Making Plans

I’m a planner. I plan my meals, I plan the clothes I’ll wear, and, most of all, I plan my life.

The first two of those things generally turn out the way I plan.

One thing that I didn’t plan was moving back to Bolivia.

Last fall, I spent three months in Bolivia as the interim volunteer coordinator. It was heartbreaking to leave in November, knowing that I might never return. I said my goodbyes, packed my bags, and stocked up on Alpaca products.

A little over a week ago, I was asked to return, for longer this time. After taking some time to think, pray, and seek advice, I said yes.

The great thing, for me, about this job is that it lets me do a lot of what I do best – plan. I get to plan volunteer activities at the hospital, plan outreaches into the community, and plan just about every other aspect of every activity that the volunteers and I will be doing. I’ve already started to plan activities for when I arrive next month. I’m hoping we can do an English camp at a home for abused girls, invite the neighborhood kids to the hospital for a week of VBS, and help out at an orphanage for kids with HIV.

The not-so-great thing about this job is that, especially in Bolivia, things never turn out according to plan. The power goes out, the bus drivers go on strike, and the grocery store randomly runs out of things. (How am I supposed to make my carefully-planned Italian meal when the grocery store has no basil for a month?!?)

So I will also plan on some things that aren’t as subject to the whims of the power company, the labor unions, and whatever supply chain governs who gets basil and who doesn’t. I will plan to buy fresh pineapple off the street corner and joke with the street vendors. I will plan to pray with the volunteers and get to know their stories. I will plan to do all I can to let those around me know about the incredible love – and plans – that God has for us.

A lot of my plans probably won’t work. But His will. And they’re better than mine, anyway.

Chapter Bolivia

In the time I was in Bolivia, my life was changed. But it was not because Bolivia was a place of revelation for me. Nor was it because those three weeks were when I saw God work the most in my short twenty-two years. God was working in me before then and has been working in me since. It seems that no matter where I am, God molds my life so that I can live in His grace more each day.

The greatest lesson I learned from Bolivia was of Unity in the Spirit. No matter what church you go to or what language you speak, if you profess Christ and rely on Him for everything, we are siblings in Christ.

Perhaps the second greatest lesson I learned was what it means to have childlike faith, dependence on God for everything. Some days, it is difficult to see God at work. I want the world to change and to be inspired by God, and, when I do not see the change even in myself, I wonder if God works at all. But He provides even my faith by His grace. By relying on God, even for the motivation to desire Him, I have found my greatest strength lies not within myself, but in the grace of God through His Son Jesus Christ.

Amidst times of stress and weakness, the feeling of God’s closeness wanes, but faith is conviction without sight, assurance without foreknowledge. I remember that God has pulled me through and I laugh with joy.

You do not need to leave America to know God is real. You do not need to have the perfect plan to move forward with your life. All you need is to pursue righteousness. Live based on what you think is best at the time and be open to God’s Word for everything. And if He gives you opportunity to go, you should go. But trust that God will change your life no matter where you go.

~Scott Ho, Bolivia volunteer

A Confession

I had been in Bolivia for a week and a half when I saw her. It was past dusk, and she sat on the side of the road, weaving on a small hand-held loom. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old.

I walked past. I’d seen this before, in Guatemala, in Mexico, in Bolivia. I knew she would probably sleep on the street, but so would a lot of other kids. There wasn’t anything I could do.

It wasn’t until later that it hit me. I’d become calloused. Things that used to shock me no longer shocked me. I prayed for forgiveness, and I prayed that God would protect her.

It’s hard, when you see things like this on a regular basis, to continue to care. We get used to suffering. To protect ourselves, to be able to keep living our normal lives, we stop letting it bother us.

I decided that night that I never want to become calloused again. I never want to let other people’s pain stop bothering me. With Bob Pierce, the founder of World Vision, I pray, “Let my heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God.”

We have a God who did not just walk past when he saw us alone, sitting in our brokenness and pain. We have a God who came to us in our poverty and need, who made himself one of us in order to save us. I am so glad that he did not just walk on by.

Please Help Me

“Please help me,” she begged. Kneeling before me, tears running down her face, she asked again, “Please help me.”

It was three days before I would leave Bolivia, and I was visiting the home of one of our patients. After welcoming me into the one room where she and her six children slept, she had offered me a glass of juice and begun telling me her story.

