Question: What do you miss most while you are in Africa or away from the states?

Answer: I live quite comfortably on the Africa Mercy, I cannot complain...  I have learned that what we as humans may want... I don’t really need. And what I need is a lot less than I thought… I have everything I need. It helps that I absolutely love what I do… I rarely have time to think about what I don’t have. But, for your entertainment…Since being home, there are some things that I realized I sort of missed while I have been away…

My Top-Ten List of things I’ve sort of Missed

1.    Bath Tubs- What an amazing invention! Something really missed when one doesn’t feel well.  One time my Irish roommate and best friend from the ship wasn’t feeling well.  Considering I am a nurse, I wanted to comfort her and help out.  So, I asked Jane if she wanted to take a bath. Her pale face lit up and she said, “Yes, but where? We don’t have bath tubs on the ship?” With a compassionate tone of voice, I told her, “Go into our shower, run the water, and sit on the drain.” Okay, maybe that was a less than compassionate approach, but after Jane finished yelling at me, she laughed her head off. Laughter is the best medicine! I am thankful to have bath tubs again!  

2.    Couches long enough for me to stretch out on

3.    Fresh fruit- Especially berries

4.    Milk products- Never thought I would say that one… I grew up on powered milk, so I thought I could handle any milk, but I was never able to adjust to the boxed milk on the ship with a shelf life of like 100 years! I am thankful for real milk, cheese, yogurt, and ice cream!

5.    Driving fast- I’ve missed driving fast. It’s not the speed limits are low in Africa… but there are too many potholes, goats, or small children running across most roads that by the time you reach any significant speed, you must slow down so you don’t hit anything.

6.    Changing seasons- Although I have been complaining about the cold; fall and winter are actually my favorite seasons.  Perpetual summer is HOT at times!

7.    Unlimited access to food- This is actually dangerous!

8.    Salad- But you already knew that

9.    Walking down the street unnoticed- Although, this is one of the things that makes me saddest about our country, our independence and disregard for others, I do enjoy walking down the street or being in the grocery store without having someone yell, “White woman… give me something… help me… take me to America… take me to your ship!” Yes, sometimes I like to live a typical “normal” life.

10. Home- I put this one in there for all of you that may feel offended or hurt that I haven’t mentioned missing my family or home… I love my parents, friends, church families, and adopted families across this world, you guys are amazing! You are the ones that have given me roots and wings. You have provided me with financial support so that I can go where God wants me. You are the ones who taught me the definition of “home.”  But I don’t miss home.

This is something I think I wrote a few months ago and maybe it will help you understand where I am coming from… I think it was an exercise that I had to write when I was at Gateway in January 2009. Something I would want said of me when the Lord takes me home… “A mother to the motherless, although Laura traveled frequently, ‘home’ is something she brought with her, simply by being who she was.”  I truly feel I am at home whenever I am with God’s people, wherever I am, home is something I carry with me in my heart.

I know many of you have been wondering what I have been up to lately. Well, I have been sleeping, resting, sleeping, visiting many of you, sleeping, and traveling to Washington, D.C., Pennsylvania,  New Hampshire, Vermont, and finally to Idaho where I am currently. I have been spending many hours stretched out on the couch and enjoying many of the things I told you I’ve sort of missed!

I see people...not numbers...

The official statistics have been gathered (if you are interested in that kind of thing...note they are the official statistics, but could still be slightly wrong)… I see people…not numbers… Each and every person we were privileged to work with is unique, special, and loved by God. Their tears, smiles, laughs, and hugs are forever etched on my heart! I pray that the impact Mercy Ships made in Benin will ring throughout eternity!

996 reconstructive and plastic surgeries, 185 cleft lip and palate repairs, 1161 general surgeries, 2 local surgeons trained, 3,521 cataracts removed, 570 other eye surgeries, 2 local eye surgeons trained, 33,851 eye evaluations and other treatments, 7,083 pairs of sunglasses distributed, 5,689 pairs of reading glasses distributed, 18 community eye field workers trained, 154 obstetric fistulas repaired, 4 local surgeons trained in fistula repair, 231 orthopedic operations, 10,175 dental patients seen, 794 dental hygiene patients, 13,174 oral health education, 25 oral health teachers trained, 2 dental assistants trained, 28 patients received palliative home care, 6 Burkitt's Lymphoma patients received palliative support, 19 families trained in wound care, 10 agricultural staff trained, 23 local agricultural students attended the first agricultural training term, 1 dorm constructed for the agricultural college, 19 mental health workers trained, 119 church & community leaders trained in mental health care, 50 prison officers and workers trained in mental health care, 2 church leader's conferences held and attended by 602 people, and most importantly... at least 12,000 people watched the Jesus Film and many made a commitment to Christ!

