Fini

I have left the big white ship with so many incredible memories:

Poolside chats
Drinking a wee cuppa tea
Taxi rides that remind me of all the things I want to do before I die
Watching the ships come in and out of port
Singing in the rain
Dance parties in the halls of the hospital ("dance fote dance," anybody?)
Card games on deck seven
African dance lessons in Coyah with our own choir of drums
So many gorgeous sunsets
Making unlikely friends
Hugs and kisses from the VVF ladies
Friday morning crepes
The tailor that helped me look like an 'African woman'
Game nights
Sleeping under the stars
Watching kids play soccer on the beach
Running into a patient on the street, twice!
24 hours of prayer for our patients
Eating juicy mangoes
Snuggling babies
Watching Shrek (again) on the ward
Walks around Conakry
Patients who only know one English phrase 'thank you,' and use it generously
Listening to all the different voices and accents during worship

Amazing conversations on regular, ordinary days

Guinea and the ship never felt like home, but it felt like the place where I was supposed to be.  Over and over, I was reminded that I was in the right place, and I felt so blessed to be part of the ministry.  Even after my aunt became ill and I had to leave the ship, it was an easy decision to return.  I went to bed almost every night thinking, 'This is where I'm supposed to be.'

There are so many incredible stories about the patients and their lives.  I still can't believe I got be nurse, friend, playmate and 'daughter' to many amazing people.  I was blessed to witness healing, transformation and even a few miracles in the lives of the people around me.  Guinea and its people have many problems- politically, socially, economically.  In the last ten months, Mercy Ships didn't fix these problems.  However, for many patients and their families, Mercy Ships  made a world of difference.  Some patients are expected to live longer, others can now work and support their families.  Other patients can go back to their village and attest to God's goodness and faithfulness.  Our patients' life stories don't end when the ship leaves Guinea.  I trust that God will bless their lives as much in our absence as He did in our presence.  Hebrews 13:8 says, "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever."  He will continue to provide for these incredible individuals in all seasons of life.

When I arrived, I wasn't the most knowledgeable peds/ adult general surgical/ plastics/ gyn nurse.  I didn't know the language.  The culture baffled me. Yet, God used me.  Anything that I did right while I was in Guinea was simply because God used my skills.  He gets all the credit for every blessing, friendship and problem solved. 

My friend Emily asked me two questions, this is the second: What's the one thing you've learned about yourself that's exciting?  I learned that when God says go, I have the willingness to go.  When I felt him leading me to visit the ward on my night off, or to engage a patient in conversation, I tried.  When I felt a nudge to reach out to someone, I followed it.  Now it seems silly, but when I came to Mercy Ships, I didn't know if I would be capable, ready or willing.  Despite my fears and doubts, God gave me a willing spirit and when He called, I went.  And oh man, did He bless it!  It was difficult to leave the ship and Guinea, but I've been blessed to spend the last week with my mom in Tanzania.  As I consider going back home, I am excited to catch up with friends and family, and I feel so lucky to go back to a job I love on D6/4.
 
While it's a little scary heading back to the real world, Hebrews reminds me that no matter where I am, Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever.

Today

Today I watched an expert surgeon fix a cleft lip on a tiny three month old baby.  Now she will have the opportunity to gain weight, have a normal smile, pronounce 'P’ words and go to school.  My eyes welled with tears when I began to think of the impact that this surgery could have on her life. 

Today I went for a swim and relaxed in the hot African sun by the pool.  I finished two library books and a bag of peanut M&Ms. 

Today I colored on Deck 7 with some of the A Ward patients and nurses.  Sometimes I forget about the simple joy of putting crayons to a coloring page.  It can be so therapeutic.

Today I had a spontaneous dance party with about forty children and a few friends from across the globe, in one of the poorest parts of Conakry.  The children’s bare feet run along trash filled railroad tracks in a community of Sierra Leonean refuges, living in makeshift homes on the sea.  And for an hour this afternoon, we got to be silly, laugh and play with them.   

