Reflections on the Mission Field

I closed my eyes to recall the picturesque scene of a village made up of thatched roof huts. Outside one of them, a group of people had gathered around a missionary who wore a big smile, and carried a large black Bible. The faces of each of the observers were intent, drinking in every word that the missionary had to say. The next scene unfolds, as the missionary’s wife, who also wore a big smile, was handing out food and articles of clothing to the grateful villagers. Most of the village came to know the Lord, and the missionaries were great hero’s of the faith, who lived in harmony with all men...

To a large degree, this was how I use to envision foreign missions. The biographies I read were usually stories that had a brilliant ending. And the sunday school pictures of mud huts somehow made them seem quaint.

Instead, I’ve discovered the mission field is like any other place: a place of reality. The missionary doesn’t escape the things that he struggled with in his homeland. Nor does sharing the love of Jesus become suddenly easier when entering a foreign mission field. And just like at home, people are not always receptive to the Word. The idea of “giving to the needy” becomes less appealing when the gifts become expected. We are all alike, in the sense that our flesh is never satisfied. 

The nostalgic picture I once carried in my mind doesn’t allow for the reality of a missionary who is burnt out, or who struggles with language barrier. Or perhaps the difficulties of living on a mission compound, where certain characters are forced to constantly live and work together. Culture clashes will never become extinct, and continue to create questions, misunderstandings and frustration for both parties involved. 

When it comes to foreign missions, I still feel I have much to learn and understand. Yet, the little I have had the privilege to observe, has given me a new and greater appreciation for those involved. For beyond the painted version of a missionary is a man or woman who struggles just like anyone else. But who is willing to answer the call to leave it all behind. To forever give up the comfort of knowing where “home” is, and face the unknown. They are the hero on furlough, but have learned what it means to be lonely and the forgotten one at home. 

So most missionaries don’t lead the heroic lifestyle many may think. Their everyday work involves the nitty gritty, boring, dirty stuff as well. But for those who simply go in Jesus name, their work of sacrifice will not go unnoticed by Him. For it’s not the glamorous work we often think He’s most impressed by. It’s the cup of cold water given in His name...

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?  When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ “The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’ - Matthew 25: 34-40

For Everything He Gives

Happy belated Canada Day from Africa! Today I am reminded how blessed I am to call such an amazing country my home! Every country has its issues, and Canada is no exception. However, there is no question that God has blessed it in many ways. I miss it tremendously when I am away, but I thoroughly enjoy discovering a new culture and its unique beauty. Sometimes amidst poverty and pain, beauty can be concealed. It’s easy to focus on “what’s wrong” instead of what God has given. This week I particularly attempted to steer my focus on the countless gifts He has given. Below I have composed a little poem expressing my thanks to God for some of the special moments that I have enjoyed here. It made me realize how much I have to be thankful for!

 

For the dirty little hand that slipped into mine.

Belonging to a sweet little girl I didn’t even know.

For the man with leprosy, giving glory and praise to our Lord,

Though his body bears the scars, and his sight is no more

For the patient who said “I missed you this morning,”

Just when you were beginning to think they didn’t even care

For the thoughtful messages from family and friends back home,

Who probably didn’t know how much it actually really meant

For that word of encouragement after a long, difficult day,

Spurring me on, just when I thought I couldn’t go on

For the smiles and giggles of all the little boys and girls,

Who really don’t have much, but are happy just the same

For the little preterm baby who was lovingly named after me,

Even though, poor thing, he happened to be a wee little boy

For the amazing privilege to be apart of the miracle of life,

When sometimes I wonder how this could be considered a job

For the encouraging times when Emma and I sat down for tea

And talked about our joys and struggles, and oh so much more

For the incredible hospitality and friendship that Tanis provides

Her door is never closed, in fact, we never actually knock

For the good humor and calmness that Doctor Gayle displays,

Even though we can’t understand her Irish, we love her just the same

For JR, and her abundant medical knowledge she gracefully imparts,

Not to mention her example of what it means to have a servant’s heart

For the chance to get to know someone who for years has been an outcast

Just because his face is disfigured, reveals nothing of who he really is.

For the amazing African sunsets that colors the evening sky,

Reminding us of His faithfulness, the gift of another day

For all those who have prayed for me through this chapter in life,

It wasn’t just a kind gesture; it was the power that brought me through

So for all these incredible blessings, and so many more,

I give YOU the praise and thanks, My Savior and my Lord.

