Robert walked along the stony roads of Jiwaka some weeks ago, unaware that his life was about to change forever. A bulldozer worked to clear large trees in preparation for a re-working of the road not far from our home. One tree snapped violently in half and spun out of control, striking Robert directly across the side of the head. He lost consciousness briefly and friends brought him to the emergency room at Kudjip.
After concluding a difficult post-partum hemorrhage management in our maternity ward, a nurse summoned me to the ER where Robert's injuries quickly threatened his airway and his life. One look and I knew that even with aggressive surgery he could die. I phoned my incredible friend and colleague Dr. Ben Radcliffe and we quickly took Robert to the operating theatre.
Fifteen minutes into the procedure we knew Robert was in big trouble. After creating a new airway that bypassed his injuries through his neck, the difficult work of stopping the bleeding and re-creating facial structures for Robert began. After two hours of work, Dr. Ben placed some stabilizing arch bars across his mandible and left large balloons and packs in his nose to slow the blood loss while we prayed for his head injury to stabilize before more definitive treatment could be pursued on another day. I found his brother waiting outside under the night sky and gave him the heavy news. As I bundled some things away in my clinic room and prepared to go home, I said a special prayer for Robert - one like so many I have uttered in the corridors of the hospital during those long call nights.
Our family just returned from what has become my favorite Christmas tradition.
Each year the missionaries of Kudjip visit the hospital on Christmas Eve to bring carols, the nativity story, and small gifts to those in our community who are too sick to be in their homes to celebrate Christ's birth. Each year brings tears to my eyes.
I miss the cold weather and the occasional white-morning Christmases in the U.S. but if I could choose one sensation to replace them, it would be the consistent blend of joy and gratitude that I feel during these special times with family and my patients.
As we shared Christmas presents with the suffering of the PNG highlands, a tender moment interrupted me.
After our songs and reading of the Christmas story, a seemingly new Robert smiled and spoke clearly of his gratitude to God in sparing his life as I saw him shaking hands with Dr. Ben. Tears immediately came to my eyes as I recalled the thin, softly muttered prayer in the dark some weeks ago. I took Robert's hand in mine and managed to choke out a "Merry Christmas." I wasn't sure if I'd seen a more glorious sight.
Our efforts in Kudjip go far beyond medicine. The lives of our friends and neighbors rub, and sometimes grate, against ours in ways that force us to bring God's patience, grace, forgiveness, and love to and through challenging times of ministry. The times our mission family can share in a Christmas party or a Christmas outreach build connections that allow our friendships to transcend the difficulties of bringing health and hope to a hurting place.
And the hallowed halls and wards of the hospital become much more than just a place to practice medicine. They have changed into a sort of home. Not in the sense that I live in them - but, in a way, the sacred work and vulnerable people that they hold now live in me. Sometimes I feel it strongly during times that my family can join the ministry there. But many times I feel it most in darkened halls, whispering last resort prayers to a God that has shown himself willing to embrace the darkness of our world by joining us, dying for us, and lending His strength to us in pursuing His redemption for all people.
Glories stream from Heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Hallelujah
Christ the savior is born