She told me of past trauma, of secrets that she had only before revealed to her priest, of the predatory lender for whom she slaved. “Please, just give me the money to pay off my debt,” she asked. “I won’t ask for anything else; just give me the money to pay my debt.”

I didn’t know what to do. Her debt was $1,000, and she was asking me to pay it. I don’t have a thousand dollars just lying around. And, more than that, how was I to know if her story was true? How could I trust that she wasn’t simply trying to manipulate me, a (relatively) wealthy American?

I asked if I could pray for her, and she agreed. As I prayed I couldn’t stop thinking of James 2:15-16, which says, “Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, ‘Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?” This question kept echoing in my head. What good was it for me to pray for her, if I did nothing to help her?

I gave her everything I had in my pockets, just reserving enough change for bus fare home. It wouldn’t do much for her and her family, but, if her story of her children going hungry were true, it would at least purchase food for a day or two.

As I left, I promised to pray and to talk to some people and to see what I could do for her. I couldn’t promise to give her a thousand dollars, but I promised to help if I could.

When I got home, exhausted from the effort of listening, praying, and trying to decide what to do, I called my friend Javier, a lawyer. I told him her story, of the 20% per month interest the lender was charging. I hoped Javier would help, as he’d told me before about his interest in providing legal assistance to the poor. I couldn’t think of a better case to start with.

When he heard about the exorbitant interest, Javier confirmed my suspicions. “That’s illegal,” he told me. “5 or 6% is okay, but 20% is not.” He promised me to help her, that he would start the legal proceedings necessary to free her.

I left the following Monday, praying that Javier would be able to help, that, if her story were true, he would be able to take on her opponent and win.

I don’t know what will happen to this woman and her family. Will they lose their home, as they fear? Will she give into the despair that has tempted her to take her own life and that of her youngest children? I pray that the answer to these questions is no. I pray that God will take up her cause, that he will bring justice and set her free. I pray for Javier, that he will be able to pursue this case and win it.

I think that I made the right decision in this case. I think that I have done what I could for this woman and her family, even though it isn’t what she asked me to do. But these are questions I may never know the answer to.

I wish I knew, but I don’t. All I know is that I have entrusted them to my Heavenly Father, and that He loves them and has the power to save them. In that, I put my hope.

The Art of Sterility

Check out this blog post by Letitia Juday, one of our volunteers in Bolivia:

On Thursday, November 4, 2010, my life here in Bolivia, and my responsibilities at the hospital, changed suddenly and drastically. Having just left morning rounds to take Conta (one of the two Scottish volunteers helping out for two weeks) in to see a reconstructive surgery on a woman’s humerus, I dressed myself in my little booties and cap and mask like usual and entered the quirofano. I looked at the x-rays on the wall and saw where the woman’s bone was broken in two places close to the elbow, and I watched as the surgeon spread povidona over the woman’s arm to clean it.

That’s when it happened. Nelly, the woman in charge of the quirofano and the first surgical assistant, said something to the doctor about me helping him. Then she began speaking at me, but it’s very difficult for me to understand Spanish which is spoken from under a mask. She motioned for me to remove my ring. At that point I thought she was asking me to put on non-sterile gloves and help clean the woman’s arm. So I reached for the gloves.

“No, no, no!” She shook her head and gestured for me to enter the outer room…where the sinks are! I could not believe what was happening: I was being instructed to wash my hands up to my elbows, be sprayed with iodine, dry my hands with a sterile cloth, be dressed in a sterile gown and gloves, and be the second surgical assistant!

I had seen this done many times. The interns were always the ones who assisted Nelly and the surgeons, but of course, the interns have been gone for more than a week now. There are two interns left, our friends Anghelo and Vladimir, but their expertise is better utilized in the ER or with internalized patients, and they are not always there. I realized as I stood with my hands folded in front of me in all of my sterility, that I was the obvious choice because I speak Spanish and they wouldn’t have to pay me.

I pulled aside ligaments and other tissues with a separator tool (Nelly told me today what it’s called, but I’ve forgotten) and used the aspirator to suck up excess body fluids. I also was in charge of cutting stitches.

