All God Does Is Good

A lovely nurse named Cara wrote something on her blog a few weeks ago about one of our patients.  It has stayed in my heart and mind and I want to share it with you:

Iyebiye kan // Precious one

SEPTEMBER 15, 2016 / CARAD

"Today is our third day of Maxillofacial (MaxFax) surgeries on the Africa Mercy for the 2016-2017 Benin Field Service.  And I am one happy pediatric nurse! We have a recovering and adorable 6-month cleft lip baby named Patricia, today we operated on a beautiful six-year old cleft palate named Minabelle and tonight we welcomed an 8-month baby boy (also cleft lip) named Israel. I’ve already kissed Patricia’s hair more times than I can count and gave her a bath on Monday night that made me far happier than it made her. I have shaken Israel’s hand twice in welcome, enjoying the way he regarded me with solemn and inquisitive eyes.  I got to spend time reassuring Minabelle and her mom this morning not to be afraid and then again this afternoon promising that we would care for her, that we had her bleeding and her airway and her pain under control.

But there is one sweet baby in the corner of our ward, in beloved Haingo’s old bed, who has stolen my heart in a special and particular way, one who is especially precious to me.

Her name is Bignon.  

Just like Haingo, Bignon is a cleft lip and palate baby, too – and our first medical admission of the season.  Bignon weighs 4 pounds and is three weeks old.  Bignon’s mother arrived exhausted and defeated, with a dehydrated and lethargic baby who barely had active reflexes and didn’t even have the strength to cry during her blood draws.  Yet already during Bignon’s first 24 hours aboard, both mother and baby look far more full of life than they did the previous day, both full of food and receiving rest and good care.

On Deck 7 today, during fresh air time, I asked one of our day crew to ask Bignon’s mother if the baby’s name means anything. 

“It does,” our translator told me.  

“It means ‘All God Does is Good'”. 

I had chills. How fitting. How perfect. How well that name illustrates the powerful story of this fragile little baby and this brave, brave Mama.  Can you imagine someone laying your baby in your arms, after hours of laboring, and seeing how small she is, seeing her bilateral cleft lip for the first time, being frightened and unsure of what caused this enormous, obvious, difficult defect —

AND YET still turning your eyes to heaven and choosing to name this darling little girl “All God Does is Good”? 

If I had faith like that, if I had trust like that, how different my every single day would be. How different my relationship with God would be, my relationships with my loved ones and my relationship with myself would be.  It is nearly beyond my comprehension to imagine what depths of peace you would feel in knowing, knowing THAT intensely that God had everything, every hardship, every struggle, every curveball under His control and that He was making choices for you and your family that ultimately were good, no matter how scary they seemed at first?

That kind of faith is the kind that they say moves mountains. 

Upon our return to the ward, my heart still full and my throat still lumpy and my eyes still stinging, I watched Patricia and her Mama greet little Israel. I watched Patricia’s mom showing off the nasal bolster, pointing at the steri-strips, gesturing to the nurses and talking fast and excitedly.  I watched Bignon’s mom coming over, showing off her own little clefty girl, her own pride and joy. I could hardly tear myself away. Three cleft lips and their mothers having a party in the back of the ward in our incredible unit on a floating hospital docked in Cotonou, Benin.

Indeed.  All God Does is Good."

Amen.  If you'd like to read more of Cara's heart and thoughts, here's the link.

Surely there will be more to come.  

Tom's Testimony: Seeing God at Work

One of our Crew Mates, Tom Waechter (who happens to remind me of my dad!), shared a very meaningful testimony a few weeks ago during one of our Community Gatherings.  He also shared 2 pictures that have proven to be 2 of the most impactful images I've seen lately.  May you be blessed as you read his words....

"Good Evening.  I will admit that I am much more comfortable in my role as Maintenance Coordinator than I am as a public speaker, but if you will please bear with me, we will see how this goes.

Please join me in prayer --- God, I pray that you would be big and I would be small and that you would be glorified by what we will be sharing tonight.  I pray that the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart would be pleasing in your sight.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.