Today I ate a dinner of rice with sauce, beans and plantains with good company and conversation.  Tuesday is Africa night on the Africa Mercy and the food is always delicious. 

Today I was kissed by my African grandma, Hasanatu as I tucked her into bed for the night.  Her wound is healing nicely and everyone is praying that she will be ready to go home before the ship sails away.  I am amazed by her loving spirit, even though she really doesn’t want to be in the hospital anymore.    

Today I enjoyed a Starbucks caramel latte to kick start my first of three night shifts.  It was heavenly. 

Today a patient told me that he just couldn’t sleep because he was so happy.  He was happy to be here, happy to finally have the operation to fix his hernia.  He said he could never afford this surgery, and now he is healed.  He was too happy to go to sleep even at 1 am! 

Today was a day of contrasts.  After a few months of living here, I still cannot comprehend the poverty, the joy, the love, the suffering, and the luxuries that surround me.  In one week I will leave the ship, so today I will savor these precious moments and experiences.  I will enjoy my last few shifts, yes even night shifts.  I will let my heart be broken by the injustice of this world.  I will laugh with my Mercy Ships friends who I feel like I've known forever.  I will be saddened by the goodbyes to patients and day workers who will forever be in my heart.  I will likely cry, more than once.  And most importantly, I will continue to thank God for every single moment of this crazy life. 

Culture Shock

Living and working on an international hospital ship, docked on the coast of West Africa is an interesting cultural experience.  At any given moment, the crew represents 35 different nationalities.  The day workers and patients also represent several nationalities- Sierra Leon, Togo, Liberia, Benin, South Africa, and of course Guinea.  Within the country of Guinea there are several cultural groups with their own language and traditions- Fula, Malinke, Susu and Kissi.  When all of these different people are mixed together, with their own cultures, beliefs, experiences, and preferences, a distinct Mercy Ships culture is formed.  At times there are issues and problems to be worked out because of different expectations; however we all have the same common mission- to provide hope and healing.

I have so much respect for the people working and living on the ship who do not speak English as a first language.  I was exhausted during my first week serving here because there is so much to remember and learn.  I cannot imagine how tiring it must for the nurses who are working in a new hospital, learning new medical terms and constantly using a different language.  They are good sports about it and we often laugh about this silly English language.  While playing Taboo, a word game, my dear friend Elisabeth Orum from Norway, learned the word raccoon.  A few rounds later the word came up again and in her excitement to guess a clue she shouted “RAGOO!”  We gave her team the point, mainly because her enthusiasm made us laugh so hard! 

At Easter time, I really enjoyed learning about the traditions that others observe during the holiday.  During the Easter Sunday Service, people from all over the world came up and said in their own language, “He is risen!”  There is so much to learn from my friends and coworkers about their lives back home.  I love sitting in the cafeteria with friends from around the globe, listening to their stories, in their lovely accents. 

Friends from five different countries, saying goodbye to Kristy!

When aboard the ship we live in a first world country.  We have clean, running water, toilets, a school, internet and satellite phones.  Yet, just down the gangway is a developing nation.  It is drastically different and at times, frustrating.  Bargaining, for example, is not a tool I’ve honed living in the Midwest.  At home there is a set price for every service or item.  Here, it is expected that haggling will take place with every transaction.  Even though there are times that I feel frustrated by the differences, there are so many experiences that make me laugh. 

While out and about, volunteers are asked to comply with a dress code, keeping our knees covered and wearing modest clothing.  We do this to be respectful of the people of Guinea.  The culture, however accepts nudity in certain circumstances and it is not offensive to find a woman breastfeeding or children bathing in the street.  Many Africans seem less embarrassed by the human body than us in the Western World.  One day, while visiting my patient and friend, Hasanatu at the Hope Center, she decided to give me a Fula language lesson.   It was actually a combined Fula and human anatomy lesson.  She would point to a body part and say the word in Fula and I would repeat the word.  She would correct my pronunciation several times and then, once she was satisfied, we would move on to the next body part.  Hasanatu started with mouth, nose, ear, neck, arm, leg, toes… and eventually got to breasts.  At this point, she decided that I would be a model and she began to ‘show me with her hands.’  She literally wouldn’t let go until I pronounced the word correctly!  I think to Hasanatu, it seemed like a reasonable thing to do in the situation.  It’s just a part of life; breasts are part of the body just like eyes and arms.  I think the other patients only started laughing when they sensed how incredibly uncomfortable I was!   Of course, I started blushing and my friend Elisabeth Rostved was watching and laughing hysterically. 

