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.

Hola de Bolivia!

As I write this, I'm sitting in the dining room of the HOH guest house in Vinto, Bolivia. One of the volunteers is playing the guitar in the background, and another group of them is in the kitchen making potstickers for dinner. We haven't been able to find quite all the required ingredients, so there have been a few creative substitutions. I think that's the way a lot of our cooking will be around here.

It's hard to believe that I've only been here for two days. We've kept busy at the hospital, visiting orphanages, buying groceries (which is quite a long process here), and navigating the public transportation. I'm here for three months, filling in as the guest house hostess until our new guest house hosts can start in December. It's been a lot of fun so far, although a few of us are battling colds and everyone is pretty tired from all we've been doing.

We're trying to take it a bit easier right now, until everyone gets rested up, but we've still got a lot planned. We're heading to the Casa de Alegria, a girls' orphanage, around 6 pm, and then we'll come back to the house for a late dinner. We'll also be making plans for our visit to the boys' orphanage tomorrow, where we'll be doing hygiene education and playing soccer. One of the boys from that orphanage is in the hospital here. He's improving, but it's a bit lonely for him, since he doesn't have parents or siblings to keep him company. One of the volunteers has really taken him under her wing, reading Bible stories to him and checking in on him throughout the day. We're hoping and praying that he'll be able to go home soon.

Thus far, I'm enjoying the change in pace and scenery. The volunteers have been wonderful, jumping in to help around the guest house, bravely sharing their testimonies at the hospital, and playing with kids at the orphanages. Over the next couple of months, I'll continue to keep you posted about life around the hospital and guest house. For now, I'd better get back to work. Hasta luego!

The Hope of Glory

Check out this reflection by Peter Wickwire, one of our Liberia volunteers:

As I am sure you know, SMP [a Wheaton College program with which HOH is partnering] offers so many different and even unusual experiences, and Liberia was by no means an exception! I spent six weeks in this hospital that was located on the coast of the beautiful Atlantic. It would have felt more like paradise had their not been daily reminders of the travesty and horror of the civil war that had ravaged the nation. Daily I saw and interacted with beautiful Liberian people, but often their beauty was masked by an emotional callous that set in from the constant death and torture caused by witless militia wreaking havoc across the country.

I loved my time at the hospital. At first it was a little difficult getting our foot in the door. Often they would say, "You're welcome, you're welcome here" and then do nothing to help us get set up. Mostly I think it is because they had never had such newbies come to them, and so while they were used to white people coming in and taking charge we were there as inexperienced pre-med students. Soon, however, they began to understand that we were there to be taught and then to use that to serve.

By two weeks into our time I had scrubbed in on surgeries (C-sections, hernia repairs, appendectomies, hysterectomies, myomectomies, ovarectamies, etc), I dressed wounds and did stitches, I did a circumcision, and I moved on to the OB ward where I got to take care of pregnant ladies and those who were ready to deliver. I listened to fetal hearts, I set up IV's for pregnant woman with malaria, I inserted catheters to prep woman for C-sections, and I even got to deliver a baby all by myself!!! It was such a momentous thing... to see life come into this world and the pain that has to take place for it to happen. Really makes the imagery in the Bible, as in the pains of childbirth, a lot more real (Romans 8)... And as it says in that passage, "the creation groans in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed" it was very easy to see that in Liberia. Amidst so much pain and suffering, I had to daily remember the hope of glory, the hope of Christ removing the evil and ugly from this world.

Dangerous Business

To paraphrase J.R.R. Tolkien, "It's a dangerous business, going to work at Hospitals of Hope. You step into the office, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."

In my case, that means being swept off to Bolivia for a couple of months. Tomas and Iris Ortiz, our guest house hosts, have taken a job in Canada, and their replacements won't be able to start for a few months. In the interim, I'll be filling in, taking care of our volunteers, speaking a lot of Spanish, and trying to learn how to cook at a high altitude (about 9,500 feet).

I'll be continuing to do parts of my job from Bolivia, as well as working with the hospital administration and coordinating volunteer work. I'm excited for the challenge and adventure of adjusting to Bolivian culture and getting to know some wonderful volunteers, as well as hospital staff, patients, and kids at the nearby orphanages.

But I'll have my work cut out for me, and I'll be leaving a fair amount of work behind me here at the office, as well. This is where you come in. :)

There are two things I'd like to ask of all of you. The first is that you pray. Pray for Tomas and Iris and their family as they adjust to life in Canada, as well as for me, for our volunteers in Bolivia, for our hospital staff, for all those we serve, and for our staff and volunteers here in Wichita.

