Fight For Hope

Wherever I go, I get introduced as a nurse. In the Dagara language, there is not even a word for "nurse", so they introduce me as a doctor. To be known as a medical professional is a good thing, but it can also be a really hard thing when you are living in West Africa. 

It means that whatever disease or problem a person has, I'm supposed to be able to do something about it. It means that everyone comes to me with their medical problems. And sometimes it means me feeling utterly overwhelmed and helpless. 

This happened to me the other day in a certain village. After our team had finished leading the church gathering, we were preparing to pack up the cars and go home. That's when all the sick people started coming to me. Stomach aches. Diarrheas and fevers. Open sores and rashes that I knew nothing about. Peripheral vascular disease and venous ulcers. Bumps and abscesses. Goiters and hernias. I gave out a couple of presciptions and a tube of triple antibiotic ointment that a team member had in her purse, but other than that, I just offered to lead a prayer on behalf of all the sick. 

Over forty people gathered under the church hangar, and we layed hands on them to pray in the name of Jesus for their healing. I looked at all the suffering people, and I can't explain how badly I wanted to be like Jesus in that moment and just reach out and touch each one to heal them. If he were here, he could heal them just with the touch of his hand, I thought. 

There was one young boy there of about 14 years old who touched all of our hearts in a powerful way. His arm hung limp under his baggy shirt, and when we asked to see it, he revealed an infected puncture wound that appeared to go straight through his upper arm. It was oozing thick white pus. I thought he had been shot. 

"What happened?" we asked. He explained that his arm swelled up and turned red and hot with an infection inside. His family followed traditional medicine practices, so to treat an infection like that, the traditional healer heated up a hot iron and punctured the site to release the infection. That was over a year ago. 

He was clearly in pain, but he did not cry. Not until we asked his name. "Ankpeina," he replied. All Dagara names have a meaning, so we asked what his name meant. With tears starting to pool in his eyes, our translator explained that his name means "it's going to cause me pain". I watched the boy cry, and I fought to hide my own tears. He cried not from the pain of his arm but from the pain of his name. 

I placed my hand on the shoulder of his uninjured arm and looked him right in the eyes. I told him to be strong and have courage because we were going to help him. "God has not abandoned you. He loves you very much." It was the only thing I could say without breaking down. 

As we walked to the car, I glanced at a teammate (one of the short term visitors) and saw tears on her face, and that was all it took for my own floodgates to open. "I don't see how you do it," she said, "you must be so strong." 

"It's really hard being a nurse here," I replied, thinking about all the sick people that I just encountered but couldn't really help. I had found a few patients that I could treat on my own and a few that I invited to come to our city for further evaluation and better care, but that still left many unattended to. "It's the hardest thing I've ever done." 

My heart ached for the sick, the suffering, the unfairness of inadequate medical care, the lack of access to medical facilities, and my own insufficiency to make everyone better. On my knees, I asked God to make me stop hurting. Instead, he gave me the image of a child coming to her father with an injury on her knee. Her daddy can't make it stop hurting, but he can let her crawl up in his lap and hold her through it. That's what the Lord did with me. He reminded me that the only way to stop the hurt is to harden my heart, and that's not what he wants for me. I think the heart of our father is a tender one, and he shares that heart with us. He didn't take away the hurt, but he did hold me through it. 

I prayed a prayer once: "Break my heart for what breaks yours." That's a dangerous prayer; you'll end up with a lot of broken hearts. But each broken heart draws us closer to the father and closer to heaven, making us remember that this broken world is not our home. We take confidence in the truth that God will make it all better one day. He will make right what has been made wrong. Until then, it motivates us to keep fighting. Instead of freezing with fear and feelings of inadequacy when confronted face to face with all the suffering of the world, we must kick into fighting mode. We must work to demolish despair and fight for hope. 

I saw Ankpeina again today when he came to our city with his father. He had an X-ray that showed a cloud of infection that needs to be surgically removed, and so we arranged for them to travel tomorrow to Ouagadougou to see a trustworthy surgeon. I knelt beside him before he left and told him that we had chosen a new name for him. "Can I call you by a different name?" I asked, and he nodded. "Stephen," I said, and a smile spread across his young face. Geoffrey explained that Stephen was a man of faith who had a strong testimony and became the first martyr for the sake of Christ. "He was a strong man, just like you." 

Sometimes I feel like that person in the modern day parable who walks on the beach, throwing starfish one at a time back into the ocean. I can't save everyone, and that's not my job as a nurse, but I can touch a few and find joy and satisfaction in doing what I can and trusting God with the rest. It's worth every broken heart and every moment of feeling the Lord hold me when it hurts. 

So let me be known as a nurse (or as a doctor), and let all the sick and the hurting come no matter how numerous they are. But more importantly, let me be known as the young follower of Jesus who loves and welcomes the suffering. I will never be known as the nurse who heals every illness, but I do want to be known as the girl who looked each person in the eyes, listened to them, loved and encouraged them, and prayed for them. This is how we love, and how we hurt, and how we fight for hope.