I’ve always wondered how, if I get tired of being on my feet long enough to watch most of the surgeries, the surgeons and assistants stand in their gowns under those bright lights for so long without getting tired. And I thought that I would never be able to do because the first time I watched, I passed out. And all the other times, I’ve gotten very tired. But I suppose I have become accustomed to being in that room. Although I was aware of feeling tired and hot, I did not come close to overheating or passing out. I had a job to do, and I fully enjoyed doing it.

The doctors temporarily clamped the bones together and then used screws and a long, narrow plate to permanently fix it. And her bone was fixed.

I wondered if this dream-like experience was a one-time opportunity, or if I would get to assist again. Friday came and went with no surgeries. We had a lovely weekend visiting some Incan ruins, going to the movies, and going to church. But I stayed up late Sunday night and woke up Monday feeling slightly under the weather. So I decided to stay home from rounds and not go over to the hospital until Tuesday. But at 9:00 AM, the Scots came running in, and I heard four beautiful words, “You’re needed in surgery.”

I forgot all about how tired I was and ran to my room to put on my scrubs. Then I ran over to the hospital and went straight to the sink to wash my hands. When I went into the quirofano with my arms dripping iodine, there was Nelly smiling at me (well, her eyes were, anyway- it’s hard to smile at people with a mask on) and holding the sterile towel for me. The surgeons greeted me cheerfully, trying to pronounce my name, which they had learned Thursday, in English. That day I used separators and braced a man’s ankle in various positions as the doctors fixed both the talus and fibula. I learned how to properly trade places with a surgeon (back-to-back) and how to properly hold the scissors and cut stitches. Once again, I was fascinated.

On Monday, I asked the surgeons and Nelly if they wanted me to buy a cell phone so that they could call me at any hour of the day or night to help, and they said “Absolutely.” So Tuesday I bought a pre-paid phone at La Cancha (a large, market district of the city). Tuesday passed with no surgeries, but this morning I was eating breakfast, about to go over to the hospital for rounds when our house phone rang. Leta answered and then turned to me and said the beautiful words, “Tisha, you’re needed in surgery.”

Today, it was a C-Section! I went over long before the surgery started, so Nelly and I got sterile before the surgeons arrived, and she taught me my first thorough lesson in the art of sterility. She told me how to dress myself, how to put sterile gloves on the doctors, how to put the sterile cloths on the table and arrange the gauze and bowls. She taught me the names of instruments as she pull them out and she taught me where each belonged on the table. She taught me about the various types of sutures, and how to open the kit and grab the curved needle with the forceps to get it ready. Then she taught me how to cover the patient with sterile cloths and prepare the electro and the aspirador.

It’s difficult to learn from people who speak Spanish behind masks, but I tried to follow instructions when I understood them and not move if I didn’t. The other obstetrician arrived, we began the surgery, the baby came out, Nelly and I handed it in a sterile cloth to the pediatrician, the placenta came out, and the doctors stitched up uterus, the peritoneal lining, and the muscle and fat layers. Then Nelly was left to do the final skin sutures. After she began, she handed me the tools and told me to do dentrodermico sutures. But I said, “Okay. Teach me how.”

“You mean you don’t already know?”

“No. I can do simple stitches, but that’s all.”

“Oh, well, then give them back. You just watch this time.”

So I watched very closely. At the rate Nelly is rushing me into things, I might be doing sutures before long. But I’m in no hurry; and if I do end up doing them, it will only be under Nelly’s close supervision.

I feel like Nelly’s young padawan, and she is my master. So far, I have been gaining confidence in the art of being sterile. Next, I hope to learn the names of instruments, anticipate surgeon’s needs, and learn to suture. I am so thankful that Nelly fully intends to teach me everything I need to know to be a competent second surgical assistant, and she now has my cell phone number, so tonight, for the first time, I am on call. If there is ever an emergency surgery, I will receive a call and have to go straight over to the hospital. I’m not wishing for bad things to happen, but hopefully my cell phone will be necessary someday soon.

I never expected this glorious responsibility. I never expected to hear so often, “You’re needed in surgery.” I hope I learn as much as I possibly can as I enjoy a front-row seat to these fascinating operations.

Read more about Letitia's experiences on her blog: http://pakasqa.wordpress.com/

Jungle Clinic

The elderly Quechua man hobbled into our clinic supported by two canes. He wore a "Franklin L. Williams Middle School, Class of 2007" shirt, doubtless a donation from the US which obviously did not suit his 98 years. Although walking was a struggle for him, he slowly made his way around the room, greeting all of the volunteers and waiting patients personally. He spoke only Quechua, and his hearing was very poor, so our communication was mediated by a translator shouting into his ear.