This is a bit different than a lot of testimonies that you have heard because Patricia specifically asked me to share ways that I have seen God working here, since our arrival in Tamatave.  As I prayed about it, a sermon came to mind that I heard many years ago from the head of Wycliffe Bible Translators.  He had three points to his message that have stayed with me.  They are as follows:

1. We can’t do any task that God has called us to do, but God can do it.
2. We won’t be able to succeed if we try, but God can succeed through us.
3. We have to do our part.

With those three points in mind, let’s talk about some of the things that have happened over the past couple of weeks that perhaps we have just taken for granted, failing to see God working in our midst.

Each of these examples required some or all of us to do our part, and often that part involved long hours and lots of hard work.  But, don’t let that cause you to miss seeing God’s faithfulness and His hand in each of these examples as well.

Let’s start at the top – actually, let’s look at three of the top positions of authority on the ship --- the Captain, the Managing Director and the Operations Director.  What would you think about replacing all three of them just before the field service begins with 3 people from three different countries, none of whom have actually functioned in their newly assigned role before?  Does anyone think that would be good business or that it would work?  But it does, as all three are working hard, doing their part and allowing God to do His part.

Let’s take over a third of the ship’s crew and have them report aboard the week before the hospital opens and surgeries start, while we reassign several of our experienced crew members to new jobs that they have never done before.  Does anyone think that is a good idea or that it would work?  But it does, as everyone is working hard, doing their part and allowing God to do His part.

How about bringing our supplemental day crew aboard less than a week before we open for business, with over 30% of them being new to the job.  Does anyone think that is good business or that it would work?  But it does, as our day crew have risen to the challenge and are doing their part and allowing God to do His part.

Let’s take the Hope Center, make it bigger than ever before and assign all new facilitators who have never been in that role before to oversee its operation.  Let’s have it open for business less than a week after the ship’s arrival, then to make things a bit more interesting, let’s have them coordinate with an outside organization (Operation Smile) who will bring in over 100 of their own patients the week after the ship arrives and see how it goes.  Does anyone think that is a good idea or that it would work?  But it does, as everyone, both facilitators and Hope Center day crew, are working hard, doing their part and allowing God to do His part.

I have an idea --- let’s bring in 12 new nurses from all over the world and assign them to an OBF clinic that we have never attempted to run before in our history.  Let’s expect them to be open and ready to receive patients three weeks after our arrival.  Does anyone think that is a good idea or that it would work?  But it does, as this amazing team of people are working hard, doing their part and allowing God to do His part.

I could go on – the examples in our (what I hesitate to call “Normal”) everyday lives are endless.  This place is anything but “Normal”.  Ann-Marie and I went to the prayer time for the hospital before it opened and joined the smaller group of people who went down with Harry and Pam Porter to pray specifically for the pharmacy.  What they were facing was overwhelming --- boxes everywhere, wards needing to be stocked before they could open, containers to be emptied, the pharmacy itself needing to be stocked.  It really blew my mind and I thought that there is no way that this can be ready in time.  But it was.  Harry and Pam and Jenny all did their part and worked a ton of hours and God took care of the rest so that the pharmacy was ready when needed.

I will give one last example of what I consider a true miracle.  I got a call from Emmanuel in Bio-Med two weeks ago asking if I could help deliver a pallet of sensitive electronic equipment out to the Dental Clinic from the warehouse.  It was the new sterilizers and transformers for the Dental team.  Emmanuel told me where the pallet was and mentioned that it had gotten a bit wet during its transport on the container. 

When I went to pick it up in the warehouse, I couldn’t find it --- all I could see was this pallet:

It would not have been more soaked if it had been sprayed down with a fire hose.  The boxes were totally saturated and there was water everywhere, inside and out for each of the sterilizers.  I thought at the time that it would take a true miracle for any of them to ever work again.  But Emmanuel went to work and did his part and God did His part.  Here is a picture of them today, all of them fully operational and working.  

I would like to close with a few verses from II Corinthians, the fourth chapter:

“For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.  But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.”

I encourage each of you to see God at work in your “Normal”, everyday experience here, to diligently do your part and allow Him to work in and through you as He accomplishes what He brought us all here to do.  To God be the glory."