Jet-Lagged Missionary Doormat

I have been traveling for and least 27 hours now, I am totally exhausted and not home yet. I am entirely confused. I am not sure if I am coming or going. The weariness in my bones tells me I have been all over the place and the fact that there are different languages around prompts me to accept the fact that I am not in Africa anymore, but at the same time, I am not entirely sure. Cotonou, Paris, London, Chicago, Baltimore, I am almost to my final destination. Holy cow! Wow! All I can say is I have sure looked and smelled better in my life. Good thing I do not have a boyfriend waiting to greet me on the other end of my jet-lag, he would straight up disown me for my stench and my brain dead state of mind.

To my dismay, but as a convenient entertainment piece for others, a jet-lag haze hit me after merely completing the first 6 hours of my journey home to America. Apparently the flight from Benin to France took more out of me than I expected. I was slightly dazed and confused when we arrived in Paris, but I managed to find the correct gate for the next portion of my journey. I was tired and a little miffed when I walked down the jet-way toward the plane door, because I was certain, I could have had a more direct route home. Why did I have to go from Paris then to London to get to America? I think it had something to do with my ticket being for humanitarian aid workers… great… I was tired and just dreaming of being done with my anticipated 30 hours of travel when the Air France airline stewardess greeted me. She was really chipper and had a huge smile on her face as she welcomed me onto the plane. She put out her hand, greeted me, and I grabbed her hand to shake it- as per the African routine I have been following for the past 17 months. Everyone shakes hands in Africa and no business is conducted in Africa unless you great each other and shake hands first. Well, you can try to conduct business without greeting people first, but you don’t get very far and it isn’t suggested. -- But, back to the story at hand. I was sort of confused as to why the stewardess was shaking hands, but I just thought she was overly friendly and I would roll with it. As soon as my hand hit hers, there was an awkwardness, I thought maybe I didn’t grip her hand correctly, so I tried to shake it again, but that is when I realized she really didn’t want to shake my hand, she was putting her hand out to look at my ticket and direct me to my seat. Oops! I have been in Africa far too long, I felt like a small idiot, but when I finally got my act together and handed her my ticket so she could direct me to my seat, she had a huge smile on her face and all those around me had a good laugh.

I found my seat, threw my pillow on it, and headed to the bathroom before I settled in for the 9 hour flight from London to Chicago. The flight attendant had informed me that I had a window seat. I was pretty stoked about that. I love window seats because there I can sleep more comfortably, but I always feel awkward asking the isle person to move so I can go to the bathroom, so I decided to hit the bathroom before the flight took off. Upon returning from the bathroom, I was slightly irked to find a man had moved my pillow and he was sitting in my window seat! “What a punk,” I thought. I decided to be gracious or a “missionary doormat” and let the man sit in my seat, besides in my jet-lag state, I wasn’t actually sure I had read my ticket assignment correctly. I was getting ready for a snooze in my NON-window seat, when my “seat thief” decided to introduce himself. I really didn’t want to strike up a conversation with the man who nicked my seat, but then I paused for a minute… his accent sounded oddly familiar and comforting... It wasn’t a British accent, not French, not Australian… then it hit me. He had an IRISH accent! Oh, what comfort! For those of you who have forgotten, my dear friend, roommate, and best mate from the ship was Jane, an Irish girl! My travel seat companion was from Ireland. It was great to hear his accent. I feel as if God hand-picked my seat assignment and to help make my departure from the ship and best friend a little easier. I think it was God also smiling on the Irish man because had he been an American, I wouldn’t have tolerated his seat-thievery!

I made it safe and sound to Chicago. Praise God! I looked at my flight information on my ticket and my airplane to Baltimore was supposed to take off 50 minutes after I landed in Chicago. How in the world was I going to clear immigration, customs, gather my luggage, re-check my luggage, change terminals, go through security, and board my airplane in 50 minutes? I decided it was a good thing I had my running shoes on… by the way… I didn’t want to wear them, I hate shoes! I much prefer flip-flops, but my suitcases weighed too much, so I had to wear my heaviest shoes! So, once I left the airplane door. I started running.

