Thursday, 19/June/2014
“From prayer that asks that I may be,
Sheltered from winds that beat on Thee
From fearing when I should aspire,
From falt'ring when I should climb higher,
From silken self, O Captain, free
Thy soldier who would follow Thee.
From subtle love of softening things,
From easy choices, weakenings
(Not thus are spirits fortified,
Not this way went the Crucified),
From all that dims thy Calvary,
O Lamb of God, deliver me.
Give me the love that leads the way,
The faith that nothing can dismay,
The hope no disappointments tire,
The passion that will burn like fire;
Let me not sink to be a clod:
Make me thy fuel, O Flame of God,
Amy Carmichael
We sang this song in our devotions the other morning, and the words
have been going through my head ever since. Especially verse 2. I
have been finding out the harsh reality of how “soft” I really am.
The newness and adventure of settling into a new life is beginning to
wear off, and I find myself daydreaming of things “back home”. (But
really, where is home???) Of my big comfy bed with lots of pillows in
my gray room with NO critters, or mosquito nets. Of warm showers, a
huge variety of food, light switches in every room, and people who
talk my language. Now, granted, these things don't bother me, (well,
except maybe the critters, but I'm not nearly as petrified of them as
I once was... my prayers are being answered!) but it can be easy to
look at the so-called 'sacrifices', and to spend too much time
thinking of them when my thoughts should be on higher things.
They sat on benches in our kivuli under the shelter of the grass roof,
two women, one holding a child who looked to be about 4 years old.
She lay there limply, eyes glazed over, and sometimes saying things
that seemed to make no sense, at least to those with me who understood
Swahili. We ushered them into the clinic, quickly came to the obvious
conclusion that it was probably malaria, and did a blood test. The
test was positive, and so meds were in order. Her little body felt
fiery to the touch, and when I checked her temperature, I found it
hovering around 105.6 F. I lept into gear, giving her fever reducing
medication, and beginning compresses with a cloth wet with the coolest
water we had available in the house. (which, surprisingly enough, was
actually cool to the touch!) At first she lay weakly, not resisting
the uncomfortable cloth at all, but as it started helping, she began
fighting and screaming. Eventually she fell asleep on the bed, and
sweated heavily as I continued changing out the cloths. I was praying
and praying that we had caught the fever in time that she wouldn't
start seizing, because I knew when it came to that point, there was
very little I could do anymore. Somewhere along the way I breathed a
prayer that her temperature would at least read 100 before she left
our care. About two hours after she arrived, I checked her temperature
again and nearly wept with joy when it read 98.6. The bed sheet was
soaked with her sweat, and she finally was sleeping peacefully. I
released her with clear instructions to give the fever reducer
regularly along with the malaria medication, and to continue the cool
compresses after their hour motorcycle ride back to their village.
Villagers don't have any kind of follow up system or interest, so it's
hard to get them to come back, so I've wondered often how my little
malaria patient is and how quickly she pulled through.
Emotionally, I find myself exhausted when working with intensive
patients like this. Somehow, knowing that there isn't anyone higher
trained then myself to turn my patients over to increases the stress
level for me. I do my best, coupled with a LOT of prayer, and turn my
patients over to God. I've had quite a bit of exposure in the last 2
weeks. Diagnosing malaria, typhoid, and amebic dysentery multiple
times. As well as lots of prenatals, burn patients, and wounds to
bandage.
This morning I was working on language study when commotion in the
courtyard drew me outside. I found a teenage boy who was just in a
motorcycle accident. His left side was pretty banged up and it took
awhile to clean up the wounds and surrounding skin, trim away some
dead skin, and bandage them with triple antibiotic cream, gauze, and
tape. He and his friends kept calling me “doctah” and saying I was
doing a good job, and I was sure to NOT about to let them know when I
was feeling a bit queasy when I was trimming skin off his toe. Before
my morning was over, I had bandaged a toe and a burn patient from
yesterday who actually returned for a follow up. This evening during
supper, Zack 'hodi-ed' at our gate, and I heard something about
another burn patient. My heart lept into my throat, and I didn't know
what we'd find when we pulled the sheets off the 4 year old boy they
brought into our clinic. What a relief to find that he wasn't badly
burned, and it didn't take long to clean him up, bandage him, and send
him on his way.
Language learning is only becoming more intense as I find myself
digging deeper and deeper into what the Swahili grammar system really
is. Sometimes I feel exhilarated and hopeful, but more often I just
want to weep. I work hard at book work every moment I can without
feeling sick of it. Then, in between, I listen hard to conversations
around me until my brain smokes. I try to pick out verbs and nouns
I'm familiar with, as well as TRY to figure out what tenses are going
on. It all makes me want to weep sometimes. And I can't begin to
talk much, as everything is in one jumbled mess in my brain and I
can't ever remember what I should know when I need it. I remind
myself every day that everything good takes time, and it's little by
little, here a little, there a little.
Tim and Sheryl packed up their family this past Thursday and headed to
town for a time of relaxation and refreshment as a family, as well as
to pick up their new house-maid, Teresa Coblentz. Their compound
seems so quiet without the chatter and patter of four energetic,
blonde-haired children. The rest of us are holding down the fort in
Ivuna, continuing life much as we had before. Friday evening's are
what we call “fun night”- involving a special supper and time spent
together. This past week, we 6 single staff here played volleyball on
a lovely makeshift net that Warren and Zack constructed, and altho it
didn't exactly go wonderfully, we still had fun- even with a soccer
ball that constantly leaked! We sang together after it got dark,
something that is a favorite in our group.
I'm slowly settling in and making Ivuna home. Some times it feels
like I have such a long way to go, other times I can't help but be
thankful for how far I've already come. Thank you so much for your
emails, I really enjoy hearing tidbits of news from “home”! God bless
each one! -Kim
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