Amen!  Our God is at work...may we see Him....

Surely there will be more to come.

a little girl's impact...alice - for the days when we need a reminder.

...on the days when we're missing family and friends like crazy....on the days when we just want to eat at Chick-Fil-A and stop by the gas station for a huge cherry coke....on the days when we want to sit in person with a friend across the ocean who is hurting....on the days when walking outside and being cold would be a most welcome experience....it's on those days when it's good to be reminded of why we're here...

Alice's story is serving as that reminder for us this week.  Thought you might like to read about some of the things God is doing in and through this beautiful treasure of a girl.

Thanks to Jennica and Natalie for sharing their stories and a bit of Alice's story....the following is taken from their blogs.

Jennica's Blog

I’d like to introduce you to one of the most beautiful little girls I know. Meet Alisteria, or Alice as she is affectionately known. She is an eleven year old girl from Uganda. She was flown here with her dad and Dr. Isaac back in August and has been with us ever since.

Here’s a little background on Alice. When Alice was nine years old she was hanging out with her grandma while she was cooking in their village. Alice had a seizure and fell into the fire, burning the right side of her face. Her parents rushed her to the local clinic. When she got there, all the staff ran outside because they were terrified of her appearance and the smell of burning flesh. Eventually they took care of her and transported her to a larger hospital. She spent a few months there and had a couple skin grafts done. Eventually her family could no longer afford for her to be in the hospital so they snuck away in the middle of the night and went home. Her parents tried their best to take care of Alice in the village. They cleaned the wounds as they had seen in the hospital, but they didn’t have any clean bandages to put on. So they placed the old bandage back on after cleaning. This ended up causing an infection to the skin around her right eye. Then the flies came. To ward off the flies, her parents put gasoline on her face. This began to eat away at her skin and damaged her right eye even more. Her parents were losing hope, were terrified that they were going to lose her, and had even dug her grave in the village. Then Dr. Isaac came into the picture. This Ugandan man is actually a trained veterinarian but also runs a home in Uganda for children that have mental or physical disabilities, children that have been abandoned by family, and children like Alice who need help. He came alongside the family and helped take care of her. He had heard of Mercy Ships and e-mailed the screening team, seeing if Alice could come to the ship for surgery.

She came a day later than scheduled. The day she was supposed to come she was literally sick to her stomach with fear of getting on the airplane and flying to Congo. Can you imagine? Your whole life you’ve lived in a grass hut village in the middle of Uganda and now you’ve traveled to a huge city, you’re getting on this big metal contraption, you’re going to be flying in the SKY, leaving your friends and family for months, and staying on some ship where they will be cutting on you, poking and prodding on you. All this after already dealing with her injuries for two years. The bravery of Alice and her father to get on the plane the next day is beyond me. But I am so glad they found the strength and courage!

Alice was the first patient I ever took care of in Africa. She came my first shift. It was myself and another nurse, Kari, who had her that first day. I was being oriented to the ward and the hospital was slowly opening up after screening day. Alice was so shy. She wouldn’t make eye contact with you, she didn’t smile, she didn’t speak to us. Her dad knew a small amount of English, Alice knew maybe two words and the rest was a Ugandan tribal language. The only person she would speak to was her dad. Her dad is an incredible man. Very soft spoken and reserved but incredibly dedicated to his daughter, loving towards her, and patient with all of us. We tried to get Alice and her dad feel more at home by playing games, coloring, making friendship bracelets. The only games she would play with Kari and me, after loads of coaxing, were “keep the balloon off the ground” and “move the magnetic alphabet letters around on the wall”. 

At first we were doing twice a day dressing changes on her eye, trying to combat the infection and get her ready for surgery. Alice wouldn’t make eye contact with you when the bandages were removed. She would stare down cast at the floor and not make a peep. She sat so patiently and quietly while her wounds were cleansed and re-bandaged. We would always put stickers on her bandage after we were done. You could see a small shadow of a smile pass over face as she got to pick what was going to decorate her head. 