This man was one of the 30 patients we treated at our clinic on Saturday in the Chapare, the Bolivian jungle 6 hours from Cochabamba and a major center of cocaine production. Patients began showing up an hour before the clinic was to start, having walked for miles from their homes in the countryside to see the doctor.

Some of these patients had waited too long for medical care. One girl came in with an infection in her foot from a thorn that had punctured her big toe over a month before. Because the infection was so severe, our doctor could only give her antibiotics and a referral to a surgeon in a nearby city. Many came in with vitamin deficiencies, and we gave out shots of vitamin B12 like candy. A few came in with chronic headaches, and, while we gave them pain medication, we also gave them an anti-parasitic drug and instructed them to visit a nearby hospital for neuroimaging. In that part of the country, neurocysticercosis (brain lesions from a parasitic infection) are very common.

The treatments we could offer in a one-day clinic were limited, but we did what we could. It's hard to see so much need and only be able to meet a small part of it. Even in cases where we were able to offer a complete solution to the medical problems presented, we knew we could not even begin to address the poverty we saw all around us.

As we drove home that night, we passed by wooden shacks with light pouring through the cracks between the boards. No light escaped from others, probably because they didn't have electricity.

Despite this, our volunteers were struck by the joy they saw on the faces of those we treated and in the pastor we stayed with and his family. The pastor explained to us that things used to be much worse in the Chapare, in the years past when the drug trade was at its height. Despite the money circulating through the region, the area was less developed, and there was less hope. God has been working there, he explained to us, and he participates in this work every day by broadcasting the gospel in Spanish and Quechua on his radio station. He has opened his home for volunteer teams, like ours, who are able to alleviate, to a certain extent, the physical needs of many there.

Although what we are doing seems very little, it is part of the light breaking into the darkness in Chapare. Like the homes we saw spreading light into the jungle, we are spreading rays of our Father's love. Right now, the light seems dim, but we know that one day, the night will shine like the day.

New Creations

This morning started out slow at the hospital coffee shop, so I stood in the back of the waiting room for awhile and listened to Nestor Hugo preaching to the patients. He had a CD of worship music, and he'd play a song and sing along and then talk to the people about the message. He had one song on repeat for awhile, one about how in Christ we are new creations, that we are no longer what we were. God is the one who heals, Nestor Hugo explained; he alone can make us new. I listened for awhile while he preached in Spanish; when he switched to Quechua I came back to the cafe and waited for customers.

The rest of the morning I stayed busy at the cafe, before returning to the guest house for lunch with the volunteers. Two of them are working on preparing a lesson for the girls at an orphanage that we visit frequently. Most of these girls have experienced abuse, which makes the lesson the volunteers are preparing -- about God's plan for sex -- particularly sensitive.

The volunteers are focusing on education, making sure the girls understand the way sex affects people, physically and emotionally. It's something God created, they will explain, but many have abused this gift.

They especially want the girls to know that they are not responsible for what has been done to them, but that they have a choice, from now on, about what they do with their bodies.

These girls, who have no choice about their past, have a choice about their future. They have been treated as if they were cheap, but they are so precious that our God died to make them new.

2 Corinthians tells us that "if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold new things have come." I often forget that this verse is followed by this next sentence: "Now all these things are from God, who reconciled us to Himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation, namely, that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and He has committed to us the word of reconciliation" (2 Cor. 5:17-19).

The message Nestor Hugo was expressing this morning, is the same as the message we're trying to bring. It is the message that has been entrusted to us -- the message of reconciliation, of hope, of the opportunity to be made new.

La Amistad (Friendship)

One of the volunteers has commented that each week here in Bolivia seems to have a theme-- generally one that we didn't plan. (Not that we don't plan; it's just that in Bolivia, things often turn out different than you expected.) This week's unplanned theme has been friendship.

This past Friday, I began serving coffee and tea to patients and staff at the hospital, as a service to them and as a way to build relationships and learn about their lives. This project is named "Cafe Xelda," in honor of the grandmother of Michael Wawrzewski, HOH's founder. She gave him his start in missions, and this new branch of the ministry is in her honor. So far, it's been a really great way to connect with people at the hospital, both staff and patients.

