I touched base with one of our neighbors this week who's son is also a senior. His son has already been accepted to two colleges and blah, blah, blah . . . When I told him Matt was considering going to the ship for a gap year, he said he'd never let Matt go - "Ebola!" My God is bigger than that. He's a lot like Mercy Ships Receptionist Kristen Jack's God. Read on . . .
I’m a Seattle girl, and one of the hallmark traits of a Seattlite is
that we speak our mind and share our opinions because what’s the worst
that can happen; someone disagrees and then goes back to drinking their
coffee or smoking their pot. My world doesn’t hinge on whether you agree
with me or not, it hinges on whether I was authentic and spoke up when
something was important to me.
Sitting here in Cotonou, Benin, a mere two hours from Lagos, Nigeria where
another case of Ebola has been confirmed, this Seattle girl has something on her heart she wants to share:
My God is not a god of death and disease but of life and
beauty. My God is bigger than fear, no matter how valid or logical. My
God is not bound by borders nor confused by Ebola. My God is
unpredictable and wild and my God loves in just the same way.
After monitoring the Ebola situation and evaluating the risk, Mercy
Ships made the bittersweet call not to go to Guinea for our 2014-15
field service. So our team packed for Benin instead. Because of the
short notice we heard a lot of, “Just do what you can, everyone will
understand if something doesn’t get done.” But since we arrived in Benin
we have watched as door after door was blown off the hinge for us and
tasks were checked off that no one expected us to accomplish. And to
that all I can say is God is for us and for this country. I believe this
is a nation set apart and Mercy Ships has been brought here to play a
part.
And because of that I refuse to believe that we have been preparing
and speaking hope into people’s hearts just to pack up and leave before
the first patient steps a foot on the gangway. I refuse to believe that
all our connections and hard work were for nothing. I refuse to believe
my God is that small.
But its still easy to succumb to fear, look around, there are plenty
of reasons. We live in a broken world where planes are shot out of the
sky, where earthquakes devastate entire communities and disease kills
thousands. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel that twinge of fear in
my gut when I read the news– over the next three weeks one of my primary
tasks will have me at the international airport every couple days.
But I have to cling to truth and what some may call foolish trust.
There have been two distinct times where logically and medically I
should have died. But here I am, living and breathing and enjoying each
day. I know intimately that God holds each day of mine and I can say
with confidence God knows how my story will end. It doesn’t mean I throw
caution to the wind and neglect preventative measures at all. It does
mean that I will continue to do what I’m doing everyday and maybe use
the hand sanitizer a bit more often.
But what really gets me is that, should Ebola cross the border into
Benin, I can cash in my American citizen chips and go home. But my
friends here aren’t so lucky. They have no golden ticket in the form of a
blue passport. They have no choice but to face this. For one friend
going home would be just as bad as staying here… Home is Guinea and
Sierra Leone. But that’s an internal dilemma for another day…
At the end of the day, I work for an organization that I trust. I
know our leaders evaluate well and I know they pray hard. I don’t envy
the decision makers but I trust the decisions they make. They made the
call to change our course from Guinea to Benin and they have continued
to monitor the outbreak and will evaluate again. And because I trust
them I will keep doing what I’m doing and praying big bold prayers.
