More of Fifa . . .

Yesterday I posted a video of Fifalina.  Today I found a post by Michelle, a physiotherapist aboard the ship, in her blog, "Bloom", telling more of Fifa's story.  Be blessed!

This little girl’s courage and heart through 6 months of medical care, painful procedures and rehab is a testimony of how strong her mother’s faith is and the love she has for her daughter. It is humbling and inspiring to see how much courage and trust they both have. What do I even fret over? What in my life honestly comes close to the suffering and pain they have had to endure? They had no answers for a long time. And yet despite their ‘poor hand’ and the misfortune of being born in a land with feeble medical resources; they had courage to keep going.. to live life as well as they possibly can, to love despite their circumstance.The day came when Fifa and her momma could get help and when that journey began they had the courage to be known and allow themselves to be loved.

 

This was a journey, a long one. The halls of this ship hospital and the bright white lights and business of vazas (foreigners) is frighting for many patients when they first arrive. Picture these little children who are so brave because they endure having never seen probing rubber gloves, the clinical coldness of so much white linen and all the other scary looking medical supplies like needles, syringes, cast saws and and and. Our nurses know this and hospital chaplaincy knows this, and so they try to break the scary with hoards of colourful stickers, balloons for animal making-game playing-artwork fun. There’s guaranteed to be bubbles floating around and a game of balloon badminton happening while kids run round the ward plastered in glittery heart stickers. There is a never ending stream of nurses and house keepers and chaplains and physios and even the surgeons, yes the surgeons, who will pick up a needy child, cuddle a cleft-lip baby or read a book with a mama while her exhausted child sleeps.

 

The love transforms. It’s far more than the physical bones or skin that gets grafted. It’s more than the suffocating tumor that’s removed. It’s more than the cataracts that’s lifted to reveal sight. It’s the bravery this place gives you to keep fighting. It’s the courage it fosters to try again tomorrow. It’s knowing that we’re valid. It’s demonstrated in the care of the “most important” who stop and smile and pray over the least of those around them. It’s the way everyone is important, seen and acknowledged again as a human being. Dr Gary is our Chief Medical Officer who’s been here doing his thing for 30 years. I saw him this morning walking around the cafe area on the ship stroking the leaves of the pot plants, tending them, pruning off the dead leaves. The other day, after 13 hours of surgery he picked up a mop and helped clean. I’m not saying this to boast and instill feelings of comparative shame. This is convicting and it’s beautiful. Because it’s these things that rub off and create an absolutely unique environment spurred by positive pressure. I love the one quote he once said about giving people a chance to be a human again, the right to sit at the table of humanity.

This is a special place but why can this not happen in our pocket of humanity at home? What stops me from taking a step back into resting on Jesus and turning out to face others with a gentle smile of recognition? What stops me from unashamedly reaching out a hand to touch someone as I go past? What stops me from waiting and listening though their whole sentence instead of interrupting with my agenda? Well, I watched this video of Fifalina’s life being radically RADICALLY reshaped and turned around and I realised something. It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about the 100s of people who worked night shifts or even the surgeon and operating room staff who straightened her legs; it’s about her, Fifa. It’s about her future. It’s about looking into her eyes and seeing her, and choosing to put her need, above mine every time we meet. She needs to be seen and loved and given her seat again at the table of humanity.

There are many more people like her to come but this doesn’t have to be overwhelming. It’s not about me or my strength or my ability or my fleshy desires and ambitions. I can rest on the One who’s much greater who has given me the will to do this and the means to do it. It’s going to be difficult, and I’ll think i’m suffering (but really not much…) but I want to be open to being interrupted. I want to have to the courage to be available for others’ sake. The courage to operate out of humility for humanity. The courage to love. I look at the picture on my cabin wall of Fifa marching through her street back in Antananarivo and remember that I too, have courage. Courage is a little Malagasy girl and she’s here in my heart.