My interactions in the Chicago airport were comical. It started with the immigration officer. He was staring at my passport photo trying to figure out if I was actually the person in the photo. For a passport photo, mine isn’t too bad, but the look on the immigration officer’s face spoke volumes. I just tried to smile to hurry the process. He just kept starring at me. I said, umm… and kept smiling. Maybe I shouldn’t have smiled… I probably had rancid breath. But, the officer kept staring. I said, “I know I look a little different right now.” That was an understatement. He said, “That’s okay, I am sort of old-fashioned, I think it is better when girls look natural, without all that make-up. That way when they get married and wake up next to their husband the next morning, he doesn’t say, ‘who the heck are you?’” Interesting…either way, I am glad the immigration officer approved of my “natural” wicked, tired look and stamped my passport so I could keep running to catch my airplane.

With haste, I gathered my luggage and headed toward customs with my custom’s form in hand. For those of you who haven’t traveled internationally, there is a custom’s form that everyone is required to fill out when traveling internationally. It has a bunch of questions about where you have been, if you are bringing weapons, money, or weird things into the United States. There is also a portion that asks if you were with animals, on a farm, or basically playing with creatures that might carry scary things like swine-flu or other diseases, while you were out of the country. I thought long and hard about this question, but considering almost every street in Benin had chickens and goats running around and I was certain I had stepped in their waste, not to mention the human waste all over the roads as well, I figured I better at least forewarn the custom’s officer. I could be carrying some interesting bacteria. I also spent some time volunteering and working on the farming project that Mercy Ships was developing in a village outside of Benin. I had no excuse, I couldn’t lie; my shoes and clothing had spent a large portion of time in goat and chicken land, and I most definitely rolled around in African dirt. I approached the custom’s officer and she looked at me and my form. She noted I had checked the section about being with animals and on farmland. She asked me where I had been. I told her, “Africa.” She said, “Explain.” I kindly told her, “Most of West Africa is a farm… with chickens and goats running all over the place.” She asked me a few more questions, I talked a little more about goats and chickens, she took my custom’s form, signed it, wrote “Goats,” in big letters on it, and waved me through. Good thing custom’s forms aren’t report cards because if they were, the only thing my report card for the past 9 months would say is… GOATS!

Immigration done, luggage gathered, customs cleared, luggage re-checked, terminals changed, crap… I had fifteen minutes until my airplane departed and I hadn’t gone through security yet. There were about 100 people in front of me in the security line. There was no way I would make my flight at that rate. I decided to get over my gracious “missionary-doormat” behavior and I politely, with the help of two security officers, moved my way to the front of the line. The last boarding call for my flight was being announced as I cleared security. I didn’t take time to put my sweatshirt back on, my shoes were untied, my belt was thrown over my shoulder, my pillow, with my computer tucked in it was under my arm, and my large backpack was hanging off my shoulder as I ran toward my departure gate. I wasn’t about to extend my travel time by missing my flight! Out of breathe, terribly sweaty, and looking like death, I made it onto the plane with NO minutes to spare.

I felt awkward walking down the plane isle with everyone staring at me. I was certain they were thinking…”stupid girl… holding the plane up… she should have managed her time better… I bet she is irresponsible… an un-fit mother…” okay, well they probably didn’t think that, but you get the idea. I felt bad for arriving late. Toward the rear of the plane, I found my seat. Well, another man had stolen my window seat again, but that was way beside the point. The stewardess stared at me, helped me find a place for my over-sized backpack, and told me to take my seat. I was still huffing and puffing from my marathon through the airport when I turned to get into my seat and dropped my passport and all my previous boarding passes all over the place. Oh, great. The stewardess kindly picked them up for me and then after looking at my boarding passes, exclaimed, “Wow, you have come a long way!” That was actually helpful, everyone around me heard her comment and I felt their stern faces, judging my capabilities in life, soften. I took a big deep breath and settled in for the flight.

At this point in time, all I really wanted to do was vomit, sleep, shower, sleep, shower, sleep, shower, sleep, and stop flying! I looked around at my seatmates and noted the man to my left was white and for that matter, most of the rest of the people on my flight were vanilla-skinned. But, the man to my right was black. For me that was a huge blessing! I love my chocolate skinned brothers and sisters in this world and I was already going through shock from being surrounded by a sea of white people. My seatmate was from Cameroon, we talked about Africa and I told him about my work with Mercy Ships all the way to BWI! He is a nurse too and expressed interest in volunteering with Mercy Ships in the future. Wow! God is awesome!