But slowly and surely Alice began to emerge from her shell. The constant love and attention that was shown to her by Kari, myself, and countless others- everyone in the hospital, everyone on board that came to visit her- slowly began to extract her from her shell. I still remember the first real smile I saw creep across her face. The beauty in that smile, the way it light up her face. It was amazing. The first time she laughed, the first time she ran up to me saying “Jenny!!!!” when I came to work, these are moments I will remember and cherish forever.

Alice had a long journey on board. We cultured her wounds around her eye and found MRSA in them which landed her in isolation for a month. This was about one week after her arrival. It was really hard on her but especially hard on her dad. Here is dad used to being outdoors in Uganda, used to being in control, head of the family, working, visiting friends and family… suddenly stuck in an isolation room. Needing to entertain his daughter and himself 24/7. They colored countless coloring pages while they were in that room. I visited multiple times and would play memory with her, blow up balloons for her, and try to entertain her for an hour to give dad a break. It was so fun to spend time with her and develop a deeper relationship with her.

Alisteria and her dad

Once the infection cleared and she was moved out of isolation back onto the ward, it was like a different person emerged. Here’s this bright, vibrant little girl running around like a banshee on Deck 7, pedaling with all her might the scooters, running around the ward until someone had to loving reprimand her, tell her to calm down a bit! We found out that she is incredibly ticklish and loves to tickle back! Her smile rarely leaves her face now. She started picking up French words, Lingala words, English words. Her speech is such a hodge-podge of different languages, it’s rather amusing! She has an air of confidence that comes from children who are completely loved, deeply cherished, and unconditionally accepted. When I worked, I would have a little shadow following me. She was my little helper and so serious about assisting me in the little ways that she could.

All told she had 3 surgeries. One to her face and two to reconstruct her right ear. I’m happy to report that she has a beautiful ear now. Her eye infection has cleared up. The wounds around her eye have almost completely healed. Alice and her dad leave Monday for Uganda. She will be out of my life physically but will always remain in my heart. She survived. She beat all the odds, all the opinions that she was done for. She lived. You cannot look at this face and tell me that she is ugly. These scars have formed because she survived. No, she’s done more than that. She’s thrived. Marinate on that for a bit.

For the last few weeks she has been at the Hope Center. Every time I go to visit I am greeted with her screeching “Jenny Jenny Jenny Jenica Jenny!!!!” It warms my heart to no end! Yesterday Kari found me in midships and told me that Alice was on the dock, had been discharged from outpatients and that they are working on getting flights home for her and her dad. I went down to the dock to see her and say good-bye. She was so excited to see me, so excited to go home and see mamma and 1 brother and 2 sisters. So excited to be in Uganda again. You could tell Dad was pleased too in his quiet reserved way. I sat on the dock fighting back tears, snuggling with her, playing music off my phone with her, praying over her and her future in Uganda. At one point she looked up at me with her good eye and told me “Jenny, I love you,” and kissed my cheek. I’m telling you, I seriously almost lost it!

Today I went to the Hope Center to see her one last time before she leaves. I gave her a few photos to remember her time on board. I wrote a note to her hoping that one day when she grows up she will be able to read it. (Uganda is an old British colony, so English is spoken there). In my note I reminded her how loved she is by our heavenly Father, her earthly father, myself and everyone else at Mercy Ships. I told her how thankful I am that she danced across the pages of my life for these six short months. I remember when I first met her in August and heard she would be here until February thinking “man, that’s a long time!” and now here it is. I will miss her so much, but I am so glad she is going home healed! I am so glad she is going home full of confidence, vibrancy, love, adoration, self assurance. Will you please join me in praying that these feelings continue all the days of her life? That God will bless her, that she will be accepted and loved for who she is, for what she has to give, for the story she has survived already and an amazing future that is waiting for her.

And here are some thoughts from Natalie's Blog:

A few weeks ago, I was sitting with some friends at one of our favorite local restaurants.  We glanced up, and noticed some vibrant red flowers in view on a balcony ledge.  

"Do you think those are real?" one friend asked me, looking up towards the brightly colored blooms that strongly contrasted the beige exterior of the building.  

"Maybe..." I replied, not giving them a second thought.  