Yesterday was a slow day at the hospital, and I got to sit and talk with several staff members and hear about how their work is going. Today, I met a couple who work at the Adventist University, whose daughter is a tour guide. They're going to have her call me to possibly arrange Spanish lessons for volunteers. I also got to meet a young couple with two adorable little girls. They asked me about the hospital's religious affiliation and told me about their history with a controlling church, which they have now left. They were really wounded by this church, and they seem reluctant to try again. I told them that I thought that people create rules that God doesn't approve of, but that what is really important is for us to know God and his love. They invited me and the volunteers to come over for dinner this weekend, and I'm excited for the opportunity to talk with them more.

We invited a couple of the doctors over for lunch today, as a way to thank them for all they do for us. Now, those of you who know me are already aware that I'm a bit (okay, really, really) clumsy. Most of the time I've been here in Bolivia, I've somehow managed to pretend to be graceful. Not so today. In the course of the meal, I managed to send food flying across the table and to spill soda everywhere. I also managed to make some completely ridiculous Spanish mistakes. (For example, I said that medical residents in the US aren't supposed to work more than 100 years a week!) The doctors were very nice about the fact that I made a complete fool of myself and didn't even laugh at my blatant errors-- a sign of true friendship, I think!

One of the hospital administrators is becoming a great friend to us, as well, and Letitia (a volunteer) has decided that she is the one we will grill about all of the things we're perplexed about with regards to Bolivian culture. (If someone tells you that an event begins at 12, what time do you really show up, since it won't start for at least half an hour after that?) One of the guards invited us to come meet his family, and one of the doctors has invited us over for dinner.

Our language skills (or lack thereof) are still a limiting factor in our communication, but we're really beginning to build friendships here despite that. Miscommunication can actually be an asset in building friendships, we've found, as it gives us something to laugh about!

All in all, this week has been a blessing. We feel more at home here, knowing that we have friends we can call on, and we're enjoying getting to share in their lives.

For the Love of Languages (Guest Post by Letitia Juday)

Thrilling. That is the best word for it.

Speaking in a second language is an experience everyone should wish for, and a skill everyone should pursue. I know it is difficult to be excited when we are required to learn a language in high school or college. Classrooms are not famous for being exciting or thrilling. But let me tell you: if you work hard in the classroom and you are granted the awesome blessing of being able to travel to a country where your second language is spoken, the reward is huge.

Take today for example: Tiffany, Elle and I were supposed to go with the Bolivian medical director of Hospitals of Hope to the largest public hospital in Cochabamba, where he also works. Leta had work to do for the US office, so I was going to be the only person present who could speak Spanish and English. I was nervous; I always get nervous when I am designated “The Translator.” It’s quite a lot of pressure. I love it, and I am so honored to have this skill, but I am far from bilingual still, and I often cannot understand what a Bolivian says, simply because my vocabulary is not that huge.

But I had nothing to be nervous about today. This doctor is such a friendly, kind man, and loads of fun! We got in his car (I sat up front, so I helped myself to the seat belt, and it was my first time wearing one since arriving in Bolivia in August) and drove off toward the public hospital. I told him that earlier that morning, I had been watching Madagascar in Spanish to make my brain switch over to thinking in Spanish. He started singing, “I like to move it, move it” but in Spanish, and would randomly burst out into this song all morning. He is a genius for languages, speaking Spanish, Guarani, Quechua and Aymara. And although he says he does not like English and does not want to learn it, he knows some words from movies, like “Very good,” “You’re welcome,” “Alright. Let’s go!” “I got it,” etc. He asked me how to say “I think” and how to say “I am your father” from Star Wars.

At times, the English words that would burst from his mouth would make us burst out laughing. We passed a car accident and after clicking his tongue and commenting on the number of accidents in Bolivia, he said in English, “Destroyer! Superman!”

We got to the public hospital (which, let me just say, was NOT as nice as Hospitals of Hope), and found out that his boss was not going to be at work for a few more hours. So the doctor told us he would bring us back tomorrow at 2:00 PM. I wondered if that meant we weren’t going to stay today, but I did not ask. We followed him through the hospital and down the street and soon found ourselves back at his car. And we left. And stopped for a coke, and came home. So, basically, I translated for a ride around the city and brief stroll through the public hospital.