A time to mourn and a time to dance

Another beautiful African baby was born at Chitokoloki. It was a hard labour, but the mother barely made a sound. Although her husband is not present with her at the birth, he may be nearby and must not hear her scream. I placed the crying baby on her, but she barely looked at him. Her emotions, which had been pent up for sometime now, continued in their seclusion. Instead, a sense of satisfaction and relief rested on her face. The Zambian nurses looked at me with anticipation. Why was I placing the baby on the mother? Normally they take the baby immediately away to weigh and dress him. The midwife inside of me resisted. I couldn’t imagine the stark transition a baby must make from his cozy world in the womb, to a loud cool environment. It only makes sense to allow the baby to feel his mother’s presence, if at all possible. But I’m slowly learning that just because sometime makes sense, it doesn’t make it an absolute. I reluctantly gave in, and handed the baby over to the nurse. The mother looked relieved, and I had to smile at myself, realizing I had much to learn with this new culture.

Several minutes later she jumped off the bed, as if she had never given birth! And then came my favorite part of the whole childbirth experience here in Zambia: the Granny Dance! As soon as we walked into the main maternity ward with the new baby, the granny’s and relatives began their celebration dance! I think they get a good laugh at my sorry attempt to join in! I love how much joy it brings to the whole experience. It’s a good reminder to me that in the midst of a sorrow, loss and pain, He also gives moments of joy. And one day, when time and seasons have past, these moments will turn into Everlasting Joy!

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to uproot. A time to kill and a time to heal. A time to tear down and a time to build. A time to weep and a time to laugh. A time to mourn and a time to dance, – Ecclesiastes 3: 1-4

A few snapshots

Welcome to Zambia

View of Chitokoloki

Baby Sarah- the Preterm Baby

Baby Sarah- the Preterm Baby

Post C-Section

Author of Life

I had just arrived at Chitokoloki and was unpacking my thing, when I heard Tanis calling my name. She was heading to the hospital to see a preterm baby boy that had just been born, and wondered if I wanted to go with.

He was so tiny, weighing only 1.3kg. In his current condition, we didn’t think he would make it. However, the next day when I went back to the hospital, his breathing had improved tremendously. I was beginning to think there was hope. For several days I went in and spent some time with him and his sweet mother. The third morning when I arrived, the Zambian nurse on duty asked me what my name was. She than proceeded to write “baby Sarah” on his chart. I was so touched, but had to smile at the thought of a boy being named Sarah. I’m assuming that will be there first and last! J The next day, God took this precious baby home to be with Himself. I went immediately over to the hospital, and we just sat in silence and cried together.

Later that day I was called to deliver a baby. I had just finished the delivery, and another one came in. Two hours, and two births later, I was finishing up a few things when a nurse came running into the maternity ward. “Midwife, we need a midwife.” She thrust the emergency bag into my hands, and I- somewhat bewildered- grabbed a few essential things before jumping into emergency vehicle. I had no clue what was happening, but soon figured out that we were heading to a village 45 kilometers away. Someone had contacted the hospital saying there was a labour that needed assistance. I tried to mentally prepare myself for whatever was coming, but it was a little hard having given no further information. We sped along as quickly as possible down the rough, sand paths, and finally arrived an hour later. But the wrong message had been given. Instead of a woman in labour, there was a man who was in critical condition. I could feel my heart beat faster. What could I do- I’m a midwife, not a doctor or even nurse! I went into the crowded room where the young man was laying on the ground. I found his faint pulse, and he was still breathing. But, it was too late- he soon slipped away. Several minutes later I walked out of the room, with the crowd wailing around me. I cried almost the whole way home… It was my first encounter with an adult death, and I had to wonder- where was his soul?

I remember talking to a man back home, who claimed He didn’t believe God existed. He argued that if there was a God and He was good, how could He create evil and pain. But his belief still left him with many unanswered questioned. “Does believing in God allow you to have it all figured out?” he had asked.

As I bounced along in the emergency vehicle that day, many unanswered questions came to mind. The reality of death and poverty was overwhelming. But through it all, as I looked up into the deep blue sky, I knew I still served a living God. And He is good.