"Nah... they're too beautiful to be real." she commented.

We quickly discovered that they were in fact fake flowers, and the conversation moved on to discussing more important things (like the 100F degree temperature differences between our hometowns and our current location in Pointe Noire.)  My friends continued chatting as I shifted in my chair and closed my eyes, soaking up the warm sun and breathing in the African air, unable to stop thinking of her last phrase about the flowers.  I just couldn't seem to stop thinking about it....

It's a sad shame really.  The truth is, when we see something beautiful, our default response is to assume that it's an altered, somehow artificial or edited version of the real thing.  Artificial sweeteners are better than real sugar because they have less calories.  Fake flowers are better than fresh flowers because they last forever.  Astroturf is better than grass because it holds up better.  Photoshopped photographs are better than unedited because the blemishes have been cleared away.  Flipping through a magazine, the best looking food, landscapes, and even people always elicit the response of "That/those/he/she is too beautiful to be real."

While my friends had moved on from discussing perpetual summer to listing their current reading lists, I sat there confused, and kept thinking about beauty and our pesky instinctual reaction to doubt it's reality.  Why so confused, you ask? 

We know what the Bible says about beauty and what's important:

• "Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart."  1 Sam 16:7
• "Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." Prov 31:30
• "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." Psa 139:14
• "Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight." 1 Peter 3:3-4

One of our surgeons often says that "everyone has the right to look human."  While all of our surgeries restore physical function and often prevent death, they all also give the additional bonus of restoring physical appearance.  This gives them a literal chance at a new life since those who look less than beautiful are shunned and outcast.  We rejoice in this, but is this somehow agreeing with societal claims that the altered/edited version is better?  Are we somehow proving the point that what's on the outside DOES count?  

Meet Alice.  A sweet young girl from Uganda.  Like many of our plastics patients, Alice was severely burned at a young age when she fell into a fire.  The fire consumed her head, face, and neck, leaving only scant areas of skin and hair unscarred.  Alice spent the past 6 months with us, recovering from 3 surgeries that left her with a more mobile neck, new eyelids and a new ear.  Monday, her and her dad will fly back to Uganda to be reunited with her mother and siblings.

A few weeks after her surgery, I was changing the dressing on her head/eye for several days in a row.  This particular day, she was in bed for most of the morning, quiet and not wanting to play.   After I changed her dressing, I told her I had a surprise for her so I made her close her uncovered eye and when she opened it, I handed her a mirror.   I had added flowers and a pink bow to her bandage.   She stared in the mirror grinning ear to ear for literally hours and then suddenly came alive dancing and singing and laughing, prancing around the ward showing off her bandage while everyone told her how beautiful she was.   We went up to deck 7 later that day, and her papa was on the phone.   I wasn't paying much attention until he handed her the phone and she squealed "Mama, I'm beautiful!!!"  

In that moment, something shifted.  She had a new found confidence and joy when she shifted from hearing others say she is beautiful to actually believing and knowing it was true for herself.  The bandages were still on, the incisions hadn't healed, her hair was still gone, and most of her scars were actually still there too.  She didn't look all that different than before, but on the inside, she was a whole new kid.  

So, by doing her surgery and correcting her outward appearance, did we just jump on society's beauty obsessed bandwagon?  Maybe.  Because here at Mercy Ships, we ARE obsessed with beautiful things.  Surgeries might change the outside, but we know that only God can change the inside... and when that change happens, that is a beautiful thing!  What a privilege it is to come along side Him to pour out His love, reminding these sweet little patients how beautifully they were created.  

Too beautiful to be real?  Nope!  The most beautiful things are the most alive, and Alice is more alive now than she's ever been.

AMEN. 

Surely there will be more to come. 