Sometimes the cultural differences have caused embarrassing situations for me.  In African culture, everyone is related.  Instead of saying “this is my friend” or “this is my wife’s sister’s husband,” one might simply say, “this is my brother” or “this is my cousin.”   On A Ward, we took care of a boy named Cherno for about a month.  His father and mother took turns staying with him until he was discharged to the Hope Center.  A few weeks later, I visited the Hope Center and saw Cherno and his dad.  Cherno’s father told me through miming and broken English, “This is my wife” and pointed to a woman I didn’t recognize, with a toddler on her lap.  I just chuckled and chalked it up to ‘African relations.’  I insisted, “No, no.  That’s not your wife.  I’ve met Cherno’s mom and that is not her.”   He looked concerned, like I didn’t understand him.  “This is my wife number two.”  I completely put my foot in my mouth!  I never even thought that he could have multiple wives.  Cherno’s dad did not seem offended, instead he quite happy that I figured out that he was introducing me to the rest of his family! 

One of my favorite memories took place during a trip to the market with Elisabeth Rostved.  We were in a shop and I was looking at some dresses that were folded on a shelf.  The shop owner started pulling them out, holding them up, and displaying them to me.  They were all handmade, so there were no sizes on them.  I looked at a few as the man would hold one up and I would tell him if I liked it, or if it looked too big or small.  There was one that I really liked, but it looked like it might be 3XL.  I tried to ask if he had the same pattern in a smaller size, but he insisted that the one he was holding would fit me.  I laughed and said “grand, grand,” indicating that it was much too big.  I even pointed to my waist and then pointed to the waist of the dress.  In my mind, there was a clear difference.  The man kept carrying on, pointing to me and saying “no petite.”  I know, I’m not small, sir, thank you for noticing. (This is the part of the story where I’m blushing again.)  Still, I believed that dress would fit two of me in it!  After much good natured discussion in my broken French and his broken English, the man decided it was best to put the dress on himself, over his clothes.  The shopkeeper looked really proud of himself and I couldn’t help but laugh.  In a place where it is a compliment to tell someone they are gaining weight, it must also help one to sell dresses by putting it on, even if you are a man.  I was not convinced about the man-sized dress, but we had a good laugh about it.  I did end up buying a different dress, which is very nice.  How could I not, after all his work!?  Elisabeth and I still giggle about it sometimes. 

At times, I have been uncomfortable, embarrassed, humbled and confused by the Guinean culture.  It has given me so many opportunities to laugh at myself and our differences.  Living and working here has caused me to consider my own ways, beliefs and lifestyle.  Coming into contact with people who have vastly different backgrounds has definitely stretched me.  Before arriving here, I prayed that God would change me through this experience, and He has.  I admit though, there were times that it was hard. 

I love this quote by Mark Twain, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”

Until this experience, I didn’t realize that I can be very narrow-minded.  I have never considered myself intolerant or bigoted, but since I've arrived in Guinea I have realized that my attitude is ‘my way is the best way.’  And isn’t that a form of prejudice?  That was a tough realization.  Slowly, I am learning that just because I am used to a certain way of doing things, it is not necessarily the best way.  I see ways that my American lifestyle could benefit from being ‘more African.’  People here are so charitable, even when they have very little to give.  They give thanks for what they have, take time for one another, and take pride in their families.  I came here to serve, and have received much more than I could ever give.  Now I pray that my experiences here have not only opened my eyes, but that they will stay with me.  I have expereinced the best type of culture shock, I have been changed by what I've seen. 