I have definite off-days and on-days when it comes to understanding and speaking Spanish. I’d say today was an on-day. I prayed that it would be. But that’s what makes me so nervous about being the designated translator. If it’s an off-day, there is much communication that gets lost, and it is my fault. But that’s what makes on-days so fabulous! Without me, there would be no communication between the two languages. It is SUCH a beautiful thing to be the channel of communication, to see people’s face light up with understanding as you explain what the other person said, to watch them laugh with delight after you translate a joke.

And even though translating is pretty darn awesome, my favorite is simply having a conversation with someone in Spanish. Although I usually do not ponder the situation while it’s happening, I look back and say to myself in total amazement, “Wow. I was communicating in a different language! Not English!”

I do not want you to get the idea that learning a second language is always peaches and lollipops. Unfortunately, my brain gets exhausted very quickly and I am often frustrated when I don’t understand something. My English is getting worse as my Spanish gets better. Once I was trying to say that many doctors were… but I could not think of the word. I scrunched up my face and thought and thought. Finally, Leta asked, “Do you know the word in Spanish?” I nodded. “Orgulloso!” And then she told me that the word I was searching for was arrogant.

But even though it is a tiring, often embarrassing, and frustrating process, as my Australian friends would say, “I am heaps grateful” for the opportunity to be in a situation where I have to learn Spanish. I would go through much worse than a little exhaustion and frustration to have the invaluable skill of communicating with millions more people than I could before.

Thanks for all the prayers concerning my language learning. Although I was super discouraged only yesterday, I can objectively say that I am speaking and understanding TONS more than when I first got here. When you pray for me, pray that I will be able to persevere through the discouragement that will never completely leave.

And to those of you studying another language, take heart! Study that grammar, perfect your pronunciation, and be ready for the day that God will give you the opportunity to become proficient.

Check out Letitia's blog (http://pakasqa.wordpress.com/) to read more about her experiences in Bolivia.

Changing Lives and Being Changed

Three short weeks ago, I came to Bolivia to temporarily fill in as the guest house hostess. Since then, I have been busy translating, cooking strange foods, and coordinating volunteer activities. I've met volunteers from all over the US and from as far away as Australia. We've worked together to find our way around an unfamiliar city, to communicate via hand motions and little bits of Spanish with a Quechua woman who came to our clinic, and to grow in our faith and in our ministry here.

These volunteers have jumped into life in Bolivia, helping feed babies at a local orphanage, washing the hair of street children, training EMTs, and more. It has been a privilege for me to be a part of their experience here, to see the ways God is working in them and through them.

One volunteer gave up hours of her time to keep an orphan boy company while he was in the hospital. Others have bravely shared their testimonies, helped translate at church, and sought ways to serve each other, as well as the people here.

The time the volunteers have here in Bolivia is limited, but I can see the effect they've had in the faces of the orphan girls they've played with, as well as in the way they interact with each other. I've seen them growing, struggling with the challenges of poverty and culture shock, and seeking how to love God and each other better.

Although volunteers come to Bolivia seeking to make a difference here-- and they do make a difference-- often they find that the biggest difference is in themselves.

These volunteers have already started to return to their various homes, and new volunteers are on their way. But I know that God will continue the work he has begun here, both in their lives and in the lives of those they've touched.

If You Are Where I Am

I'm never sure where home is anymore. When I'm in Wichita, I tell my friends that I'm going "home" to visit my parents. When I leave my parents' house to head back to work, I say that I'm going "home." And after leaving my "home" in the US, after having been away from Latin America for awhile, I also feel somewhat inexplicably at "home" here, in a country where I've never lived before, speaking a language that still is difficult for me.

It's not that I'm completely at ease here. I think I've experienced the first bits of culture shock this week. Waiting an hour for our driver to pick up volunteers for their flight back to the States, I certainly did a lot of internal grumbling about "Bolivian time." As the lights, water, and internet took turns randomly going out on Sunday, I laughed but really, really wished they'd come back on. Sitting on buses, being openly stared at because of my fair skin and blue eyes, it's fairly obvious that I, at least externally, don't belong.

Yet I love being here. I love the fact that I've started to think in Spanglish. I love shopping at the market, buying strange fruits and vegetables that I've never seen before. I love talking to the women selling food on the street corners and the taxi driver taking us "home" at night. And, while I've already started to miss my friends and family in the States, I know that I will miss Bolivia, as well.