One of the Psalms in the Bible says the Lord watches over our coming and going both now and forevermore. How awesome! I have no doubt in my mind, God watched over every little detail of my time in Africa…and my return to the United States of America! Good is so good. After a final car ride from BWI to my brother’s apartment in Washington, D.C, I was reunited with my family. There was nothing more I wanted in that moment… well… except for a really long shower!

Angels Amongst the Sons of Men

The day the big White Whale landed on the black shores of Africa was a blessed day to the Sons of Men.

It came with angels to walk amongst the Sons of Men.

Why do I call them angels?

Let me tell you of my time with them.

I came on board the White Whale with rooms filled with the lame, the mame, the formed, the deformed, the wrong, and the rough.

And deep into the darkest part of the night, I saw men and brethren, maidens and ladies, though flesh as us yet, with hearts of angels.

Sleeplessly and tirelessly they toiled through the night.

Through the pains and aches of men, they with hands to heal and mend,

bringing from above, the Father's love to the Sons of Men.

Some they cut, some they tie, some they seal, and others they fix with tools untold.

Like messengers of the Most High they came not thinking of their own,

they risked their lives and sailed the sea,

to lands beyond the endless world, to shores of men afflicted and in pain.

Their hearts and lives they came to share as angels walk amongst the Sons of Men.

Some in this life are born to pass and some are born in life to live,

yet, these angels are born to preserve humanity.

Though some lives they see as waste yet, with speed they move to save.

With words of love and touch of peace,

they endlessly toil to make right the wrong.

You were born as men to your lands and yet as angels you served the earth.

Gold is dug from earth beneath.

Treasures are hunted on high seas but,

love so pure and true can only in hearts like yours, be found.

Your labor in the Lord shall not be in vain.

For every life you touch and every soul you save

For every bone you mend and every face you straight.

The Lord of Life and Light will light your path and guide your life.

For you are truly... Angels Amongst the Sons of Men.

By: One of our beloved patients... Prince Eddie Daniels... 2009

Cooking like a Chicken on a Rotisserie

The sun was high in the sky and there was not a bit of shade in sight. I sat on the hot cement bleachers fearing I was going to end up with a third degree burn on my backside. The bleachers were on fire. I pulled an extra bandana out of my bag and sat it on my section of the bleacher in hopes that it would take the sting out of the heat that was cooking my rear end; it didn’t. I wondered how long it would take for the cement to cool down. I looked at the stadium clock to determine how long we had to wait for the action to start; two hours until kickoff. It seemed like I had been sitting in the sun for an eternity when I checked the time again. I was confused; the clock read the same time that it had when I last looked. That’s when I realized the stadium clock was broken, go figure. I looked around the stadium and noted the place was filling up, but there were still thousands of seats available. Benin versus Ghana, it promised to be a sell out game. We were told to arrive hours before the game started to make sure we got seats and my friends and I hoped that our early arrival would help us avoid long lines and possible violent outbreaks that often accompany soccer games in foreign countries. We also figured it was the smartest thing to do since we are advised to avoid large crowds and attending a soccer match sort of went against that advice. There were thousands of people outside the arena when we arrived, but there were plenty of seats to choose from when we finally made it inside the stadium. We could sit anywhere we wanted in the general admission section. The “top seating- box office” was off limits, but we couldn’t get into that section anyway because it was separated from the rest of the cement bleachers by a high chain linked fence with that curly, barbed wire on top that shreds your skin if you touch it. Living on missionary budgets, my friends and I bought $4 dollar tickets instead of the expensive $10 tickets, but as my backside was burning, those elite, comfy, plastic lawn chairs in the “box office seating” sure looked appealing. Maybe I should have splurged the extra $6. At first, my friends selected seats close to the exit with the rationale that if things went crazy, we could make a quick getaway and sneak out before too much violence erupted. I thought that was a horrible idea. I convinced them we should sit as far away from the exit as possible because if things went crazy, everyone would want out and we would get trampled in the process. With persuasion, my friends relocated with me to the top area of the stadium. They decided it would really stink to die at a soccer match. So, there we sat with boiling bums in the sun. I drank almost all my water before the soccer teams even arrived and I feared dehydration would set in before the game even started. My mind momentarily drifted from the heat to the past and I pictured the days when I attended ball games at Tiger Stadium with nice seats, shade over my head, concession stands around the corner, and mobile salesmen packing treats connected to their shoulders while yelling “peanuts, popcorn, ice-cold beer…peanuts, popcorn, ice-cold beer… peanuts, popcorn…” I don’t drink beer, but I sure thought something ice-cold would be great! Although I was cooking like a chicken on a rotisserie, I was having fun and it was entertaining watching all the people around the stadium. I was surveying the action around me when I noticed a number of African women moving around the stadium with baskets on their heads and buckets in their hands. This is not an uncommon site in Africa, so I didn’t think much of their presence, I thought they were spectators too, but then I realized they were my daydream come true! They were selling food and drinks. They sold cashews, plantain chips, soda, and one of my favorite local ice cream treats called Fan Milk! Awesome! While enjoying my Fan Milk, I observed some action on the track around the field. It was a bunch of military personnel taking post. They were fully armed and through the zoom setting on my friend’s camera, we determined some of their guns were loaded with tear gas. In case the sea of chocolate people surrounding me wasn’t enough of a hint to tell me I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, those military men sure did the trick. I figured the game was about to begin. The crowd went wild as the soccer players took their place on the field. It was a great game. The score was tied at zero-zero at halftime. Both teams were giving it their best. The score was still nil-nil with 30 seconds left on the clock. We thought it was going to be a draw. My friends and I were okay with that. We figured no one would go crazy if the match ended in a stalemate and we would live. We were planning our departure, but still watching the game when out of nowhere, Benin scored a goal! The stadium went crazy! It was awesome. Benin had scored with only 5 seconds left in the game. Benin was the game champion and qualifier for the African cup! Way to go Benin! All the Africans around us were ecstatic. My friends and I jumped up and down with excitement too, but we were more excited because we knew we would live, we weren’t quite sure what would have happened if Benin lost. Way to go Benin!

