Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Losing Two Friends

Last Spring, while my mom was here visiting, I took her to visit a friend of mine.  Her name is Phoebe, and she has taken in 8 children who have no families.  While we were there I noticed that one of her sons seemed lethargic, and he had a pretty bad cough.  I inquired after his health and found that Phoebe was struggling to get him the health care he needed for various reasons.  I, along with some friends from the clinic, joined in in the fight to get Bienvenu the help he needed.

Through the months that followed Bienvenu had ups and downs.  He was in and out of the hospital, and several times I left visits with him preparing myself for the worst, only to find him bouncing back a few days later.  Before we left in September I spoke with the medical assistant who had agreed to start him on Tuberculosis meds.  The last time I saw him he was out of bed, walking around, and even eating.  I was amazed at how resilient this sweet boy was.

However, two weeks later we arrived in the States to hear the news that Bienvenu had passed away while we were in transit.  It felt a bit surreal to me, as life always does when I contemplate the huge discrepancy between life in the U.S. and life in Togo.  My mind was trying to assimilate and accommodate my home culture again, and I had little mental energy to spare.  I put my grief on hold.

We continued our travels in the States for about four and a half months, and in late December we learned that another young friend of ours here was having problems with her kidneys.  Over the years that we've known Massan, we have seen her become very ill, but she has always pulled through.  She too, lost her parents to HIV many years ago, and was living with her little sister and their adoptive mother Rose.

We began praying for Massan.  We spoke to people who might be able to help her.  We did the best we could from such a great distance to try to help her get the care she needed.  Four days before our flight left to bring us back to Togo she passed away.

Death is a part of AIDS work.  In Africa, death is a part of life.  People here handle it and move on with great strength, but I'm blown away by it.  I think of Bienvenu and Massan, and then I think of so many other orphans who are sick with AIDS and other illnesses, and many of them are never mourned.  Most of them don't have their names mentioned in blogs, they are forgotten.

I take such great comfort that these children have never been forgotten for even an instant by their Heavenly Father.  He has known and mourned all of their sorrows through life, and he redeems all injustice even in their death.  He overcomes every tragedy, every failing, and every grief.  I am saddened by the loss of my two little friends, but I don't bear the burden of healing their sickness or repairing the cruelty they have suffered.  I trust God to do all of that, and rejoice that he can do it perfectly and wholly.    I am free to offer what love and meager help that I can give and leave salvation and true restoration to God.  

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Receiving Graciously

As of yesterday I am back in Africa.  Armed with new flip flops and a missionary haircut (I so wish I could wear a cutie pixie cut like my friend Grace can!) I am ready continue life and work in Kara.  In many ways, I am back in my comfort zone.

One thing I bring back with me is an overflowing cup of love and support from friends and family back in the U.S.  As someone who is in "the business" of ministry, it has been very easy for me to get used to the role of the one who helps others.  We listen to people when they need to talk.  We pray with and for people.  We help sick people get medical care.  We connect orphans to the generous support of people in the States.  We feebly attempt to share wisdom when we can.  We feed and house people when there is need.  This is our role.  It's our job, so to speak.  It is our mission.  It is our comfort zone.  

All of that changes when we go on furlough.  Since the month of October we have stayed in the homes of 20 families.  We were fed by more people than I can even remember.  People gave us money to buy food, clothes, gas, books, have a date, free medical care, we were hosted for a Disney World vacation, and many other things that do not fall into the category of "needs" but "wants."  It is so humbling to sit in the living room and visit while a friend is in the kitchen making dinner for you, and then to do the same while your friend cleans up.  It is humbling to have friends prepare special food for you because you have a stomach virus while staying in their home.  It is so humbling to have someone purchase luxury goods for you that you would not buy for yourself, just because they love you.  These things are outside of my comfort zone.

I have struggled on many levels with receiving the outpouring of love and generosity of others.  At times I struggled with being greedy (I am ashamed to admit that,) and at times I have struggled with refusing those outpourings because I felt like I shouldn't be given so much.  I have been on both ends of the spectrum and everywhere in between.

As I gain a little distance from our time in the States, I reflect on the hospitality and generosity that we received and I land in the spot of amazement and gratitude.  I am so touched by how good people have been to us.  I am encouraged by their uplifting words and their sacrifice for us.  I am grateful that people were so kind even when we weren't the best guests.  I am grateful for honest words of wisdom from my friends Cathy and Linda.  All of these things are gifts from God, and they reflect how sweet God is to us.  He gives us to us generously and does not hold back.  He takes delight in giving to us beyond what we need and deserve.  I am determined to count my blessings, and to follow the beautiful examples I have seen in our friends and family across America to show that same love to the people in my community here.