See Something More

Our new house is affectionately termed the hot house.  Maybe it’s because of the concrete roof that basically bakes our house like an oven during the day. Maybe it’s the small courtyard and the close wall that blocks the breeze from passing through. Or maybe it’s just a normal west African hot season in April, but that house is hot.  We try to keep all the doors and windows open to keep air circulating, but even our fans seems to just blow hot air like a blow dryer. The other night, I actually could not take a shower because the water scalded my skin. Most people run the shower water to let it warm up; we run ours to let it cool down. Even after getting out of the shower, in less than two minutes you are wondering if what’s dripping from your brow is water or sweat. Touch the walls at night, and they radiate heat. Our wax candle melted on top without even lighting it. Even our water filter is hot to the touch, like there is heated water inside.  The other morning Megan wen

It all began two years ago with a woman who came to the hospital when she was very ill. Not only was she cured of her physical sickness, but she also came to understand the gospel and put her faith in Jesus because of the evangelistic efforts of the hospital - such as the showing of the Jesus film in the wards in local languages, the chaplains visiting and talking with the patients, and the love and bold witness of providers.  When she was discharged to go home, she asked the chaplains to come and share with her village what they had shared with her.  So for the past two years, a team of faithful believers have taken motos and traveled 40 minutes to this village every Friday to share the gospel and study the Bible with the attendants. The village chief is a part of this group, and he was one of those numbered among the forty-seven that were baptized today.  I’m not sure who invented the baptistery, but I’m beginning to think they missed something.   For there is just s

Statistically, the maternity ward at this hospital in Togo delivers 50-60 babies a month. April is definitely going to beat that average, for its April 20 and the month is only two thirds done, but by 7am we delivered the 52nd baby. At this rate, we will do almost 80 deliveries this month, which is more than beating average; it could be a record. Pretty good for a four bed birthing room and an eight bed postpartum ward staffed by only two nurses. Let me tell you what it looks like to deliver this many babies.  The delivery room has four beds separated by four curtains with a desk in the middle. So much for privacy! Each laboring woman also usually brings one or two female family members to assist her in labor, so sometimes the room is quite full of people. It’s Africa, it’s open, everyone can pretty much know what’s going on with everybody, it’s all in true community fashion, and I love it. If I open each of the curtains a little bit, I can sit at the desk and keep an eye on a

Eight. That’s how many times I’ve moved in the past three years. That’s how many houses I’ve called home In this most recent stretch of life in west Africa. My things have gotten very used to being in a suitcase, but strangely enough, my heart has also gotten very used to making even a six week dwelling into a place called home.  We brought in all the luggage and set it in a pile on the living room floor. Before a single thing was unpacked, the “moving team” gathered around and prayed. Prayed for Megan and I, prayed for our new house, prayed for the work and ministry we will do inside and outside the walls of this home. And just like that, this adorable two bedroom, one bath African house became home, for it had been dedicated to God. And to both Megan and I, God has already clearly prepared it for us according to his divine scheming.  I hung my clothes in an armoir, put sheets on the bed, put some food in the pantry, and hung curtains. I’m a nester, you could say, but I think

Perhaps this is some kind of initiation. A rite of passage. Perhaps they want to see what I’m made of. Or perhaps someone just totally overlooked me when they made the schedule. Or maybe I was just crazy for telling the nursing directors that I would be happy to work nights.  But in a fourteen day period, I work eleven twelve hour night shifts.  Twelve hours is a loose term. Sometimes it turns into fourteen when you have four deliveries back to back at shift change.  I’m right in the middle of this stretch - eight shifts down and four to go - which is why I am awake at this ungodly hour in the middle of the night even on my day off. Because why try to switch over when you just worked three nights in a row, have one night off, and then work three more?  Sorry, I sound like I’m complaining. And when it is 9:00am in the morning after working fourteen hours with a thirty minute lunch break, and all I can think about is my bed but instead I have to ride my bike home with one

She gripped my hand with all of her strength, squeezing my fingers as she squeezed her eyes shut and  clenched her whole body with the contraction. When I had arrived to the hospital to start my shift earlier that evening, she was only two centimeters dilated and having irregular contractions about every fifteen minutes. Now, at 4:30 am, her contractions were coming every two minutes like clockwork. As her labor had progressed, I had been at her side. Although I often feel quite useless when it comes to comforting women in labor (keep in mind that these women undergo the entire labor process without a single pain killing drug), I do what I can, like for this woman. I brought fresh water from time to time and encouraged her to drink. I rubbed her back when she leaned over the bed with contraction pains. I listened to the baby’s heartbeat frequently and reassured her each time that he was doing well and looking forward to meeting her. I tried to offer reassuring words and tell her she