This is my Life

The week I decide to blog about a typical week, ends up being the week I end up being medavaced to South Africa. If you asked Molly Crane who stayed with us a month last summer she would laugh and agree that yes that would be a typical week. Just when you thought you knew what you would be doing everything changes  (both car batteries die in one day and you aren't going anywhere). It reminds me of Jesus words about not worrying about tomorrow ,in fact don't even plan tomorrow but instead just be faithful with what God puts in front of you today. (Matthew 6:34, James 4:24)

Monday I drive to Mercy Ministries to drop off the $500 that Molly and her mother raised. I had called Dorothy, the Zambian woman in charge of the school for orphaned and vulnerable children and agreed with Edna her daughter on the date and time. When I arrive no one is there to accept the money. Edna has been admitted to the University Teaching Hospital, has had a c-section and delivered a healthy baby boy. Dorothy has taken a group of children to the ophthalmologist for eye exams. I depart taking the envelope with me.  I will text and make plans for a drop off next week.

Tuesday I lecture to 4th year medical students on Five Common Diseases in Children in Zambia; acute respiratory infection (pneumonia), malaria, diarrhea, HIV/AIDS, and malnutrition. I try an interactive style picking out a name on the list of over 100 students and calling on students to answer questions. Although not intended to be a humorous presentation one slide gets a laugh. It's a picture of a severely malnourished child. What I failed to notice before is the filthy ragged grey shirt worn by the mother with "Survivor" printed on it.

Most Tuesday mornings I attend an International Women's Bible study with a wonderfully prayerful group of ladies from all over the world; Zambia, Zimbabwe, South Africa, Ireland, Holland, New Zealand, Australia, Guatemala, Philippians, US, Ethiopia and England. A recent Beth Moore study on Daniel was a great encouragement to me as I under went three mammograms, an ultrasound and a breast aspiration during our month home in the US. I kept recalling the fiery furnaces of life where there are 3 possible endings. God either delivers us from the fire (we don't have to endure it, the spot on the CXR disappears, our faith is built up), or he delivers us through the fire (we have to have the radiation and chemo but we are cured and our faith is refined) or he delivers us by the fire and takes us into the arms of Jesus (the trial or suffering ends in death with no miraculous healing and our faith is perfected) As Jim and I often joke "What's the worst thing that could happen? and then what? and then what? "and eventually we end up in the arms of Jesus and remember that that is actually the best place to be.

Wednesday morning I paint with a multi-generational, multicultural art group at a local cafe. The owner of an art supply shop offers lessons and artists come for fellowship, encouragement and inspiration. In the  afternoon I experiment with a sack of guavas from a friend with a guava tree in her yard; the guava sorbet is refreshing, the guava and apple curry is inedible and the guava jelly well to be honest no one has actually tried it yet.

Thursday I head to the prison. I drop off the hot water kettle (thanks to Luke/Atticus Getz for his donation). The women are surprised. I assure them I have the commander's permission. I emphasize due to the filthy conditions and the recent outbreak of Shigella that all drinking water should be boiled. I say this as I stand by a pile of sacks reaching to the ceiling filled with dried foul smelling kapenta fish. I try not to stare at the flies creeping into the holes in the sacks. I pretend they are not there as if the situation is not that bad. I sit down and take out my bag and begin to listen to the stories in French, Swahili, Bemba, Nyanja and English. There are rashes, bug bites, headaches, back aches, watery eyes, stomach pain, heavy periods, vomiting, coughs, weight loss, racing hearts, anxiety, too much thinking, fear and depression. I pray with everyone. Many weep. I assure them there is a God who sees. The God who made them and formed them in their mother's womb has not forgotten them. If they were the only person in the world God would have still sent his Son Jesus to die for them. They are precious in His sight. They are not forgotten. Some women are refugees, some have been trafficked, some are drug addicts, thieves, even murderers. A few of the women guards stop by for medical advise and prayer. I am following His great commission in Mark 16:18 to place my hands on sick people so that they will get well." I am trying to do what Jesus did "preaching good news to the poor, proclaiming freedom for the prisoner, releasing the oppressed" Luke 4:18 and I am trying to be a sheep watching for the Son of Man,  the King who reminds us that when we serve others we are serving Him. "I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me." Matthew 25:31-46.

Friday I am back at the medical school pretending to be a patient waiting to receive "Bad News" from one of the 4th year medical students. My child has died. I am devastated. I weep tears.  I have a positive HIV test. They are nervous. I am in denial, I am angry and going to kill my husband, I refuse to get my result, I cry, I rage... you get the picture. Then we sit and discuss the interaction. Did they make sure they had the right patient, did they look me in the face, were they empathetic, did they make rash promises for a long life or a cure....or that surely God would give me another child.

Saturday I walk Terra with Jim at 6am. Nose to the ground she discovers an owl pellet and looking up we can see an owl roosting in a palm tree. Good dog! Back at home she jumps in the pool and lies down on the step submerging herself and gulping water. She shakes water all over us, leaps on the lounge chair and then onto the metal table. She towers above us standing upright.  Bad dog! "Down" I tell her. She lays down on the table and curls into a ball. I realize we need a new word, "Off."

Sunday we worship. The sermon focuses on the beatitudes; blessed are those who spiritually mourn over their lost and sinful condition, for they will be comforted by God's forgiveness and grace. I plant flower seeds in old plastic yogurt containers and harvest onions and avocados. Jim sleeps in the afternoon. Chris plays frisbee with friends and then attends the Baptist Fellowship where the topic of discussion is euthanasia. We talk about the lie of unmanageable pain over dinner.