There is a saying that missionaries are never happy except when they're in the airplane. There, for a few hours, they are content, knowing that they are going "home" to whichever home it is that they haven't been at. Once they arrive, they immediately start to miss their other home - the people, the sights, the smells, the sounds.

As I was coming back to the US from Guatemala a few years ago, dealing with culture shock, trying to get to know my own country again, the words of an old Rich Mullins song kept running through my head: "I am home anywhere, if You are where I am."

I repeated those words over and over to myself, hoping that they could be true. And I've come to believe, in the depths of my being, that they are.

I don't know where God will lead me in the future. I don't know if I'll travel to other continents, struggle to learn new languages, or never again travel outside of the state of Kansas. But I do know that this is true. My God is with me. And where He is, I am home.

Part of the family

This morning, I said goodbye to a member of my family. I'd only known him for about a week and a half, but there is no question that we are family.

Since I've come to Bolivia to temporarily run the HOH guesthouse, I've discovered a whole new branch of my family tree. The volunteers who are here all have different last names and come from different parts of the US, but this short time together has revealed an undeniable kinship. They alternately tease and affirm each other, like any close brothers and sisters, and they've dubbed me "Mama Leta." (This name is a bit ironic, as I'm less than a decade older than any of them. One suggested that instead of being their mother, I could be the "young, cool aunt.")

We've talked a lot this last week about what it means to be a part of the family of God, to have a connection deeper than that of blood, and how to live as children of our loving Father.

It's been bitter sweet getting to know each other this last little while, knowing each day that the time we have together is getting shorter. Together, we've struggled with communicating in a foreign language, confronted our fears and prejudices as we washed the lice-infested hair of street children, and laughed with the street vendors who came to our free clinic on Tuesday. It is hard to say goodbye, not knowing when we will all see each other again.

We will keep in touch, I think, as we all continue to process the things we have been learning here in Bolivia. And, although we will soon all be scattered, we know there is a family reunion coming.

I will see you there.

Hope in the Midst of Suffering

Nestor Hugo, our staff pastor in Bolivia, just returned from a training conference. This translation is from the update he sent us on his return to the hospital.

Tuesday, July 6, at 7:35 in the morning, the first thing I did was visit the inpatients. Of the 30 that had arrived as a result of the tragic bus accident, there were still a few, among them a man named Jorge* from the village of Sacaba who had had his arm amputated. After presenting the Plan of Salvation, I prayed for him and blessed his food. A little before I left, he asked me in Quechua to cut his bread for him because his right arm was in a cast and had an IV.

Preaching a little later in the waiting room to nearly 20 people, I began to cry because of seeing the suffering of our fellow human beings, and nearly all who heard the message of the Plan of Salvation prayed the prayer inviting Jesus Christ to enter their hearts.

The first day back in my pastoral ministry, I had another blessing because two brothers in Christ, members of the Gideons, came with me to the prayer room and asked me how many inpatients and medical personnel we had, to give them New Testaments with Psalms and Proverbs. After praying with me, they personally gave the New Testaments to the inpatients, doctors, and paramedics, as well as to the patients waiting for appointments.

May the immense love of our Eternal Heavenly Father, the infinite grace of our redeemer, and the real intervention of the Holy Spirit be with all of us today and forever. Amen.

* Name changed.

A Whirlwind Trip in an Ambulance

A bucket of chicken, a Tom-Tom and two ambulances- that's just about all we took with us on a recent trip to the port at Houston. Four of us drove the new ambulances through the night from Wichita, KS to Houston, TX in order to get them on a ship headed to Bolivia. We encountered torrential downpours, sleep deprivation and problems with the port authority, but in the end everything went fine. Now the ambulances are headed down to serve at our hospital in Cochabamba, Bolivia.

We currently have two ambulances serving the hospital in Bolivia, but they are old (1990 & 1993) and have a lot of wear on them from driving in the mountains. Yost Auto Service, here in Wichita, has done a great job of helping us get the necessary parts to maintain those ambulances, but they are in continual need of repairs. There continues to be a huge need for ambulances in Cochabamba because of the large number of accidents that occur in the mountains, but there are very few actual ambulances operating in the city (most are vans or trucks that have been crudely converted). To make matters worse, the Bolivian government recently passed an ordinance outlawing the importation of any vehicle older than four years into the country, making it very difficult to send any affordable ambulances.