 

                  Cherno playing on Deck 7         Cherno's mom (left) & his father's second wife and child (right)

         

Mamadama

I want to share a story about a patient named Mamadama.  She came to the ship with a large goiter.  First I better tell you a little about West African goiters.  A goiter is a neck mass.  Usually the mass is due to the thyroid gland growing abnormally large.  At home, a surgeon can remove part or all of the gland while it is still pretty small, but here, they just grow bigger and bigger.  When this happens, it can push on the trachea, which left untreated, makes it difficult and then impossible to breath.  An enlarged thyroid can also make it difficult for the blood from the head to return to the heart, which is bad news.  So, Mercy Ships has been doing goiter surgeries to prolong our patient’s lives and also help them cosmetically.  The thyroid gland produces a necessary hormone, so the patient must take medications and have blood tests in the weeks leading up to the surgery.  Then a general surgeon removes part, half or the entire thyroid gland.  Dr. Collins, a surgeon who was here for two weeks, gave a lecture on thyroids last week.  He told us that it is a delicate surgery because of the location of the thyroid gland.  There are many considerations.  The patient’s airway, the tiny parathyroid glands, major arteries and veins and some pretty important nerves that control swallowing and breathing must all be kept intact. 

So, back to Mamadama.  It takes a lot of courage in a place like Guinea to take off the neck scarf and show the surgeons and staff a deformity, but she did.  After being followed outpatient for blood work, she was admitted to A Ward for surgery.  She said that her family did not want her to come to the ship, because they were afraid that she would die.  So, on her admission day, she just left the house without telling them where she was going.  Once admitted, the physicians decided to postpone her surgery to review the radiology results which showed a severely deviated trachea.  Mamadama stayed a few extra days on the ward while waiting for surgery.  The surgery day came, and she went off to the operating room.  We knew that it would be a difficult procedure and intubation, so before the shift we prayed for her.  A few hours after leaving for the operation, we heard from the OR that they were not able to intubate her after almost three hours of trying, so they decided to stop and take some time to consider other options.  At this point, Mamadama was told that she had two options.  Either a tracheostomy could be placed for surgery (and removed a few days later) or she could have nothing done, shortening her life expectancy considerably.  She came back to the ward looking withdrawn and tearful.  Mamadama had a big decision to make.

It seems like easy enough decision… what we’re offering here is free.  Why wouldn’t she take it?

Fear.  Having surgery is a scary ordeal, even in the Western World.  Add to it the anxiety of being placed in new surroundings, with people you’ve never met, being poked for blood repeatedly, being asked about your bowel movements and told to take medications at a certain time. For Mamadama, she had to add the idea of breathing through a plastic tube in her neck and being unable to speak for a few days.  I think any patient would be anxiety ridden. 

I’ve been thinking about my own story and how it relates to Mamadama’s experience.  This verse really speaks to me, and I like the Message translation.

Hebrews 4:12-13 states, “God means what he says.  What he says goes.  His powerful Word is sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel, cutting through everything, whether doubt or defense, laying us open to listen and obey.  Nothing and no one is impervious to God’s Word.  We can’t get away from it- no matter what.  Now that we know what we have- Jesus, this great High Priest with ready access to God- let’s not let it slip through our fingers.  We don’t have a priest who is out of touch with our reality.  He’s been through weakness and testing, experienced it all- all but the sin.  So let’s walk right up to him and get what he is so ready to give.  Take the mercy, accept the help.” 

God tells us that he sees us.  For Mamadama, He saw past the goiter, a source of shame in this culture.  He saw her beautiful smile, the way she loves her children and grandchildren.  God also saw her fear of the surgery and her surroundings, her hope that the surgery would be successful, and her bravery for coming to the ship.  For me, I know that He sees the kindness and love in my heart.  He also sees the ugly parts that hold on to past mistakes, shame and the hurtful things I’ve said and done. Whether or not I share these things with God in prayer, He sees all of it.  Yet, God offers comfort because He knows what it feels like to be weak and tempted.  He offers mercy and grace for free.  So why is it so hard for me to come to Him?  What He offers is free, why wouldn’t I take it? 