For the Love of Lettuce

The countdown is on. Mercy Ships’ field service in Benin will soon come to a close. In a very short time, I will be back on US soil for a much needed break! Last year I had planned my re-entry actions for months. I wanted to take a bath and man; I had a list of food I wanted to eat! I dreamed of drinking a creamy, chocolate, milk shake and having a huge, crispy chicken salad with fresh, lush, green, lettuce. Did I ever think lettuce would be my first re-entry meal request? Not in a million years! But, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Astonishingly, my love for vegetables increased when they were not readily available. In Liberia, we had cucumbers and tomatoes available at every meal, but unfortunately, I was never hungry enough to try them. What I missed was lettuce. Oh, what I would have given for a salad. I believe I saw lettuce at total of seven times in the entire eight months I was on the ship in Liberia. The availability of fresh vegetables was very limited. Also, the labor required to wash, bleach, and rinse enough lettuce for 400 crew members to have a salad, was not really worth the effort. The few times I had lettuce on the ship; my taste buds recall that is was terribly bitter and not entirely tasty. Therefore, when anticipating my re-entry back to the States, among seeing friends and family, I really just wanted to eat a salad. These past few weeks have been intense for me and I cannot even describe how burned out I have been feeling. I never wanted to come to a point in life where I live for the future and miss out on the present…where life happens… but this past week, I have really been dreaming of some comforts from home and I have sort of been wishing my time away. Although I hate to admit it, the following are a list of phrases that came out my mouth this past week. “I am exhausted. I want to go home! I am burned out. I have nothing more to give. I’m done! I don’t know if I can make it much longer. I am shutting down! I need a break!” After working a few 12 hour shifts in a row this past week, I really thought I was not going to be able to hold up much longer if something didn’t change. I have been crying out to God for strength for each task, for grace to flow in my conversations, and for restful sleep. I wanted to know He was hearing my cry and listening to me! One evening this past week, I staggered into the dining hall for dinner. I was anticipating another grilled cheese sandwich because I heard the dinner menu was fish and you know how I don’t get along with fish. But, much to my surprise! There in front of my eyes, on the buffet line, were the most beautiful little pieces of crispy chicken. Oh, my goodness! My eyes scanned down the rest of the buffet line and I saw cheese, lettuce, and… I held my breath… did the most recent container bring more dressing? I looked over to the condiment counter and almost screamed out of excitement. There was salad dressing! I had all the components that I needed to make a crispy chicken salad! For the love of lettuce! I almost started to cry. I gathered my salad items together and joined some of my friends at a table to eat. We paused before we ate and I thanked God for loving me, for His incredible grace, and for my crispy chicken salad! Does God hear us when we pray? Does he care for our every need? I have to admit, sometimes life's circumstances make me wonder, but deep down inside… I know God cares for us…He has even numbered the hair on our head (which isn’t a huge task for some of us). But when it comes down to it, God cares about our every need. He hears us when we call. He knows exactly what we need and I feel so blessed that he cares enough about me to give me something simple like a crispy chicken salad! My only struggle now is I have nothing to look forward to when I come home!... Kidding! I am still looking forward to having a chocolate milkshake…Oh, and saying hello to all of you!

