oh, well. God must have had some reason he wanted us to “airport camp” for that layover.
I was prepared to be smacked in the face with overwhelming heat and humidity upon landing in Antananarivo, Madagascar. Just as I experienced landing in Monrovia, Liberia in 2008, the heat in that country felt like it had physical hands and oppressed me for my entire 8 month stay there. What a refreshing relief for my body to be met with a lovely breeze and cool air. Madagascar, being situated in the Indian Ocean, below the equator, means I have landed during their “spring” season and we are heading into summer. I am assured the heat will come, but for today, I am thankful for cooler weather.
We made our way to the hotel Mercy Ships provided for us on the 24 hour layover before catching our 5th and final flight to the ship. Our driver zipped and weaved the very familiar, white, Mercy Ship’s Land Rover around corners, potholes, and people. We arrived at our lovely hotel and were given an allotment of money for meals in the hotel restaurant. Dustin and I lugged the luggage that had arrived --one bag was missing in action--into our hotel room, and ventured to the restaurant for a “real meal” versus the airplane food we had eaten for almost three days. Please note we were not ungrateful for the food we had on the airplane, when many in the world do not have food, just extra thankful to sit at a table to eat a meal.
We perused the menu and I did my best to decipher the options. There was a mix between English and French words in the menu. Potentially a few Malagasy words mixed in, but I am not certain. We could have octopus ceviche and pickles, seafood pot pie, crispy goat cheese with cashew nuts, honey, and thyme sauce, roasted bone marrow with fleur de sel and grilled bread, the fish of the day, and a variety of other dishes. We turned the page and Dustin’s face lit up to find the page with pizza options. There was pizza with duck, seafood pizza, margherita pizza, options for pork or chicken ham. I laughed wondering what the heck chicken ham was. I don’t laugh out of disrespect; I just love the uniqueness of the world and seeing new things. Not so sure, this picky Kansas/Idaho girl likes to “taste” new things, but I am entertained with new things. There was an option for pickles on the pizza and then I giggled with glee to see Zebu as an option on the menu. Dustin settled for the meat pizza, without the zebu or duck, and asked to hold the pickles. I settled for the margherita pizza, keeping it safe with cheese and tomato sauce.
I settled into bed extremely early and was thrilled to be comfortable with the temperature in the hotel room. I was not going to need to pull out some of my “missionary” tips and tricks to deal with the heat to finally be able to fall asleep. I know the fastest way to beat jet leg is to stay awake until a “reasonable” bed time in the country you have landed in, to adjust to the time zone changes quicker, but I did not care. I needed bed!
At 3:30am, I was wide awake and my mind was singing loudly, “Cebu! (Cebu!) Cebu! (Cebu!) Achoo moo moo, achoo moo moo, achoo moo moo, moo moo!” Thanks Joel Stark, my youth pastor, when I was younger, for introducing us to “Veggie Tales” and therefore, the “Song of the Cebu”. The song came out in 1998 and here I am in 2025, singing it at 3:30am! So, what else would I do now at 4:00am in Madagascar, but use the hotel’s Wi-Fi to Google if a Zebu and a Cebu are the same thing. They sure are! A Zebu is a type of cow with a fatty hump found in Africa and Asia. I giggled again.
Dustin had stayed up much longer than I had and was snoring away next to me. It was surreal to be back in Africa and not sweating to death! I thought of our lovely dinner and grabbed my leftover cheese pizza from across the room. Dustin stirred next to me wondering what I was doing. I was wide awake and stood up on the bed singing the Cebu song and ate some leftover pizza! I smiled ear to ear. I was excited to be on this new adventure and with my best friend, husband.
Wednesday, August 27, 2025
“Today is the day,” a dear friend of mine texted me early in the morning on August 27th. I texted her back and said, “Thank you! Thank you for praying! I don’t feel like going to Africa today.” She texted back, “That’s the best quote ever!”
I moaned. I wasn’t joking. It was daunting, exciting, terrifying, and terrific, all at the same time. I was REALLY in the car, on my way to the Boise, Idaho airport headed back to volunteer as a nurse with Mercy Ships. I was on my way to the Africa Mercy, the very ship I had lived on previously for 5 years. I was headed to the country of Madagascar!
I reflected on the fact that I was not 26 years old anymore, the age I was when I first ventured to Mercy Ships and served eight months in Monrovia, Liberia to “test” out the waters as a missionary nurse, before I sold everything I owned in New Hampshire and volunteered with Mercy Ships for five years. Things felt different. I am only 12 years older than when I was last in Africa, but for some reason my body does not tolerate trips around the world as much anymore.