It’s scary, that’s why.  It takes a lot of courage to uncover your imperfections.  I imagine it took guts for Mamadama to take off the neck scarf when she was first screened for surgery.  She had to become completely vulnerable to her surroundings to have the goiter removed.  Mamadama allowed Dr. Collins to perform an operation on her neck, even though the surgery had been postponed twice.  She knew that when she woke up, she wouldn’t have the ability to speak up for herself for several days.  It must have been terrifying.  The day of the surgery came, and after many prayers for her, she did great!  Just a couple of hours after surgery, she was pointing to her hand mirror, smiling and giving a big thumbs up.  Now, the tracheostomy tube has been removed, her neck looks beautifully smooth and she is so grateful for her surgery.  She can’t wait to go home to show her family!  Mamadama inspires me because she was willing to be so vulnerable. 

My friend Emily posed this question to me: "What is one thing that you have learned about God that won't leave you?" I have learned how intimately God knows His people. The bones and the marrow, the hate and the love, the spirit and the soul, the dreams and desires, He sees all of it.  I am learning that there is no reason to hide.  Although it is scary to be open and honest about the crummy things in life, God knows what it's like, He can relate.  I can walk right up to Him and receive mercy and accept help. Asking for help, no matter the cost, is hard.  I’m learning how to do that too. 

Favorite things

These are a few of my favorite things...

Picnics A group of nurses had a picnic one Saturday afternoon, complete with snacks, games and music. Oh and of course, what picnic is complete without watching two peacocks chase a leashed peahen?  Stepping off the streets of Conakry to this bizarre park felt a little like I imagine Alice felt when falling into the rabbits hole.  I love this posed picture of the ladies in front of... a replica of the Alamo?

The Hope Center This is a picture of some of the A Ward nurses and two of our previous patients at the Hope Center. It is a place for patients to stay after discharge to recover from surgery, before going home.  I love going there to play games and just visit with the patients.

 

Sunsets The sunsets are unbelievable.  This is Kassa Island, I'll tell you about it some day.

  

 Hasanatu This is my friend Hasanatu. She had a very large tumor removed a number of months ago, and I met her at the Hope Center in January.  She returned to the ship for another surgery to put a muscle flap from her shoulder over the bone in her jaw. Taking care of Hasanatu reminds me of working at home on Neuro.  The reason she reminds me of D6/4 and the reason I am making this goofy face, is that she insisted I sit on her lap for this photo!  She might have a little bit of dementia and at times confusion, but she also has an amazing personality, lots of love to share and sense of humor!

Repeat Patients It is such a blessing to get to know patients and families, especially when they return for follow up treatments and surgeries.  This little girl was my patient in my first month on the ship, and returned this week for surgery.  She was quite the snuggler, once she got over the initial fear/ curiosity of a white person holding her. 

Friends/ Co-workers/ Bunk-mates Today I said goodbye to my latest bunk mate, Kristy.  She's from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.  It stinks to say goodbye, but I have a feeling we'll see each other again someday. 

Living on a Ship One of my favorite things to do is sit on Deck 7 and watch the ships and fishing boats come in.  I can't believe I get to live on a ship in Conakry, Guinea.  I am such a lucky girl to be working and living here!  I just wanted to say thank you to all of my friends and family for your continued prayers and support. You have all helped make this dream come true for me.

Struggle

A couple of weeks ago I posted a picture of a woman named Tené…  She came to the ship for plastic surgery because her hand was quite deformed and her neck was contracted causing her chin to be attached to her chest.  The other night she told me, through a translator, her story: 

“When I was three days old, I was burned by an oil lamp.  My mother was sleeping so she didn’t know that my face was on fire.  The whole family thought I would die.  They kept a pot on the fire so that they would be ready to wash my body and bury me.  After ten days, I had my first bowel movement, and my family celebrated!  They were so happy that I would live. 

