I blinked and a week has passed, almost as if arriving at
home in the car and realizing you have no idea how you got there. It was a busy week, one full of meetings and planning
and challenges and joys; also one of peace, which is truly the cry of my heart
for this season. I am so grateful.
~~
During my time away in France this summer, I spent a whole
lot of time evaluating the things that went wrong last field service and what I
need to do to remedy the situation this field service. One of those decisions was I must have a Sabbath
day once a week. One full day, where I
don’t do any work and I don’t do any school work. This was nearly nonexistent for me last year,
and I committed to arranging at least one day per week that was free to do whatever
my heart needed to do to find peace and be refreshed for the coming week. Reading, listening to a podcast, running,
sitting by a pool, going to church; it might look different every week, but I
knew it had to be a day free of school and work.
Then we landed in Benin. And things got crazy. And two days after arrival I’m already thinking
I am going to have to work all weekend to
catch up. We had literally been in
country two days and I felt behind; the panic of failure creeping in the back
of my mind, with a to-do list a mile long and the desperate need to achieve overriding any other needs, no
matter how urgent.
Two days in.
I took a figurative step back and said whoa. No way. I am not starting this way. This is not going to be this year. It. Is. Not.
So the weekend came and I worked hard one day to catch up on
things, and then I did it. I took a day off from school, from work, from the need
to achieve and accomplish and cross off to-do list items. It was glorious and refreshing and I found
that Monday morning not only was I not behind, but I was exceptionally peaceful
and productive. It makes no sense, that
one. The rational part of me says it’s a
waste of time. But I’m beginning to
learn that rational doesn’t secretly
mean right.
~~
I went up to someone the other day and said “I’d like to
have dinner with you, I want to hear your story.” Truly, she lit up like a Christmas tree; she
said really??? like four times and
then said how about tonight? We had a
great dinner and a beautiful conversation, but what stuck with me was the excitement
she showed when I gave value to her, to our time, to her story. Isn’t that truly what we are all hungry
for? Someone to tell us I see you, you have value, your story is important
and I want to hear it.
I encourage you to try it.
Be brave. They might say no. But
if their face lights up and they feel seen for the first time in maybe
forever? It’s worth it.
~~
On Thursday we went as a team to the screening site. In the last few years we’ve changed our screening
strategy dramatically; while huge screenings with 7000 people lining up like we
had in Congo has its benefits, from a public health perspective, large numbers
of desperate and potentially ill people in a confined area could be a recipe
for disaster. So now our screening team
holds smaller screening days over a longer period of time, and they need a lot
of help with security and patient escorts throughout the day.
We left the ship long before the sun began to rise; when we
arrived at the screening site, the crowds outside the gate were already loud
and rowdy. We couldn’t see them but
could hear them; the desperation clear in a group of people who had already
spent days in line, sleeping in the rain, the mud, the tropical sun. It took a lot of jaw clenching and focused
concentration to keep the tears at bay.
Once the police had them calmed down they started to file
into the compound. I got to greet each
second person as a friend and I were giving everyone who entered a
wristband. They were so eager, the
grandmothers and the pappas and the mamas with their little ones. Some cried at the sight of our pale skin but
most were just relieved to be inside and a step closer to their long-hoped-for
healing.
Some we can help; many, many we cannot, and it’s hard to see
the disappointment of those who receive a no shuffling out of the compound,
their faces and hearts heavy and grieving the death of hope. Please pray for them; for the multitudes we
cannot help, and for the screening team who have to deliver the news.
~~
I guess it should come as no surprise that I aced my last
grad school module. What module was it? Programme and policy challenges in low
income countries. Yeah. Like a
transcript of my daily existence would probably be a suitable textbook. In fact, I had to read very little of the
actual course material, drawing upon my own experience proved much more fun and
less tedious. Now I’m struggling through
Managing crises and disasters which I
think I would enjoy if it weren’t for so many other things I’d rather be doing
with my time.
So I’m still managing to work and do school at the same
time; I also will be leading a small group and I hope to spend some time
learning the local language of Fon while I am here. I am not sure why but something in me really
wants to learn it! It’s very different
from Tcha which was the local language in my village; speaking of village, I do
plan to go up there sometime in the next few months. Someone asked me today if I had seen anyone
that I knew from my previous time yet, and I replied no, but we’ve only been
here a week!
It’s so good to be here. Thank you for your prayers and
support, I couldn’t do this without my funders and my friends and emails and
family and letters and love. Thank you,
from the depths.
xxk
 |
| On arrival. See me? ©Mercy Ships |
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