However, a few months ago Hospitals of Hope found three nice 2006 diesel ambulances at auction. Each one costs $125,000 new, but they were selling for much less, so we jumped at the chance to get them for pennies on the dollar. Who would have thought that we could find new ambulances that met the criteria set by the Bolivian government for such a great price? I am reminded of Matthew 6:25-34, where Jesus says that we have no need to worry because our Father knows our needs. Here at HOH, we continually see God's faithfulness in all that we do.

The two ambulances that we sent are in fantastic shape and will be able to dramatically improve emergency response around Cochabamba. The third ambulance does not have an engine, so we are in the process of getting a new one put in. If you would be interested in helping to contribute to a new engine, please contact me at daniel@hospitalsofhope.org.

~Daniel

Hope to Walk Again

When she came in to Hospitals of Hope, Gabriela* was convinced she’d never walk again. A year before, she’d been in an accident that had left her leg badly broken. She had been treated at another hospital, which had put an external fixator on her leg to hold the bone in place while it healed. Whether from lack of money or improper treatment, the external fixator remained in place a year later, and Gabriela still had no use of her leg.

When Gabriela came to Hospitals of Hope, staff and volunteers discovered that a section of bone in her leg had completely dissolved. Through surgery, they were able to remove a portion of her hip and use it and a metal rod to replace the missing section of bone.

A few days after surgery, when the doctor came in and told Gabriela that they were going to try to help her to stand, she didn’t believe him. She had given up on the possibility of using her leg. When hospital staff helped Gabriela to her feet and she was able to stand with the help of a walker, her entire countenance changed. Her face lit up as she realized the possibility that she would one day walk again.

People like Gabriela are the reason we do the work that we do. So many times, situations like Gabriela’s leave people in despair. But we serve a good God, one who has good plans—plans for hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11), both for this life and the life to come.

*Name changed.

Dios le Bendiga

It never ceases to amaze me how beautifully people pray in Spanish. I just finished reading a letter from Nestor Hugo, our staff pastor in Bolivia, and he greeted me with these words:

“It is my petition in prayer, that our Eternal Heavenly Father bless you, guide you, and prosper you in all of your activities every day. May the grace and peace of our Triune God be with you.”

Wow. I feel blessed by simply knowing that someone is praying that for me.

Lately, we at the Hospitals of Hope office have been desiring to give prayer a bigger place in our ministry. We want to make sure that we’re praying more regularly as a staff, and we want to enlist more prayer support for our work. We want to develop a group of people who will commit to praying regularly for our ministry, with whom we can share our specific prayer concerns. Jeanie Tidwell, one of our faithful local volunteers, has agreed to coordinate our prayer team, communicating our prayer needs and celebrating the answers.

Would you consider being a part of that team?

If so, please let me know by email, at leta@hospitalsofhope.org, or by phone, at 316.262.0964.

In the words of Nestor Hugo, “May our merciful and compassionate God bless you.”

PA Students at Work in Bolivia

A team of 5 students from Wichita State University has arrived at our hospital in Bolivia, where they’ll be working for the next month. These students, in their 2nd year of the Physician Assistant program at WSU, are completing a rotation at our level II hospital, where they’ll learn about treating patients in a third world setting while assisting hospital staff.

This year’s students will be supervised by Michael Wawrzewski, PA-C, Hospitals of Hope’s founder and CEO, as well as by E.J. Reppert, MD, MPH. They will have the opportunity to observe differences in the healthcare systems of the US and Bolivia, as well as to see cases that they would not normally see in a US hospital, such as Chagas disease.

One former student, who has since spent time working in Afghanistan, commented that, in Bolivia, "you learn about health care that has limitations of money, medical supplies, instruments, and medicine, so you have to be more creative. That’s an excellent thing to learn as a medical provider."

We can set up rotations in Family Practice, Ob/Gyn, General Surgery, Internal Medicine, Pulmonary Medicine, Orthopedics, and Pediatrics at our hospital in Bolivia. We have formal arrangements with schools including WSU, Salus University, and Yale, but we have worked with other schools, as well.

If you’re interested in completing a rotation with us, email daniel@hospitalsofhope.org or call our office at 316.262.0964.