I grew up and learned to walk. I was able to work.  I even had children.  I didn’t realize how much I struggled, how much my family struggled until after I had the surgery.  My whole life, I have looked at the ground.  Now I can see your face and look in your eyes.  I didn’t realize that I was struggling, but now I see that I was.” 

On the Africa Mercy, we take care of patients who know hardship, who have felt pain.  They have lived in poverty; they have worked in the trash filled streets of Conakry.  They have been mocked and disgraced for a deformity.  They have lived with the constant dribble of urine down their legs, the smell and the shame.  They have lost children.  They have been told that they are demon possessed and cursed.  They have been banished from their homes or chosen to live far away from others, secluded.  In some cases, their whole life has been a struggle. 

I have suffered too.  I have grieved the deaths of friends and family, I have mourned relationships; I have been told some hurtful things.  I won’t pretend to know what it is like to suffer the way some of my patients have.  However, I can relate, in a small way because I have suffered.  Haven’t we all?  And when we’re hurt and broken, we have a series of choices.  Will we let the struggle define us?  Will we endure the pain that the world inflicts and believe the hurtful things we are told?  Will we play the victim- wallowing in our suffering and becoming immobilized?  For Tené, the answer was no.  She lived her life, not letting her injuries stop her.  I think Tené's story is remarkable because she lived in such an unforgiving body, never allowing her to lift her head. Although her family begged her not to come for the surgery because they feared she would die, she came anyway. 

All of the nurses that have worked with Tené have noticed a change.  When she was admitted to the hospital, she was timid and quiet, probably afraid and overwhelmed by her surroundings.  Post-op, she was in a lot of pain.  As these issues have subsided, it's been amazing to see Tené come out of her shell.  She is downright joyful!  She teases the other patients, holds the babies, laughs with other patient’s family members and is often found chatting in the hall with dayworkers.  Tené greets you in a way that makes you feel special.  She wants to share her story with people. 

Aren’t you inspired by Tené?  Her life was marked by hardship, but she pressed on.  Despite a tough start, God blessed her with a family and a life.  I think it’s important to share that God is good, even when His people are suffering. In my life, I have been inspired most by people who are willing to open up and share their struggle with me. 

Paul is a good example of sharing his struggle.  He writes in 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 “But he (God) said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.  That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”  Paul recognizes that he is not the victim of his circumstances.  Paul knows that weakness can be powerful. It can shape a person and bring them closer to God.  He puts his pride aside and boasts in his weakness.  Paul is not afraid to share his hardships, and as a result, it is an encouragement to others.   

Mark Batterson, in his book In a Pit with a Lion on a Snowy Day writes: “If you don’t turn your adversity into a ministry, then your pain remains your pain.  But if you allow God to translate you adversity into a ministry, then your pain becomes someone else’s gain... the more problems you have, the more potential you have to help people.” 

I don’t know if I will ever ‘delight in difficulties’ as Paul does.  But, I want to make an effort to share my past struggles and difficulties with the people in my life.  Instead of being pretending that life is perfect, I want to be an open book.  I want to share with friends and family how God has shaped me and blessed me through times of weakness, pain and a broken heart.  I want to urge you too.  Like Tené, share your story, it might be worth more than you think.

I can't wait to see Tené without the bandages!

Thoughts about this week

I would like to present my random, scattered thoughts from the week:

“Kylie” is clearly not an African name.  Sometimes patients and their families try so hard to pronounce my name, it looks like it hurts.  So I’ve learned to respond to Kah-ree, Keeree, Keelee and Tante (meaning auntie), kissy sounds (not disrespectful on the wards, just a noise to get your attention) and snapping fingers (again, not terribly rude).  I take no offence to these various names because I’m probably butchering their names too. 

