Thoughts from Honduras
2002
What a Blessing!
January 8, 2002
As visitors and fellow missionaries view our hospital building, surrounding property and structures, they frequently remark, “God is blessing!”
Certainly, God is blessing, for He has promised to work all things for the good of those who love Him. But do we measure that blessing by the wrong standard? When my car breaks down, the roof leaks, the bridge washes out, my mother is diagnosed with cancer; is God blessing? Who would respond to these things with “What a blessing!”?
Well certainly God is blessing Bill Gates! He blessed Bill Clinton! What a “blessing” (?) it is so be counted among the richest or most powerful in the world. Wouldn’t we say that a religious leader who represents our point of view, has gained world attention, is rallying countless people to his cause, but in the process is also being persecuted, is being blessed of God? How about Osama bin Laden?
We measure blessing based on the externals, the visible, and often misconstrue human success as “God’s blessing”. Even as I fill out my ministry report for my mission, I must use externals to demonstrate “God’s blessing” to justify my work and ministry as a missionary. God has created within man the capacity to create. Man can, and does, create some pretty spectacular things! Most are monuments to himself, and not a measure of the “blessing” of God.
How does God measure blessing and success? He has commanded us to make disciples. He wants them to bear fruit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. He wants them to have transformed lives that reflect His likeness.
God is blessing, I have no doubts. He is blessing in ways that are not quite so obvious to us. In all honesty, I have not yet seen His blessing visibly to any great degree through our ministry in regards to making disciples (although “numbers” are also human externals). I trust that we are laying the foundation for the future. And even if we never see “results”, if we have personally been obedient to God, never accomplishing anything worthy of reporting to our mission or our supporters other than saying, “We did what we believe God called us to do!” we would indeed be “blessed of God.” For having the opportunity to follow Jesus Christ is truly the greatest blessing I can think of.
Homesickness?
February 7, 2002
I am pretty adaptable, never really suffering from homesickness, being content to be wherever I am. But occasionally I have a twinge of momentary melancholy that is usually triggered visually, but sometimes by a sound, a smell, a taste, or a thought. It is at times very powerful, causing a turn of the stomach, a surge of emotions.
For example, last fall as we were eating at the mall in La Ceiba, we noticed a Big Ten football game on the TV screen. We live in a land of eternal summer where the climate changes little, and it is easy to forget the time of year. Seeing the football game brought a flood of thoughts that rushed through my mind in a matter of a couple of seconds. It began with thoughts of fall colors, falling leaves, burning leaves, frost, blue sky, Ohio State football and our years in Columbus, our church there, friends, the struggle of surgical residency, then a jump to high school football and marching band, the sounds and smells of a Friday night game, pep rallies, friends from high school, and then a return to reality. It lasted only a few seconds, but the memories covered years of experience!
Yesterday it happened again. As I was going to the copy center in the mall, I walked past a store displaying televisions. There on about 20 screens were men luging down an ice covered track. Snow was falling. It was obviously winter somewhere out there in the world.
I am not a sports fanatic, but my favorite sporting event is the Winter Olympics. My mind jumped to winter in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, where we lived for 4 years. Cross-country skiing, snow shoeing, the squeaky crunch of snow under your feet on a clear cold night, a full moon on the snow, ice sickles, the stiffness of my nose hairs when it is below zero, ice fishing, the Northern Lights, friends, church, block heaters on our cars, shoveling snow, scraping windshields. Again, back to reality. A sense of melancholy. A thankfulness for friends and experiences.
It occurred to me how devastating life could be for those who live in the past, longing to repeat it, missing the fullness of the present. I cherish the memories, but look forward to making more. Maybe eternity will allow us the opportunity to reminisce with clarity, or maybe the present will be so overwhelming that we won’t give the past a second thought.
Semana Santa
March 31, 2002, Easter Sunday
Semana Santa, or “Holy Week” in Honduras, is much different than we are accustomed to in North America.
Semana Santa, in one way, is like our Christmas or Thanksgiving. It is the time of year for family to be “home for the holidays” and travel “over the rivers and through the rain forest”. Hondurans from around the country and the US return home in droves. Although the whole week is festive, Thursday and Friday are national holidays, creating a 4 day weekend. The peak of the festivities occurs on “Good Friday”.