Lucrech (and our friend Mr. Nick)

Thought you might like to read about another life that's been changed by God's work through Mercy Ships.  This story about a special little boy named Lucrech was written by Mercy Ships' writer Grace Antonini.  The pictures are compliments of Michelle Murrey, Catherine Murphy and Josh Callow. Fun note: the "Nick" referenced here is our dear "Mr. Nick". Please pray for him as he is returning to Guinea to serve for a few months. AND he recently proposed to the lovely Suzanne, another sweet friend of ours!  Please pray for them as they prepare for marriage (and a wedding!).   “He’s doing much better than yesterday,” Nick remarks, as he gently inclines five-year-old Lucrech’s thumb toward the pointer finger. Nick is Lucrech’s physiotherapist onboard the Africa Mercy, and they have been spending a half hour together every day since his surgery. They work on exercises that will bring full function back to Lucrech’s right hand. Today, Nick believes Lucrech is ready to touch each of his fingers to his thumb. It seems a small distance to cover – but, for Lucrech, it’s a milestone.  One by one, nurses and patients gather around the pair, and a sheepish grin sweeps across the little boy’s face. Not very long ago, most eyes on Lucrech were critical eyes. The only words he heard from his schoolmates were unkind ones. His physical problem was a seemingly uncrossable dividing line, separating him from other children. You see, three years ago, while reaching for his brother’s toy, Lucrech tripped, plunging his arm into a pot of boiling beans over an open fire. Without a skin graft to prevent the raw wound from forming inflexible scar tissue, the skin across Lucrech’s palm tightened until each finger was pulled into a permanently bent position. This is called a burn contracture. Mercy Ships volunteer surgeon, Dr. Tertius Venter, explains, “To treat an acute burn wound in the First World, we would quickly do a skin graft before a contracture forms. We’d treat it with physical therapy and occupational therapy, and then splint it. But, in many parts of Africa this is just not available. The only way that the body can heal itself and prevent infection is by pulling everything together to close the wound up.” A few months ago, Lucrech decided he’d had enough of school. He couldn’t handle the negative attention anymore. His classmates ridiculed him because he could not write or throw a ball. His mother, Nadja, recalls, “He loves to play games, especially soccer – but he had to play alone.” Today, the deep, fire-etched scars on the five-year-old’s right hand go unnoticed. The people gathered around Lucrech and Nick are too busy celebrating a true showstopper – those five freed fingers that can move, stretch, grasp, wiggle, point and tickle! Nadja comforts her son with a pat on the head as he tries to touch his thumb to his ring finger…two down, two more to go. She is beaming from ear to ear and clapping her hands in expectation. When the two fingers touch, everyone bursts into applause, exclaiming, “Très forte, Lucrech! Très forte!” [Very strong, Lucrech!] Lucrech looks around the room with a big smile, unable to resist the temptation to flex a bicep (much to the delight of his nurses). Nadja laughs. “He forgets the pain because of the attention,” she says. “Okay,” Nick continues, “last one. Can you try to reach your pinky finger to your thumb? No? I think you can!” Lucrech drapes over Nick’s thigh, his head turned toward the camera with a grin. These exercises for his newly uncurled fingers are painful – but, when everyone tells him how strong he is, he smiles and tries harder. The pinky and thumb touch to another round of applause. Lucrech wrinkles his nose in response and then runs off to join a noisy group of his pals from the ward. A few weeks have gone by, and Lucrech is back from the Hope Center for his weekly physical therapy. Like a miniature whirlwind he jumps up into the arms of one of the Africa Mercy crew members. All traces of shyness are gone; he’s a veritable entertainer these days. “What are you going to do now that you can use your right hand?” the crew member asks him. “I want to go back to school to write!” he says. Then, with a heart-melting grin, he hugs her more tightly and adds, “I want to play ball with my friends, too!” Surely there will be more to come.

Bernadette.

Story by Catherine Murphy, edited by Nancy Predaina
Pictures by Catherine, Murphy Michelle Murrey and Deb Bell

Bernadette is a runaway.

Three weeks ago, she packed her bags, lied to her mother, and bought a one-way ticket on a train bound for the coast. She said that she would be visiting a cousin, and then she disappeared. But someone like Bernadette does not go unnoticed for long.

The tumor over Bernadette’s right eye pushed her brow to her cheekbone, blocking her vision like an eye patch. As she journeyed from her hometown to Pointe Noire, she would lift it up with her right hand so she could use both eyes to see her steps, her path, and, finally, her destination – a hospital ship.

