"a tragedy of huge proportionas."

Last night I was hit with a pang of homesickness.

It was after dinner, and I wasn't really in the mood to talk to anyone. I just wanted to be with someone (there is a big difference between talking to and being with a person). The thought of sitting on my comfy couch, with my mom and a fresh-brewed cup of coffee, nearly made me cry.

I've had a lovely time here so far. I've reunited with handfuls of old friends, and met plenty of lovely new faces. In some ways, it feels as if I never left. But truthfully, I've only been displaced from Bucks County for a week and half. Pangs of homesickness are to be expected.

I've been re-reading The Knowledge of The Holy by A.W. Tozer. I found this paragraph beautiful and true,

" 'He hath set eternity in their heart,' said the Preacher, and I think here He sets forth both the glory and misery of men. To be made for eternity and forced to dwell in time is for mankind a tragedy of huge proportions. All within us cries for life and permanence, and everything around us reminds us of mortality and change. Yet that God has made us of the stuff of eternity is both a glory yet to be realized and a prophecy yet to be fulfilled."

I don't think we were made to change. We were made in the image and likeness of God and He is unchanging. Likewise, being made in His image, we can conclude we also were made to be unchanging.

If sin hadn't entered the world, I don't believe change would have either. Sin brought death, death brought man under the grips of time. Our eternity was chained. No longer would we infinitely dwell with God. Instead, we'd would measure ourselves by moments, hours, and years. Landmarks which would remind us of the false glory of how things were and make us anxious for what tomorrow may bring. Our unchanging nature now lived in world in which all things were progressing from life to death. Always changing.

Not being created for change, it makes sense that apprehension and some measure if discomfort accompany every change. Even changes we like.

The remedy? To bury ourselves in the Unchanging One and let our hearts long for eternity.
To be hopeful and assured of, "A glory yet to be realized and a prophecy yet to be fulfilled".

already? :)

Last year, whenever I gave a presentation about Mercy Ships, I always talked about Musu. Musu was one of my most memorable patients. She was sassy, mischievous, and had the most beautiful smile. After spending two months on the ward, Musu and I became very good friends.

Musus had two standard greetings which I heard every time I walked into the ward. The first, "Oh Meggee, you will marry my brother." The second, "Meggee, your butt is big. It is fine" (this of course was accompanied with hand motions). Regardless of how many times I explained to Musu that American girls don't like to hear they have big butts, she never stopped. In her mind, she was giving me a compliment.

Today, I was in the wards collecting information for a patient story. My very fun-fellow peds nurse/north easterner friend Ali was working in the ward. Last year, Ali and I had the distinct privilege of having a ward dance party, in which one of our patients (Milton, "The Reverend") told us we danced like Micheal Jackson. With authority, I can say it was a crowning moment for us both.

Perhaps Ali and I give off a dance party aura. Today, I was in the ward for no longer than three minute, when I found myself immersed in a spontaneous dance party that consisted of Ali, myself, and two of the moms. I guess dancing is a universal language.

The dance party started off by a comment on the size of Ali's backside, and then moved on to comment on mine. It's only been a week and a half, and I've already had a West African communicate to me that I have a large backside. And the moms didn't even speak English.

It makes me laugh. And I love to laugh.

You should read Ali's account.

Edith

I spent the second half of last week, three hours up north, in the town of Abomey.

Despite the very bumpy road, I was so jet lagged, that I manged to sleep for a good portion of the ride up Wednesday morning. When I wasn't sleeping, Eileen, our videographer, filled me in on the patients we were visiting.

The first patient we visited was a 14-year-old girl, named Edith. When Edith was 12, a fast-growing facial tumor overtook her face, threatening her life. A local missionary couple paid for Edith to have surgery at a local hospital. Her surgeon was an ears, nose, and throat specialist, with no maxillo-facial or plastics experience. He removed the tumor, saving Ediths life, but left her extremely disfigured. When Edith awoke from surgery, her right eye was permanently closed, along with half her nose and mouth. She was horrified when she looked in the mirror. She spent the next two years hiding in her house, completely isolated from her village.

You would have never known that on Wednesday.

The same couple who sponsored Edith's first surgery, heard of Mercy Ships, and made sure Edith came to the screening in February. Edith received reconstructive surgery on the Africa Mercy. Her face isn't "perfect", but both her eyes and nostrils are opened, and she looks remarkably better than before.

Most importantly, Edith is no longer hiding in her room. She's again a part of her village. Recently, she even took first in her class at school.

Edith is beautiful and has a gentle and sweet spirit. While being interviewed by the videographer, she broke down crying midway. The entire village had gathered around her to watch and the attention made her uncomfortable. So she cried.

When she wasn't being interviewed, Edith insisted on having her little brother in her arms. It was beautiful to watch her gently sooth and care for him. Her compassionate heart shined.