Unlike our Christmas, Semana Santa occurs during a hot time of year, so rather than celebrating in warm cozy homes, the beach becomes “the place to be”, adding a 4th of July like quality to the holiday. Preparations for the celebration actually begin early in the week. Celebrants cut palm branches and construct crude shelters on the beach to provide shade. More elaborate structures are built by vendors who will sell food and alcohol on the beach.
On Thursday, the pilgrimage begins in earnest as cars and buses packed with skimpily clad passengers and coolers of food and beverage clog the roads to beaches and swimming holes along the rivers. Vendors along the way sell plastic dolphins, inner tubes and other flotation devices.
Even our usually quite little town of Balfate becomes a center of celebration. Parked cars and buses clog the streets. Roulette tables and other forms of gaming are set up through town. A dozen or so vendors blare their music from their temporary businesses on the beach. By evening, the dance hall is warming up for the youth, and the drunks are staggering in the streets.
Friday is more of the same, but with even more people. The public buses don’t run, but many are hired out for special charter runs to the beach.
While little at the beach reminds one of the underlying religious theme of the week, in the city remain some devout. The catholic churches sponsor “processions”, religious parades, complete with floats and drama acting out the “Passion of Christ” and other religious scenes. These can be viewed on television, much like our Thanksgiving or Christmas parades.
By Saturday afternoon, things start to slow down, and the crowd begins to thin out. Sunday morning, the focus of our Easter celebration in the US, is a time of peace in Balfate as the revelers sleep off the night before. By late morning, there is some activity on the beach. By late afternoon, the abandoned remains of palm structures and several days trash litter a nearly uninhabited beach. Our town returns to its usual quiet state, until next Semana Santa.
The Team
May 29, 2002
We had a great two weeks!
The Christian Medical Dental Association Gynecologic Surgery Team was a tremendous success! We performed thirty surgeries in two weeks. The last patients went home on May 27th. The main glitches were due to power (we lost one day the first week and two partial days the second week due to power outages) and autoclave (sterilizer) problems.
We logged a number of “firsts” for Hospital Loma de Luz:
First surgeries in our permanent operating rooms.
First patients go through our permanent recovery room.
First patients in our in-patient wards.
First planned in-patients.
First major abdominal surgery (mostly hysterectomies)
First cystoscopy (looking in the bladder with a scope)
First laparoscopy (looking in the abdomen with a scope)
First spinal anesthesia
First in-patient pharmacy
First transfusion from our “walking blood bank” (Dr. McKenney was the first donor)
And for me personally, my first time as “anesthesiologist” giving spinal and general anesthesia without someone supervising me! (I was “apprentice” the first week to our anesthesiologist, and “soloed” the second week when he left.)
In addition to all the firsts, this team helped us reach in to the future to test and refine our in-patient surgery system. They brought valuable supplies, medications and equipment, provided training for our staff, and broadened our base of stateside contacts. The team also saw many GYN, pediatric and family practice patients in the out-patient clinic.
We now have a clearer vision for the future! Our main needs include hiring and training additional staff for surgery and the in-patient wards, acquiring a generator and large autoclave, and recruiting an anesthesiologist or anesthetist.
We are certainly thankful to our Lord for the opportunities and successes of the past weeks, and to the team members who sacrifices their vacations and personal resources to be a part of this landmark event at Hospital Loma de Luz!
The Very Busy Day
This “busy day” occurred in March 2002.
This account was presented in various churches during our time Stateside in 2002.
People often ask, “What is missionary life like? What is a normal day for you?” There is no such thing as a “normal” day!
It is kind of like a television medical drama. People used to ask me if life in the hospital was really like the television program “ER”. I never even once watched “ER”, but from the accounts I heard, one episode may have represented in one hour the events that may have transpired in reality over two or three months, compressed into a short period of time. But who would really want to watch the boring routine of one day’s events? Occasionally a day may contain a cluster of events that produces a “very busy” day
So this is kind of like “ER” giving you a glimpse into missionary life. This just so happens to represent a true, exceptionally busy day in the life of a missionary doctor.