Last night I was called to a complicated birth. It was the hardest birth I’ve ever had to attend. The woman had a condition that caused her to begin seizuring, which can be life threatening.  Thankfully she remained in stable condition. We finally got the baby delivered, and began resuscitation that lasted for over an hour. But it was to no avail. I held her close and listened as the heart beat slowly ceased… Her life here ended before it scarcely had begun. But in reality, she is experiencing true life: Eternal life. My heart aches for her dear mother and family. She will always hold a place in their hearts…

So yes, I still have many questions that have no answers. Pain and suffering is real, and there is a very delicate balance between life and death. This may deter many from believing in the existence of God, or the belief that He is good. For me, this reality only serves to increase my faith in Him. For I know He promises to one day return and take His Children Home, where there is joy and peace forever more. Until then, I know I can trust the Author of life with all my unanswered questions.

“Not till the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly

Will God unroll the canvas and explain the reason WHY.”

Arrivals & Departures

I jolted awake as the plane touched down at Lusaka Airport. After four layovers and 24 hours of traveling from Belgium, I had finally made it to Zambia!

After successfully making it through immigration and gathering my luggage, I followed the advice given, and immediate found a taxi driver. I’ll never forget that ride, as I experienced Africa for the first time (while driving on the opposite side of the road).  A mix of excitement and nervousness ran through me as I thought of this crazy, new adventure that lay ahead. Little did I realize what I would be heading into…

After arriving at the guesthouse, I was warmly welcomed by some missionaries. A little while later, Jay showed up in his pilot uniform after having waited several hours at the airport for me. Apparently there had been some miscommunication, and I felt horrible that he had waited so long for no reason! But he took it well, and just smiled! Jay, Henry (mechanic at Chitokoloki) and I then sat down to an amazing dinner that had been prepared for us. Dr McAdams also joined us, as he was on His way back to the States for a much needed break. The four of us sat and talked for a few hours, and I remember feeling exhausted but not wanting to leave the interesting conversation we had engaged in. JR, a UK midwife working fulltime at Chitokoloki, showed up later with her beautiful smile! She had just finished writing the exam to obtain her Zambian license as a midwife, and was ready to return to the mission hospital.

The next morning the four of us (Jay, Henry, JR and myself) headed back to the airport, and loaded up the four-seater mission plane ready to embark on the 2 ½ hour flight to Chitokoloki. It was a beautiful day, and we had fun conversing with each other through headsets. I could tell Jay enjoyed teaching, as he explained a lot about flying and the landmarks we were flying over. About 45 min from Chitokoloki he asked us if he could practice a mock emergency landing. We agreed, so he cut down the engine, and we descended (slower then I thought) as he went through all the proper procedures that normally would be done. We didn’t actually land in the field he had chosen, but came pretty close to it before swooping back up into the sky. We then flew pretty low to the ground. “I want to give you an idea of how far we are in the bush,” he had explained with a smile. “But let me know if you start feeling nauseous. I don’t like to keep people in agony!” I thought I was tough, but it didn’t take too long before I felt like I was going to lose my breakfast. Henry looked over at me, and I knew by his expression that I was probably as white as a ghost. However, without incident we finally arrived at the Chitokoloki Mission compound. Emma and a few other missionaries with their kids were waiting for us by the landing strip. It didn’t take me very long to figure out who Jay’s wife was- her big smile gave her away! No doubt she was excited to see him after a few days of being apart.

After being shown to the little house where I would be staying with Emma and another girl Rose, we went to Tanis’ place (the main nurse- practically doctor ;)) for lunch. Several hours later, Jay came to the house to pick up another missionary who needed transport to another mission compound a half hour flight away. Katrina, his wife, went with seeing as she hadn’t left the compound since their arrival in February.

They successfully accomplished their mission, but never made it back to the station here. Instead, God took them both home to be with Him- their final destination. The next few hours were a blur, and we still didn’t know if they had escaped the plane that had crashed into the Zambazi River. Finally our fears were confirmed. It was so painful to look into the faces of their two little girls who were both clueless as to what had happened. Where was God, and how could this happen? For a moment, feelings of resentment and confusion swelled up inside of me. But His presence could be felt, even through the dark cloud of sorrow that hung over us. Many tears were shed, but none overlooked. The Man of Sorrows is well acquainted with grief. He sees, He understands. And because of Him, death has no victory over those who are called by His name!

Zambia: Another short Chapter :)

It’s been over a year now since my chapter in the Philippines came to a close. Now that God has me on this new adventure in Zambia for next two months, I thought it would be a good opportunity to remove the virtual dust and begin blogging again.  I will do my best to post weekly updates on here, but I won’t make any promises! I usually like to keep my posts short for easier reading, but please bare with me though the first few posts, as there is so much on my mind and heart.