I am so inspired by the spirit of the people I get to meet here.  Every week there are opportunities to get involved in Mercy Ministries; it’s an awesome way for crew members to interact with the community.  A Land Rover full of people go for a morning or afternoon to a prison, an orphanage, a hospital or a school, spending time with people and loving on them.  Last week, I visited the pediatric ward of a local hospital.  I felt so sad to see the lack of resources there, but the spirit of the children and their families is incredible.  The mamas were sharing their food with one another and the children mustered the strength to play, even when they didn't look very well.  This week I went to Lazare’s Orphanage.  A Guinean man, Lazare, and his wife support the orphanage.  We visited in the morning, so while the older children were in school, we got to spend time with the little ones.  Just like kids everywhere, they just want to play and snuggle.  I really enjoyed spending time with a little girl who appears to have Cerebral Palsy.  She is learning to walk with an itty bitty walker and has quite the spirit.  I was helping her ride around on a tricycle and when another boy took it and rode off, she chased him.  Although she doesn’t have the motor coordination like the other kids, she set her mind to catching him and did it, step by step.  As you can imagine, I received way more from the kids than I could’ve possibly given. 

There is a card game called “American.” Most of the patients know how to play the game and its pretty fun.  In fact, I played it with some patients for an hour and a half at the Hope Center early in the week.  The funny thing is, I have yet to find an American that has ever played it before coming here.

Living and working with people from around the world, my use of the English language has changed.  I’ve learned to enjoy “a wee cuppa tea” and have been caught describing things in “heaps.”  Sometimes on the ward, I use very basic English to communicate with patients who either speak Krio (a language similar to English) or know “small small English”.  For example, I might ask, “You poo today?” or say, “You walka walka in hall.”  Of course these phrases are complete with hand motions (you can only imagine) and typically patients know what I’m talking about. 

My French sucks. Just when I think my French is improving, I am reminded that it is not.  The other day, a patient asked me a question, and feeling very proud of myself for mastering a few French words, I brought him a fresh glass of water.  He was grateful, but still wanted to know what time it was.  Of course the whole scene was witnessed by a day worker, a chaplain and two other patients... we all had a good laugh! 

Goodbyes also suck. There are some amazing people on this ship, and when they leave, it really stinks.    While I hate to say goodbye, I have some wonderful new friends.   

I don’t appreciate what I have been given.  Last Sunday I went to God is Hope Church with some friends and a couple from Ghana who have worked for Mercy Ships for over 16 years.  The church supports an orphanage, and the service is held in a classroom that is part of the orphanage.  The service was lovely, lots of singing, praising God and preaching.  There were about 50-60 people in attendance and the pastor introduced 8 members that had been baptized the day before.  In the beginning of the service, the pastor was pleased to show the congregation the newest part of the church.  He asked two members to come to the front and with a bit of a dramatic flair, they pulled off a white sheet to display two new stands for offerings.  They were square boxes, made of plywood with legs, and painted red.  A piece of computer paper was taped to each, noting which fund the offerings boxes would go toward.  To my eyes, they were unfinished and nothing special.  To the pastor’s eyes, they were a total blessing from God.  1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 states, “Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.”  Clearly, the congregation is thankful to God in all circumstances.  They recognize what He has given them as a blessing.  Sometimes I have my blinders on, not realizing when God blesses me.  And man, God has blessed my short life.  Those stupid offering boxes have been on my mind all week, and are serving as a reminder to ‘give thanks in all circumstances.’  I pray that I can bring that attitude of thanksgiving and appreciation into the upcoming weeks.

It was a good week!  There is so much to learn and so many opportunities to get to know incredible people.  I love it.  Right now, I am working four night shifts and then hopefully I’ll be taking a little overnight trip with some friends.  Please continue to keep me in your prayers, it means so much to me! 

  

Here are some pictures of my visit to Lazare's Orphanage. I love the one on the left... please note the toddler with a box over his head.  This little ham also wandered around totting a washed out Vaseline container, proving yet again, cheap toys are the best!  The center photo is my friend who is learning to walk; with a little help, she was in the pursuit of the boy who took her tricycle. 

Doesn't it look like an awesome way to spend a morning?!