The backdrop was a warm day just at the end of rainy season. Several new missionary families had just joined us, but were not yet settled in and oriented enough to enter fully into the work. The clinic had just moved from our temporary location in our staff housing building, where it had begun two years before, into it’s permanent location in the front half of the hospital. Our operating room had moved into a temporary spot until the permanent OR’s were constructed. We were still unsettled, learning a new routine that fit the new location, working around the ongoing construction. More patients were showing up than we could attend. Sick people were being turned away because of the limited ability of our staff.
We were moving in to the “team season”, which means lots of planning, preparation, and logistics. We host about 25 teams a year. There were many medical and dental teams coming, with the “main event” of the year being the Christian Medical Dental Associations gynecologic surgery team. With this team we planned to open our surgery wing, do our first major surgery, use our new operating and recovery rooms for the first time, and to have our first in-patients. That was my primary focus for the first half of 2002!
As a “type A” person, to say the least, I was under self-imposed stress, setting myself deadlines that were going to be tough to meet, and a bit frustrated that there weren’t enough people or hours in the day to do everything needed.
My particular “busy day” was a surgery day. Surgery is usually my high point of the week. I usually have an emotional high after doing a good day of surgery. I enjoy “healing with steel”, “cutting to cure”!
The first case started late. The Honduran staff was having difficulty with the new routine. The equipment had not been checked nor the patients checked in until I arrived to facilitate the process. I allowed this to irritate me a bit.
Our staff is made up mostly of poor country folks who have had limited opportunity for education and experience. Even as adults, they at best have had only what would be equivalent to our junior high education. Problem solving is not taught, so anything that occurs out of the routine tends to paralyze them! For example, if a North American had a leaky roof, he would quickly have it repaired. The typical Honduran in the country would simply move his chair and live with the leak!
Hondurans are intelligent, but have lacked the opportunity to learn. Teaching them is a challenge, but one of the most rewarding parts of life in Honduras. It has been a joy to watch these young people develop professionally. Most of them are young ladies. Their futures probably would have consisted of becoming single mothers at a young age, trapped at home in a cycle of trying to find a man who will stay around and help raise their ever increasing number of children. Instead, these ladies have learned skills in patient care, computers, sterile technique, and even assisting in surgery
We finally started the first surgery case, a toddler with an inguinal hernia! He was the youngest that I had ventured to do thus far, and it was a bit of a challenge. Since we don’t have an anesthetist or anesthesiologist, I need to supervise anesthesia as well as do surgery. Therefore, as I operate, I need to keep one eye, so to speak, on the surgery site, and another eye on the patient’s vital signs. Fortunately the case went well, but the adrenaline was sure flowing!
The second case was an older man with a recurrent inguinal hernia. Recurrent hernias always present a challenge, and much more so in Honduras! As is typical in Honduras, the recurrence had been ignored for many years, and was very large and complex. The patient was anesthetized and prepped and I was gowned and gloved. I hit the foot pedal to elevate the OR table to bring the patient into a comfortable focal distance for me to operate. The table refused to move, only making a metallic grinding noise. The staff attempted to remedy the problem unsuccessfully, so I pulled up a stool and started to work in an awkward, uncomfortable position.
As soon as I made the incision, there was a knock at the door. One of the new missionaries wanted to know how to turn the water on! Evidently water pressure had fallen and no water was available at staff housing where teams and visitors stay. It apparently was off in the hospital as well. Pad, our builder and facility manager was away in the city for a few days and no one else around knew the system. I gave him some preliminary instructions on what to check out, and returned to surgery.
As I tried to untangle the anatomy from the patient’s first hernia repair I found that the scar tissue was firmly adherent to intestine. This was not going to be easy! The dissection was slow and tedious, requiring care and attention to avoid cutting in to the intestine. A wound in the intestine would prevent me from using mesh, a plastic screen material, to repair the hernia, and probably would require admitting the patient in to the hospital. Since we don’t yet have in-patients he would need transferred to a hospital in the city. Furthermore, he would need yet another surgery in the future to fix his hernia correctly with mesh. Therefore, in an awkward sitting position, already running behind for the day, wondering as well about the water problem, my adrenaline pumping, I continued dissecting, praying for God to guide my hands.
Then I heard a commotion in the hall! A staff member opened the door and announced that a seriously injured patient had just arrived and needed immediate attention! I indicated that there was no way I could leave surgery at this point and sent Chrysti, our nurse to evaluate the situation. She came back in about 15 minutes, visibly shaken.
A young Christian man from the area had been helping build a house. A concrete wall fell on him, crushing him badly. He was in shock, and coughing up blood. Chrysti instructed his friends who had brought him in a vehicle to immediately take him to the emergency room at the closest hospital in La Ceiba. His injuries were beyond our ability to treat.
As I continued with my dissection, I struggled in my mind. Should I have gone to see him or should I have stayed with the patient I was working on? Both would have required significant time and effort. I was already committed to the man in front of me, and had to see it through.
About 15 minutes later, there was another knock at the door. Chrysti left, and returned a few minutes later, upset. The man had died shortly after leaving our hospital. His friends returned to have one of us verify that he indeed was dead.
A dark mood descended on us all. In the past I had operated on two of this man’s children. He was a vibrant lay leader in his church. Should I have gone to see him? Could I have done something to save him? Probably not, but I will never know.
As we finally were finishing the successful repair of a most difficult hernia, there was another knock on the door. Another missionary informed us that a group, which included my wife, Becky, was stuck in the river and needed me to come with the winch to pull them out.
A visiting team that was ministering in La Ceiba had wanted a “rural experience”. They were looking for a particularly needy area to distribute clothing. Our new host family. Brad and Kanda Carey offered to bring them to our area to visit a poor village. Brad and Kanda asked Becky where would be a good place to go. She suggested a small village of poor squatters between the two rivers near our house. It was easy to reach by car, and an area often neglected by teams and other visitors. Becky planned to accompany them. That morning Becky and I talked about the need to be cautious of the river. Since the end of rainy season, none of the missionaries had yet ventured up the river to our favorite swimming hole. We were waiting for the sand to become sufficiently packed down to support our vehicles.
The team had heard about the poor people living up the river by the swimming hole. By the tracks, it looked like some vehicles had safely made the journey, so they decided to try. The driver was unaccustomed to fording rivers. Despite Becky’s directions to follow the tracks of the other trucks, he soon left the path and buried the vehicle in soft sand up to the undercarriage.
So, I finished giving instructions for care of my surgical patients and headed for the river. I really wanted to be alone at home, but needed to do my duty as the only winch owner-operator in Balfate. With difficulty, we managed to extract the car getting my own car stuck twice in the process. I was declared hero for the day by the team, but didn’t feel much like one.
A few days later, I was still feeling a bit down and overwhelmed. As I was preparing a devotional for our missionary meeting, I came upon Matthew 14:13. I noticed that Jesus himself was having a bit of a down day! In the preceding chapter we see that the people of Nazareth, his hometown, had rejected Jesus. They were offended by him, and lacked faith. He was not able to do many miracles there.
After that, Jesus heard about the death of John the Baptist. He wanted to be alone, and withdrew to a solitary place. But the problems followed him there! In verse 14 we see that the crowds followed, wanting him to heal the sick. And of course, they didn’t plan for food in such a lonely place. Jesus ended up supplying food for more than 5000 people! It says that Jesus had compassion on them.
So, even when we have a “down day”, Jesus understands. He’s been there too! And he shows us how to deal with it. Reach out with compassion to others! Don’t become self-absorbed.
Actually, as for Jesus’ busy day, my busy day led to some very good things. As I evaluated my goals and responsibilities, it helped me reestablish priorities and delegate some responsibilities to others.
I hope that my “busy day” has helped you see a bit of what missionary life can be like, and that it helps you understand better how to pray for missionaries!
I also hope that you can find strength in your busy times and in your down times, from knowing that Jesus has been there too! He knows what it is like, and has set us an example of how to deal with it. Even better than that, if you know Him as your personal Savior, he is right there with you, to guide you and give you peace when you most need it!
Despite the challenges, being a missionary is a rewarding life! It is what God has called us to, and we wouldn’t trade it for the world.