Stronger than I can ever hope to be...

I sat on a tattered plastic chair in a small circle with three African ladies. My translator sat to my right. To my left was a second translator and across from me was a timid patient. I looked directly at my patient hoping somehow she would feel or sense how much I cared about her and the struggles that had brought her to me. I told her my name and that I was a nurse from the ship. I explained that I had plenty of questions to ask, but that she should feel free to tell me the truth because that is how I could best determine if we could help her. I wanted to stress that my patient’s painful story was safe with me and that my patient didn’t have to feel pressured to answer my questions a certain way. I wanted to help and my help wasn’t dependent on the “right” answers from our talk. I could almost ask all the questions I had without looking at the questionnaire because I had already conducted at least 14 of the same conversations in the two days prior to this conversation. I resisted the urge to hurry through the questions. The time I would spend with each patient was more important than getting my three page health history form filled out. As I listened to each women tell me her story with tears running down her face, I tried to push away the knowledge that ran around in the back of my head; we only had space for 20 VVF patients in the next surgical block. The reality of the situation weighed heavily on my heart. I would talk to and befriend more women than we could surgically treat. I prayed that my heart would seep compassion. I knew my time and listening ear was one of the greatest gifts I could offer many of the women before me, so I took care to stay attentive to each woman and the details she told me. None of the women I spoke to had to share their stories with me. I was a privileged guest to the information they were sharing. I couldn’t comprehend the pain and horror many of these women had experienced. Labor lasting 8 days, no medical help in delivering their children, no money or hospital to drive to. If money was available to get to a hospital and if a c-section was performed, their child had often already died in the obstructive labor process. Then these women would have constant leaking of urine because of the internal tissue death that occurred while the baby was stuck inside their womb. And as if the pain of losing a child, their bladder function, and self-esteem, wasn’t enough, many of the women had also been abandoned by their husbands. I looked at the young woman across from me; she couldn’t have been more than 20. Although it sounded dumb and insignificant, I told my patient I was so sorry for the pain she had gone through. I looked directly at my patient and put my hand gently on her leg. I listened as my translator spoke a combination of Yoruba and French to the translator to my left, then that translator spoke Biri to my patient. The message reached my patient and with a solemn face she gently bowed her head in my direction, acknowledging my comment. I smiled and squeezed her hand. Our conversation went on for about an hour. I asked question after question of my patient. Our friendship building as I acknowledged each of her responses and showed I truly cared about her struggles. I finished the conversation the same way I had finished all the previous conversations. I thanked my patient for her time and told her, I could not promise her a surgery, but that the doctor would see her. I tried to gently explain that the doctor would only be on the ship for 2 weeks, so surgical space was limited. I don’t know if the young girl across from me even comprehended what I said. She just smiled at me. In that moment, I asked if it would be okay if I prayed. She readily agreed. I then wrapped my pale white hand around the dark skinned hand in front of me. We closed our eyes and asked God to let his will prevail in this situation. As I sit here on my bed, I can picture all of the women I have talked with this past week. Their stories are etched on my heart. In my memory, I can see their worn hands and tear streaked faces. I am honored to know them. I have been blessed to spend time with them. They are stronger than I can ever hope to be. I pray that somehow I will have some of their strength tomorrow as the day promises to be intense. Tomorrow the doctor will select his surgical candidates. Twenty of my new friends will rejoice tomorrow, many more will grieve. I am going to bed now trusting God to give me the strength I will need to rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn.

