"Circumstance often changes the way that I see"
I stepped out the back of the police Land Cruiser with a million other things on my mind, but I knew I would soon need to process what I had seen.
My resident and I were managing a mass casualty incident in our Emergency Room - in which nearly a dozen people had been injured when a PMV (public motor vehicle) rolled over not far from Kudjip. Some experienced only minor injuries while others lay in a critical condition awaiting our stabilizing procedures or advanced surgery. A policeman got my attention and informed me that I needed to confirm a fatality before they could take the body away - the body of a young girl who suffered a severe head injury and died at the scene.
I walked just outside the doors for a brief moment and crawled a short way into the back of the truck - enough to confirm that a young victim lay there, clearly lifeless. Thirty seconds later I had completed the paperwork, given it to the officer-in-charge, and returned to assisting my resident.
Several other people received life-saving treatment in the space of a few short hours - but my mind lingered on the young girl who couldn't make it to us in time, as it so often does when we lose children.
Though I know there was nothing else that I could have done in that circumstance, the reality that I need to pronounce the end of so many young lives weighed upon me.
Fast forward a couple months.
I've just finished teaching an obstetrics course to several PNG doctors alongside a friend visiting from the US. I'm on call the next day and Matt agrees to work with me. After a full clinic day, we are summoned to the ER to attend a young girl we will call Mara who is confused and disoriented with a head injury after being struck by a bus. A wire of energy and anxiety go through me, recalling that tragically similar scenario, as we prepare to stabilize her.
After administering an anesthetic her confused thrashings abate and we get to work. A gaping head wound needs vigorous cleaning and scrubbing after filling with dirt from the roadside. The dirt is removed. The skull and underlying tissues are cleaned thoroughly. Many stitches are placed and drains are sewn into the wound. I write orders for some basic supportive care - IV fluids, medications to prevent seizures, antibiotics to prevent infection, and instructions for the nurses to provide suction as needed. While the wound seems adequately treated, it is difficult to know how much damage may lurk beneath the bones and only time on our ward will show us whether she can survive.
While we have enjoyed furloughs at least every two years, we are now blessed with the chance to take a Sabbatical. Two months of time completely separate from the responsibilities of our ministry - a ministry which escalated this year as Esther took on a full-time teaching assignment and I navigated being the senior missionary doctor for some months. At first I struggled feeling that this time would be "wasted" - though I knew I needed a break from the stresses of Kudjip. Through some painful emotions and times with God, I came to appreciate the chance for some deliberate time away. I have managed to find new connections with my family and reflect on my ministry in a way that helps me prepare to resume it. In a sense, I have been given a chance to see new life coming from the dirt of a difficult season.
A few days after my visiting colleague leaves to return to the US, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed as I leave the hospital. I am headed to our missionary prayer room, but I pull up short on the walkway outside the paediatrics ward. A man and his daughter are carrying their things down the ramp and I realize it is Mara - not only alive but awake, alert, walking, and speaking normally. Her father grins at the surprised look on my face. I give them each a hug, take a quick picture, say a silent "Thanks" to the Lord and make my way to the prayer room - where I fill several tissues and receive an encouraging time of prayer from one of my fellow missionary doctors.
"Surely I have calmed and quieted my soul" -Psalm 131:2
I have found myself genuinely struggling with appreciating God's goodness in light of the difficult things we encounter so often. In the past, I have consistently been able to walk into those situations and feel His presence through them. After a difficult year of ministry, my reserves for those encounters felt like they were running dry.
But then the Lord provides something that helps me remember His plans will be completed. His work in the world, in His ways, on His time. Though I cannot understand Him, He can understand me and He knows the hurts that still need relief - both for me and through me.
"You complete your plans with our broken hands, you have shown.
I have seen your work: raising life up from the dirt.
This I know -
See that thread of sin seamlessly woven in
This I know -
See the lion, see the lamb, You complete Your plans - this I know."
