Scars and strugles on the way
But with joy our hearts can say
Yes, our hearts can say
Never once did we ever walk alone
Never once did You leave us on our own
You are faithful, God, You are faithful.
I reflected on those words yesterday as the piano music faded and our nurses and day workers began to share stories of God's goodness and faithfulness throughout the outreach here in Guinea.
"They came hidden under shawls and wraps, eyes dropped in shame. It has been amazing to see the patients blossom into confidence..."
"There was a certain man who was very difficult when he first came. He would not eat the food because it had been prepared by Christians. He would not even eat food from the market if it had been brought by Christians. But before he left he chased after me and asked for a Bible..."
"We have had some patients who were close to death, but we have not lost even one in our hospital during this outreach. There is one who almost died who is very happy now...she calls me often and sends her greetings to all the nurses and the doctors."
We've not walked alone these last months, and our patients have not either. Patients and papas and brothers and cousins stood eagerly Sunday to share with us what God had done for them. The testimonies went long past the planned close of the ward service and continued - testimonies of past shame and persistent search for help, stories of hope and promise for a future.
A, B, and C ward all stand empty and well-cleaned tonight, and D ward will soon follow. My last few nursing shifts were a week ago: a busy set of evenings my friend Hannah (and many of my co-workers here) laughingly call "typical Laura Coles shifts." No quiet evenings for me...if I'm working it's pretty much a guarantee there will be excitement of some form or other, whether it's diagnoses of contagious illness, walk-ins, babies with difficulty breathing, pager calls, sending patients off to surgery, or taking restless kids out into the hallway to race each other until night shift arrives. I soaked it in, savoring each minute of the controlled chaos and thankful for a distraction from the quickly approaching finish line: the end of the outreach, next tomorrow. It's a bittersweet week, but not a week of goodbyes.
I don't want to say goodbye.
I'll say "see you later" instead, in any way and every language you choose...sampai nanti, au revior, auf wiedersehen, oohwuwo, a go se yu bak.
I've said it over the last few months, to the tiny cleft-whiskered babies with their heart-shaped nasal bolsters and their parents who love them so fiercely. I whispered it to Kadi as she slept against my heart during ward church Sunday, and when she ran down the hallway her last night here with no pants, giggling hysterically at the nurse chasing her. I hugged my au reviors to Halima as she shuffle-danced to the beat of her own drum and blew little sideways kisses on my cheek, and to Lamin with his pirate eyepatch and taped-on gloves and too-big surgical mask when he showed up to join in our cleaning shift yesterday. I sang oohwuwo to Fodi and Nanfadema and Bala and Mariatou with their brand-new faces, their new confidence, and changed lives that lie ahead.
As our patients leave the ship and travel back to homes and villages across West Africa, they will not travel alone. I pray they would see God's faithfulness and provision, and sing with joy despite their scars and struggles. I pray their neighbors and families would notice a change and begin to wonder, to ask why the outcast devil baby no longer looks like a devil, and how the curse that caused a face to melt has been reversed. I hope they ask why there is new life, new confidence, hope and a future...that they would ask and find the answers.
As our ship leaves Guinea and I fly home, I will not be walking alone either. Never once will I ever walk alone...God is faithful to go before me and with me, so I can lift my hands in confident surrender to sing:
Carried by Your constant grace
Held within Your perfect peace
Never once, no, I never walk alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment