dawn: adventures of a journeywoman

Photos: walking among baby giraffes on Cresent Island; the children receiving de-worming medicine in church

I must apologize for the despairing tone of my last blog. Although the initial days of re-adjustment to life in Kenya were not easy, I have been able to feel more settled in the last week. God is a God of answered prayers and I was privileged enough to see His hand in the midst of suffering.

Last week a young patient recently paralyzed and blinded from meningitis was thought to have a rectal-vaginal fistula. As I gently questioned her about risk factors, she revealed a painful story of being molested as a 5 year old girl. I wasn't able to hold back all the tears as I prayed for healing of body and spirit over her. I was so relieved when no fistula found on further examination, and I was happy to see her go home today under the care of her mother. Yet I am reminded that just 2 months ago, she was an active, studious young woman. What a different life she returns to now: tube feedings, diapers, and lying in darkness.

As other patients I care for struggle to breathe with tuberculosis, to walk with debilitating and neglected leg sores, and to think clearly after being assaulted by a unprovoked head injury or a bout with malaria I find myself rejecting the bitterness of disease. Though it may seem I play a part, I recognize how small and limited this is. Yes, it has been exciting to see patients regain some function after being treated with medicine. And some of these changes have been dramatic and exciting. One patient progressed from labored, distressful breathing to practically skipping down the hall (without oxygen) a few days later. I saw another patient today who could barely move without excruciating pain from meningitis a week ago, embrace her husband and comfortably smile and laugh.

I have (and do) question why pain exists, especially when I witness what seems like enough for multiple lifetimes be manifested in one person. I find myself increasingly drawn to what will ultimately relieve all the exhausted cries that I witness. I attach myself firmly in agreement with Paul when he says, “We grow weary in our present bodies, and we long to put on our heavenly bodies like new clothing…while we live in these earthly bodies we groan and sigh, but it’s not that we want to die and get rid of these bodies that clothe us. Rather, we want to put on our new bodies so that these dying bodies will be swallowed up by life.” 2 Corinthians 5: 2, 4 How amazing that we don't have to be swallowed by the tendrils of pain and death but instead can look toward being engulfed by deep, true, and infinite life. So even as I prayed with a mother after telling her the pregnancy she had longed for had ended, I did not despair. It would be hard to survive without being reminded that there is more than this life.

I was encouraged by a friend before I left that we can seek pleasure in all earthly things (which is different than simply living with the ultimate goal of earthly pleasure). And my creative Father has given me some surprises of pleasure. On Saturday, I traveled with a family across Lake Naivasha to Cresent Island where many wild animals were deposited for the filming of "Out of Africa." Apparently no one remembered to return these animals to their homes after the shooting was complete. Upon arriving on the island, I was greeted by a giraffe as I stepped out of the boat. We hiked for a few hours getting as close as we dared to wildebeasts, gazelles, and zebras. It was breathtaking to walk among these bizarre creations and realize I likely looked just as strange to them.

Instead of staying at the compound on Sunday, I squeezed into a crowded landrover headed into a slum of Nairobi. After carefully stepping over waste of all sorts and passing unrecognizable slabs of meat roasting on the same ground, we arrived at a shanty just barely bigger than my bedroom (which, by the way, is not spacious). There a few parishoners were already interceding for the upcoming 4 hour long service (putting my own church to shame). There was a dance team who led us through moving to an hour of call and response singing. And of course, the other white people and I had to share some wazungu songs in exchange. The move of the spirit among people who had so little, yet gave so much was undeniable. The surgeon in our group was asked to bless a new purple satin covering some members had pooled together to provide (which was a nice contrast to the dirt floors and sacs making up the roof). Instead of passing out communion, one by one each member came forward to receive a de-worming medicine. It was truly a place where I could feel an affirming presence of the longing of something beyond this world.

Thank you again for your thoughts, prayers, and e-mails as I continue my service in Kenya.