I was dreading the four days of travel ahead:
A two and half hour drive from Twin Falls, Idaho to the Boise airport…
Boise to Seattle, a one hour flight.
A five hour layover in Seattle…
Seattle to Dubai in the United Arab Emirates, a 14 hour 40 minute flight... My mind wanted to panic at the thought of being trapped on an airplane that long. The longest I’d ever been on one plane before was a 15-16 hour flight to Australia.
An eight hour layover in Dubai…My mind replayed too many negative cultural stereotypes about terrible things that could happen in that country, out of its proximity to “hot zones” in the world.
Dubai to the Seychelle Islands, a four hour and 35 minute flight…
An eight hour layover in the Seychelles.
Seychelle Islands to Antanarivo, the capital of Madagascar, a two hour and 45 minute flight..
A 24 hour layover in Antanarivo…
The last hour flight to Tamatave, Madagascar…
Then the FINAL 20 minute drive to the Indian Ocean where the ship is ported…
It was exhausting thinking about it.
I remembered how disoriented and sick I felt just traveling 24-36 hours between Liberia and the USA in 2008; Benin and the USA in 2009; Boliva/Chile in 2010 and the USA; London, England and the USA in 2010; Sierra Leone and the USA in 2011; Togo and the USA in 2012; Guinea and the USA in 2013; and finally the Republic of the Congo and the USA in 2013. Yet, at the same time, I was SO thankful for how LONG it took me to get “home” as it helped me somehow process a small portion of ALL I had seen and been through, versus my friends who landed in Europe after the 8-9 hour flights from Africa and had an hour train ride and they were home. But, how in the world, was I going to tolerate the trip ahead?
My parents graciously listened to me expressing my cacophony of emotions. I thanked them for not being cheeky and saying, “Well, you don’t have to go to Africa today; you won’t be there for 3 days anyway!”
I have always loved to travel and enjoyed every travel experience I have been gifted to have. Well, once I get there and my experiences with anxiety don’t get the better of me and after I complete the overwhelming job of packing. I am not a fan of packing. My soul was conflicted and disgusted with myself noting I couldn’t decide which pair of shoes to pack. “Geesh, Laura, I thought to myself,” remember those people you know by name in Africa, that don’t even own one pair of shoes.”
“Should I bring my orange, pink, teal, yellow, and black glasses frames? Oh, maybe the purple, too,” I contemplated. “What the heck is your problem, Laura?” I said to myself. “Remember all the patients you cared for that have never had access to one eye doctor, or were once blind and now see because of groups like Mercy Ships?”
I tried on different skirts and shorts that were long enough for cultural sensitive standards where my “KNEE-ipples or KNEE-eavage” wasn’t going to show, pronounced just like nipples or cleavage, but replacing the “n” with the word “knee”. The term we coined when in Africa years ago, noting sensitive areas of the body differ per culture. Breasts supply nutrition, so it was not uncommon to see topless women in the market, or town. Yet, the knees were sensitive areas and not to be shown. I was frustrated that I have gained weight, thanks perimenopause, and a number of my clothing items don’t fit anymore. Yet, then I was reminded, what a gift it is to have clothing and more than one item of clothing to choose from. And to have food, in abundance. Then I was mad at myself and my entitled country for the diseases we have that are caused by obesity, yet at the same time discouraged at the despair and suffering many have related to diseases of poverty, starvation, and lack of access to clean water. No wonder I was already exhausted before starting the epic journey across the world to Madagascar. I already had whiplash, just trying to pack four suitcases.
My friends had asked, “Are you ready, are you excited for your trip?” I felt a little numb, it’s been hard to even formulate what emotions I was feeling or am feeling. It was “different” this time. Serving as a missionary nurse was all my heart beat for in the past. I felt incomplete if I was not in Africa. God had to heal me, take me deeper, and redefine my identity in Him, when I had left Africa and it appeared I would never go back. I have honestly been content, comfortable, and no longer pined for Africa. I was happily married, had fulfillment in my nursing jobs, and had found a place to serve God in my church. I didn’t NEED to go to Africa. Yet, God had opened the doors to take my sweet husband, Dustin, and me there. We were willing. We felt God was calling us to go. I don’t ever want to step where God has not directed. I don’t ever want to be content and, too, comfortable. So, sometimes that means going where you may not “want to” on a certain day or time. Yet, with God’s loving care and providential hand, he took us the extra LONG way to Africa. Those 3 days of travel before landing at our first location in Africa, sure gave me a different perspective. I may not have wanted to go to Africa on August 27th, but by August 30th when we landed in Africa I was sure READY to be there.