The second is that you'd consider pitching in here at the office while I'm gone. There will be more sorting and inventorying to do in the warehouse, construction work on Clinics in Cans, general office work, and possibly event planning to do. I'll still be in the office for the next week and a half, so, if you're interested in helping out, I'd love to meet with you and discuss how you can get involved. You can call me at 316.262.0964 or email me at leta@hospitalsofhope.org.

I'll be updating the blog and our facebook page (facebook.com/hospitalsofhope) from Bolivia, so stay tuned to learn more about my adventures!

Summer in Liberia: A Volunteer Story

We have a team of students from Wheaton College serving at ELWA Hospital in Liberia this summer. When HOH staff traveled to Liberia a couple of weeks ago, we interviewed them about their experiences. Here are some excerpts from one of the interviews:

My name is Peter Wickwire, and I’m part of a group of three that has come to ELWA Hospital in Monrovia, Liberia for 6 weeks. We’ve had a blast so far. It’s been about 4 weeks, and each week has given us something entirely different than the one before it.

I went to the OR to start with. I’m so thankful I went to the OR. It was a really good landing for me in the clinic. The OR is pretty much like the functioning ER, the functioning operating room. The first couple days were difficult to get settled into. I don’t think they were used to premed students coming in. They didn’t understand back then that we were really here to be taught, and then, using what we’re taught, serve. It was really just watching people, shadowing from the corner, silently watching people.

Really my in was that I watched a nurse folding gauze for surgery and wound dressings, and the next day, without them asking, I just got up and started doing it, and he’s just like, “Oh, where’d you learn how to do that?” They kind of realized that we can learn, and so time went on and day after day I started doing more things, learning new things.

I saw a c-section one day. It was the first c-section I had ever seen in my life. The next surgery after that was another c-section, and they’re like, “Okay, Peter, you’re scrubbing on this one.” I was like “What are you talking about?” but I ended up scrubbing on the surgery, and it was a really neat experience.

After the first week or so, I think they really picked up on the fact that really we’re here to be taught and really here to just serve them, and they really started understanding that and utilizing that. Also, I think what helped was founding relationships with them and spending time just talking, and learning, and exchanging personal stories and life stories of how the war has shattered this country. It’s good to hear their stories of what they had to go through. It kind of opens doors for you to be part of their lives.

I think one of the difficult things for me being in Liberia is this place is really so torn. The buildings you see when you’re driving by are a living history of the war that happened so recently. It’s hard to be in a country so full of pain and just coming out of that. It’s a beautiful time, and yet it’s a difficult time.

I think my favorite thing of being in the clinic has not been delivering a baby or stitching up patients but getting to know the Liberians and speaking Liberian English to them and joking around with them and them loving to see that I’m trying to learn their culture. People are really grateful.

This trip has been so beneficial to me as a premed student looking in the future to going into medicine internationally, to use it for furthering Christ and his kingdom, and I couldn’t have thought of a better experience for me. They’re kind of teaching me what it looks like to use the resources that you have, which here are very limited, to give the best health care possible. There is just such a pressing need for help in this country, and it was good to visualize that. It’s a renewed fuel to the passion and fire I had to become an international physician. I really hope to someday come back and serve in a country like this, if not maybe here.

"Teacher, don't you care if we drown?"

Life, on the mission field or off, can be overwhelming at times. Coming home from a mission trip often leaves volunteers unsure how to live in a world that now seems much bigger than it did before. Often, they’re confronted with heartbreaking poverty and the reality that, even with all our relative wealth and privilege, there is only so much we can do.

Being here at home isn’t necessarily easier. People disappoint us, work can be difficult—if we can even find it, in this economy--, and church doesn’t always help.

I was thinking earlier today about the story of the disciples in the boat with Jesus, when the storm seems about to capsize the boat and Jesus is just lying there, peacefully sleeping. The disciples wake him and ask, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”

Sometimes, when life gets overwhelming, I think all of us feel like asking that question.

When the disciples wake Jesus, he calms the storm. Once it has died down, he asks the disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

It seems perfectly reasonable for the disciples to have been freaking out a little when it looked like they were all about to drown. But the reality is that they didn’t really have to wake Jesus up. He had things taken care of. He wasn’t going to let the boat sink.

It can be hard to remember, and even harder to believe, that the storms in our lives aren’t big enough to upset God’s boat. Sometimes they seem pretty huge.

Today, I’m praying that we will remember that we have no need to fear. We follow Jesus, and even the wind and the waves obey him.

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.