Seeing Edith in her village added a new dimension to the spectrum in which I view our patients. On the ward, it was hard to imagine my patients in their homes with, their families, living their day to day lives. As a nurse, I was a part of a crisis period, far removed from daily living.

But in the villages, I gained a small glimpse into their worlds. I saw the direct impact and dramatic change Mercy Ships is having in the lives of daily life individuals.

The most powerful part of our patients transformation is never physical.

The most powerful part is the new found sparkle in their eyes, the joy in their smiles, and the confidence which being loved brings.

Giving someone free surgery is such a powerful way to demonstrate God's love. I'm sure the Father's heart is delighted when Edith smiles.

simple things

A little over a week ago I was sitting in my home in Bucks County, drinking coffee in the evening, while watching my dogs chase a Frisbee around my backyard.

Now, I am sitting in an office at 1 AM, in front of a wall of clocks which display the time in various sectors of the world, while noticing the ships gentle sway. Already, the green grass of my backyard seems a long way gone.

I spent the past three days in the northern part of Benin, about three hours away from the Africa Mercy. I was documenting the beautiful ending of four patients who received surgery on the Africa Mercy.

While up north, our team stayed at a beautiful, clean orphanage, which is currently home to about 40 children. I had a little room with blue walls, a small wooden bed dressed with a faded floral sheet (there was no pillow), and a fan that didn't work. One fluorescent light lit up the room, but only after 7pm when the generators went on. There was a small bathroom with a shower head (I was very grateful for this) and I bucket I filled with water to flush the toilet. At night, I left one screened window open and hid underneath a mosquito net.

To the average westerner, this probably doesn't sound beautiful or appealing.

But my window faced the courtyard of the orphanage. Every night I went to bed hearing the voices of the children laughing and singing. Every morning, I awoke to the chattering of enegergetic little voices.

What could be more beautiful?

I read this today and felt it's poignancy,

"Secularism, materialism, and the intrusive presence of things have put out the light in our souls and turned us into a generation of zombies. We cover our deep ignorance with words, but we are ashamed to wonder, we are afraid whisper 'mystery'. "

A.W. Tozer The Knowledge of the Holy

There is something about being here that awakens that sense of mystery and grants my soul the freedom to marvel at the simple things. The laughter of a child. The way the wind feels on your face on hazy evening. The mystery in someones eyes. Things I don't often have time to notice when I'm home.

Amazing things happen when our minds are freed from the clutter of the material and the chatter of the proud. They are given the space to wonder at God and meditate on His Majesty.

There is nothing more beautiful in heaven or earth.

I love having the space to wonder. I love thinking about the mystery.

off and running

I've been in Benin for four days. It feels like it's been a few weeks.

Although I still am not sleeping well, the transition back to ship life has been relatively easy. I'm blessed to have a few handfuls of friends already on board, and have met some really lovely new (to me) crew.

Benin is not war torn. There are no UN soldiers (at least none that I've seen). When you walk onto the street, tension doesn't hit you along with the humidity. There is electricity, hotels with nice pools, and today I even went through a fully functional toll booth. It's very different than Liberia. However, unchanged is the need for health care services. The mass majority here have no access to medical care. The needs are great, and the OR schedule is full.

I've spent my first two days at working in communications, and am learning what will be expected of me as a writer. My eyes are adjusting to the computer screen and backside is adjusting to hours in an office chair (nurses never have time to sit :) . It's going to take a few weeks to find the pulse of my new position (you like that nursing innuendo?), but once I find it, I think I'm really going to enjoy it. My job still requires me to spend a fair amount of time on the ward. I'll still be getting my daily dose of cute kids and have regular opportunities to talk about "nurse things".

Tomorrow I'm traveling up north for three days, to document several patients who have had various surgeries.

It's definitely been a running start, but I prefer to be busy rather than bored.

But I do expect to sleep soundly this weekend.

strangely normal

After 30 hours of traveling I safely arrived on board the Africa mercy on Friday night.


I don't know how I expected things to be, I they have been strangely normal. Nothing feels different or out of place- I just live on a hospital ship again (that's normal, right?).

However, I am enjoy my spacious (a very relative term) four berth cabin. I have to cupboards all to myself and even a sitting area. I suppose I'm moving up in the world :)

I've spent the weekend catching up with old friends, and was even able to celebrate the fourth of July at the US embassy in Benin. It's been lovely to see so many familiar faces.

Tomorrow, I start my job in communications. I admit to being a little nervous, but I think I'm really going to enjoy working there and I always love a challenge. And I don't have to work any more night shifts :)

Goodbye Philadelphia

It's hard to believe, but I am off again. My life is packed in two (very heavy) duffel bags, and my passport is in my pocket.

It will only take two flights (Philly to Paris, Paris to Benin) and 24 hours to transport me to a world entirely different from my own. There is just something so strange about that. I'll never quite wrap my head around it.

But here I go, the adventure continues...