Togo Road-Trip Part 5

For those of you bored by the medical field or my constant ramble about health care, for your sake, I will take a detour in this story. I will tell you about some of the other exciting things I have been interacting with on this adventure. Well, the list is huge and I am not sure you will appreciate or even understand the significance of most of it, but I will try to explain. I have been staying in a guest house. It has three bedrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, living room, walk in pantry, and a bathroom. I feel like I am in a mansion! The house design is simple and basic, but I am in heaven! I have SPACE! It’s amazing. I wake up to the sound of chirping birds, rustling trees, and a gentle breeze coming through my bedroom windows, instead of an alarm from the engine room, thunking my knee on the wall of my bunk when I roll over, or the sound of our suction-vacuum toilet flushing. The bathroom in this guest house is bigger than my entire cabin that sleeps four and I have a “luxury cabin” on the ship. I have selfishly taken more than a two minute shower each day and even though it is hot here, I am seriously considering having a long bubble bath before I leave! There is a bath tub here! Glory! Glory! And it is purely exciting to be able to turn around in the shower or reach for my shampoo without having the shower curtain stick to me! Awesome! Goodness, the blessings surrounding me are incredible. The hospital compound has grass, flowers, and trees everywhere! The hospital is situated between some lush, green, mountains, and I feel like I am in paradise. I didn’t realize how much I took nature and dirt for granted until I moved onto a large metal box that floats in the ocean. (It may sound like I am complaining and that I am not thankful for what I have on the ship, don’t get me wrong, I am, but I am just expressing how thankful I am for other things too). One thing I haven’t missed about dirt is the little crawly creatures that often live in dirt. I have seen some beautiful butterflies and some not so beautiful creatures, too. A few spiders tried to sleep with me, but I “disinvited” them before they crawled into my sweet, double bed! I know I am cruel, but I didn’t want to share my bed! I also met the biggest bug I have ever seen in my life. Thankfully, I met him when he was dead. After dinner one night some of the missionaries said they had something to show me. I was confused when they went to the freezer and pulled out two cups taped together. They then proceeded to open the cup and pull out a huge rhinoceros beetle. I thank God I didn’t meet that bug when he was alive. I am glad he climbed on their screen door and not mine! Holy cow! I took a picture with the bug, for your enjoyment, but I wouldn’t even touch the bug myself. I wouldn’t even hold the bug on a napkin, I put it on a napkin, on top of a weaved pot-holder, and then held the edges of the pot-holder with my finger tips. Yuck! Everyone laughed and we put the bug back into its resting place in the cups, in the freezer. One thing I have learned from being here is you better be careful before you open a freezer around this place! I met a few more exciting creatures while roaming the hospital campus. Missionaries are known for having interesting pets and Doctor Russ’s family is doing well to keep up with that stereotype. I met their 2 living snakes, new baby squirrels, monkey named Alf, and their pet civet. I’ve never heard of a civet before, let alone met one. A civet resembles a cat, has a leopard like tail, but apparently is a member of the mongoose or weasel family. I said hi to the little guy, but didn’t attempt to pet it. I get squeamish when it comes to petting hairy things. Many of the other creepy bugs in Togo apparently heard I was visiting and they decided to say hello to me as well. I appreciate their gesture but, I have decided I will be okay if I don’t have to hang out with millipedes or praying mantis in the future. I feel sorry for the last bug that tried to greet me; my patience had run out for meeting new friends…He is pictured to the right with my shoe. Oh, bless that little guy…More to come in this story…but not for the bug that got too close to my shoe!