Now in the hospital ward, Bernadette is a little cheeky, almost rebellious. At about 5’ tall, what she lacks in height she makes up for with spunk. She keeps a match tucked in her hair “in case the inside of her ear tickles” and occasionally erupts with loud, happy laughter. Some days, she jumps up and down. Since the operation, Bernadette’s right hand is free to join her left in clapping, pointing, or trying to knit with hot pink yarn. She says she wants to make a chair cushion. The little girl in the next bed watches Bernadette with shy fascination.

Bernadette had no choice but to lie to her mother, she says. When she had a tumor, no one would touch her – except her mother. People would see Bernadette coming, and then they would go the other way. Even so, if Mama Philo had known that her daughter was traveling to a hospital ship for surgery, it would have made her sick from worrying. By running away, Bernadette spared her mother from fear.

Now that her tumor is gone, Bernadette is looking forward to her future. Some day, hopefully soon, she will sell homemade peanut butter to passengers outside the very train station where her great escape began. Bernadette smiles at a thought: not having a tumor is going to be good for business, she says. In fact, she may expand to selling pastries.

The next time Bernadette buys a one-way train ticket, it will take her home. She hopes that her mother will be too happy to be angry. And if she is mad? Well, Mama Philo will have to forgive eventually, because Bernadette is old enough to make her own decisions . . . because Bernadette is 54.

On a hospital ship in Africa, there is a runaway with a bandage on her head and a match in her hair. And if you ask her, “Are you ever too old to spare your mother from worrying?” she will look at you with two eyes and say, no.

Surely there will be more to come.

"I Love You Because You Are You"... the AFM Version

Way back when, for Eli's first Christmas, Aunt Amy gave us a book (she gives really incredible books!)....

...and it's about this Mama Fox and her sweet little boy fox and how she loves him no matter how he is/what mood he's in -- happy, cheerful, sad, playful, frisky, angry, etc...she loves her little one.  The end of the book says "I love you any way you feel, no matter what you do.  I love you any way you are.  I love you because you are you. "

One night, as I was reading that story to our children, I felt like God was saying "I want you to share this with the crew of the Africa Mercy."  So I tucked that tidbit away for another day....

Long story short...I was able to share the story with our community a couple of weeks ago in our Sunday Night Church Service.  God wanted to remind us of His tremendous love for us and how nothing can separate us from His love.  In the end, I also shared an "Africa Mercy Version" of "I Love You Because You Are You" that God prompted me to write.  After a few requests, I've decided to share it here on our blog...enjoy!

2 things to note:  

• yes, some of the pictures were staged (most were not)
• the "line" referred to is talking about a barrier that is put up across all of the entrances to the dining room while the floors are being mopped...quite a few people onboard find it an inconvenience when they want to go in to get tea or coffee and find the line up (and some people take the liberty to go underneath the line which is not permissable!!)  

I Love You Because You Are You,

 the Africa Mercy Version

I love you when you’re cheerful and in the best of moods.

I love you when you’re whiny and complaining about the food.

I love you when you’re laughing, grinning ear to ear.

I love you when you’re frustrated, and wonder why you’re here.

I love you when your heart is breaking, listening to the cries.

I love you when you’re on the dock, saying hard good-byes.

I love you when you’re serving, giving all you’ve got.

I love you when you’re playing, entertaining quite alot.

I love you when you’re cleaning and picking up the bits.

I love you when you’re sad, and just want to call it quits.

I love you when you’re resting and need to take a break.

I love you when you’re at the line and thinking “oh, for goodness’ sake.”

I love you when you're singing and making people smile.

I love you when you're working, going the extra mile.

I love you any way you feel, no matter what you do.

I love you any way you are, Africa Mercy Crew…

I love you because you are you!

He does!  And I am grateful.  At our best...at our worst...when we're getting it all right or all wrong or somewhere in between...when we're at our highest...when we're at our lowest...He loves us.  Oh! How He loves us.  

His love for us is not dependent on us or on our performance - and I, for one, am so very thankful.  He does love us - so very much...and nothing can separate us from His love.  Hallelujah!

Surely there will be more to come.