The Relic
As our family prepared for our trip to The States this year, my wife, Becky, led the kids in a study of the American Civil War. They read biographies and historical novels. We watched the mini series “Gettysburg,” sensed the horrible nature of war, and developed the sense that no one really won.
During our travels we visited Stone Mountain, Georgia and learned more about Sherman’s March to the Sea and the Battle of Atlanta. We visited Chickamauga and learned of the significance of Chattanooga to the South, and better understood the uniqueness of this battle that was fought predominantly in the forest. And we visited Gettysburg where we visualized the killing fields of Pickett’s Charge, the Wheatfield, Seminary and Cemetery Ridges and Little Round Top, where so many died in such a short time. It was an emotional experience!
As a result of these travels, a word picture began to take form in my mind:
To the farmer who plowed the field, now long silent except for the sounds of nature and the farm, the clump was nothing but another stone. To the boy who played in the field that once was littered with dead and dying bodies, the soft metal blob was a curiosity, a treasure to be added to his collection of feathers and animal bones, rocks and sticks. But to the relic hunter it held much more significance. Only he understood what this was. Only he knew that this was once an element of destruction, aimed with the purpose to maim or kill.
The relic hunter carefully noted the location where it was found. He carefully cleaned and examined the lead bullet that had been shot by a Civil War musket. He knew that even now, though once it was meant for destruction, it had a possibility, a higher purpose.
He could have kept it in a box, or given it to someone who would put it on a shelf as a personal souvenir, but he knew its value was much greater than would be appreciated as a solitary relic. Instead he placed it in among a community of other relics, in a glass case, carefully arranged to tell a horrible story of death, of brother against brother, but also to tell a story of hope, of a better future, and of remembrance so that the mistakes of the past would not be revisited.
People passed by the exhibit and hardly noticed the individual blob of lead, but rather, felt the message of the entire body of relics. Not one of the relics alone could have had the same effect. But the collection of relics, carefully juxtaposed, told the intended story and worked a change in all who took the time to observe and consider it.
People, and in particular, Christians are like that relic. Our lives may testify of a past rebellion and destruction. By ourselves, we have limited value to accomplish much, if anything at all. But when we are included in the grand design and placed together with others, to function and interact in interdependence, our significance grows and can make an impression on those who take the time to observe us. We can become part of the Body, giving testimony to the past time of rebellion and destruction, the present deliverance, and hope for the future we now have in Christ.
Diversity
November 27, 2002
As we have traveled stateside this year, we have had the opportunity to attend or speak at more than 15 different churches, representing a large part of the spectrum of denominations and traditions within contemporary conservative Christianity.
Towering cathedrals, stained glass murals, pipe organs, wooden pews;
A sense of reverence, awe and transcendence.
Multipurpose auditoriums, basketball hoops, all weather carpet, stackable chairs;
Welcome for the uninitiated, community, utility.
Pastors in robes, collars and suits, reverently pointing toward a Majestic Creator.
Leaders in blue jeans, T-shirts and shorts, welcoming the common to worship the King.
Ancient hymns, chants and creeds; the test of time have proved them.
Reverent singing, orchestra, organ, robed choirs, hymnals.
New songs, drums, electric guitar, clapping, swaying, hands raised high;
Tears of emotion, worship teams, sound systems, words on the wall.
Sprinkling, dunking, dedication, confirmation.
Wine, wafers, grape juice, crackers;
Quarterly, monthly, every time;
All together, right away, in the pew, at the alter.
Reverend, Pastor, Father, Saint, Brothers, Sisters;
Elders, deacons, trustees, leaders.
Hierarchical, independent, districts, counsels,
Associations, denominations, congregational, community.
King James, New International, The Message, NASV,
Greek, Hebrew, translation, revision, paraphrase;
Pew Bibles, each carries his own, words printed in the bulletin, projected on a screen.
Nursery, children’s church, AWANA, Logos, MOPS,
Sunday school, Bible school, cell groups, house church,
Soup kitchen, AA, food bank, mission trips,
Divorce recovery, singles group, senior citizens.
All so different; all with strengths;
Yet all are similar: One Lord, One Savior, One King!
Authority in the Word, Living and written,
Encouraging worship, discipleship, love, hope and faith.