Togo Road- Trip Part 4

People are always coming and going at Hôpital Baptiste Biblique. There are a number of long term missionaries and also short term missionaries that work with Association of Baptists for World Evangelism (ABWE) the governing mission body connected with Hôpital Baptiste Biblique. We have all gathered over meals and it has been incredible to hear the stories of the people here. The ABWE has other missionaries working throughout Togo with projects such as church planting and building another hospital in Northern Togo. I met some incredible people and I believe it was no coincidence that I was able to connect with a missionary couple from Mango, Togo, a town about 9 hours north, but only 250 miles away from Kpalime. The couple was leaving the morning after we arrived, but I was able to have a brief conversation with them about searching for VVF patients. I told them it wouldn’t be easy, but I believe there are women in their community suffering alone. This assessment was more accurate that I thought because I later found out that Hôpital Baptiste Biblique is the closest hospital to their location in Togo and it is 250 miles away. The majority of patients with VVF have no access to health care and if the closest hospital to the Mango villagers is 250 miles away, I can guarantee there are potential surgical candidates in that community. The majority of people living in Mango are Muslims. The missionaries working there are eager and willing to help Mercy Ships locate VVF patients. It will also be very beneficial for this missionary couple to have conversation starters with the people in their community and the VVF patients will greatly benefit from having friends in their community that can help them with their reintegration to society. The missionary’s wife is also pregnant and expecting a baby! I believe this is no small coincidence either. It will be natural for her to talk about birthing and through that she can discuss VVF and hopefully locate those in her community that need help! Awesome! The second night we were in Togo another missionary couple stopped by coincidently (I do not believe in coincidences) they were in need of medical care themselves and they just happened to be at the hospital the same time we were. This missionary couple is from another remote village in Togo by the name of Kara, located about six hours northeast from Kpalime and they have agreed to help locate VVF ladies as well. This is so encouraging. Having contacts up country will ensure follow-up for our VVF patients which is a luxury we don’t often have. It will also be great to have people to encourage and spiritually care for the women after our anchor is pulled up and we sail away. The wife in this missionary couple is a nurse and she also happens to be pregnant… not a mistake… some people call these instances “coincidences”… I call them “God-incidences”. Doctor Russ also introduced me to a local nurse midwife and another midwife working with the government. I am so encouraged that there are trained midwifes in the area of Kpalime and Tsiko. This gives me hope that we won’t find too many VVF patients in that area. If women have received proper care when they are laboring, obstetric VVF are 100% preventable. But, even if a midwife is present at the birth, complications can still arise, and if an emergency c-section is not available, a VVF will most likely occur along with the death of the baby. The midwifes I met will help spread the word about the free VVF surgeries Mercy Ships offers. One of the midwifes already told me about a surgical candidate she knows. I have also been working on developing creative ways to advertise the free surgeries available for these VVF women. It isn’t hard to advertise for the other surgeries Mercy Ships offers on the ship because we can take pictures of cleft lips, facial tumors, distorted limbs, cataracts, and the like, but because of the private nature of VVF surgeries, creativity is required to get the word out. Also many of the people we are here to help cannot read, so it isn’t like I can just design a poster for them to read. Often many of us from western cultures come up with a slogan or phrase that we think is perfect, but it may be culturally inappropriate and we may ruin any chance of making a difference because we offend the people we came to serve. With this knowledge in the back of my mind, I decided to ask the nurses at Hôpital Baptiste Biblique how I should best get the word out about Mercy Ships’ VVF Program. The conversation was hilarious at times, but after about one and a half hours we came up with a 2 lined slogan for my posters. We also translated the phrase into a few of the local Togolese languages. I guess the words on the poster will be hand written because I am certain my computer has never attempted to type any of the letters/figures I have on my notepad! I will be the first to admit I seriously lack graphic arts and computer design capabilities, but I feel confident that they idea and slogan my new African friends and I came up with will help locate some women suffering alone and that’s what counts! Yup…you guessed it… more to come!!!

Baby Therapy

What do you do when you are stressed? Do you scream at your friends or family? (That isn't advised). Do you exercise? Count to ten? Pray? Do you throw things? (Another bad idea). Or do you inhale large, I mean, LARGE amounts of chocolate? (Yummy)! When I experience stress, the first thing I want to do is eat 5 million chocolate bars. But, I have recently decided that inhaling large amounts of chocolate may not be a healthy stress relieving activity. It has taken me a long time to come to this conclusion, but I have decided I should take it easy on the chocolate consumption. So, what do I do to relieve my stress now? Of course, I pray, and try to think rationally about the situation causing my stress, but that doesn't always work. Sometimes I need a tangible stress relieving activity. What to do? What to do? I am slightly limited with stress relieving options here on the ship. It isn't like I can hop in my car and drive down the freeway at high speeds with the music blaring. I cannot go for a peaceful walk in the woods. I cannot have some alone time...lying on my bed quietly, (I have 3 roommates, they are great, but...).... What to do? What to do? A number of us on the ship have been working on this issue and we have come up with a new therapy technique.... It is called Baby Therapy. You may wonder what Baby Therapy involves... Well, it involves going to the ward, finding the cutest baby possible, picking them up, and smothering them with kisses and more kisses! The therapy session is stress free because when I am done with the therapy session or if the baby interrupts the session with crying; I just return the baby to their mama and the session is over. The baby's mom takes care of all dirty diapers, crying, spitting, and all that jazz. I get to cuddle a cute baby without any added stress! The little angel pictured with me was my most recent Baby Therapy Friend. Now, don't go thinking I am mean and using the babies... Just check out her face... she loved hanging out with me too! So, why am I stressed? Well... beyond normal daily stress... I was looking forward to a small vacation within the next few days. But, there has been a huge delay in acquiring my travel visa from the local embassy. My visa may not be available until 10 hours AFTER I was scheduled to depart! Nuts! I am praying for this trip to work... Last year when I was scheduled for a break, I got kidney stones and never got to use a $130 USD visa I had already purchased! This year I am ready and so eager for a break.... but visa trouble... I believe my God is big. He can part the Red Sea, He can mend a broken heart, He can restore life to dry bones, He can make good from bad; He can certainly get me a visa if it is His will... Would you join me in praying for God's will to be done in this situation. Also pray for all those babies enrolled in the Baby Therapy program on the ship. I fear they may get smothered by me within the next few hours! Thanks! I love all of you!