Wearied

 "Marimari kisim bek mi"

"Grace brought me back"

-OneBell

The last few days at Kudjip have been hectic.  Some of our doctors left for furlough or conferences leaving a bit more work for the rest of us.  On top of that, our highlands regional referral hospital closed its doors after all of the staff there walked out on strike.  Needless to say, the patients are streaming in ...

The same weekend that three of our doctors left, I took an emotional hit on the wards.  A little girl came to the hospital with spastic movements and seizures - my second case of tetanus in two years.  The next day, I saw a familiar face on the ward.  One of our nurses, Josh, suffered a seizure at home after a severe headache and was paralyzed lying on the floor.  Since his graduation from nursing school last year, Josh and I have played soccer together.  But now, it seemed he had a sub-arachnoid hemorrhage, and I could do almost nothing to help him.

Then the never-ending stream of patients - some using up their savings to make it to Kudjip from far reaches of the country.  With bone infections, HIV, Tuberculosis, heart failure, tumors, meningitis, cancer and a myriad of other ailments.  By the end of most work-days I was just ready to sleep, but needed to be available for call a few nights as well.

But each morning I lost a little more heart as my patients still suffered seizures, or children died in the night or in my hands the next morning.  And I wondered where the strength would come from for more of the same work.

"You have not wearied yourselves on my behalf"

-Isaiah 43:22

I remember working long hours in residency, spending day after day in the hospital and many nights as well.  Juggling paperwork, checking on patients, going to the clinic, grabbing a few frantic bites to eat and coming home many days drained of my energy.  I remember thinking that medicine must be an ungodly profession to demand so much.  I remember planning on the glorious days after my training was over when I could have a more reasonable schedule.

I wonder now where I got the idea that God would call me to something with a "nice schedule"

 "Thou hast willed that through labour and pain I should walk the upward way; be Thou then my fellow traveller as I go."
-John Baillie

As I continued working through the crowds, I remember praying for strength and encouragement to come.  I knew I was wearied, but I trusted that my weariness was on His behalf.  And I put another foot in front of the other, shouldering bigger loads than usual, but realizing that a grace beyond me kept me going.  A grace that brought me back to the same wards, the same emergency room, the same stony ground - but with a new strength.

Karapen is a pastor in our area who comes to the hospital every couple of weeks or so.  Sometimes Karapen needs medicines or a new problem looked at.  This isn't surprising given his age, which I would guess to be about 70.  But many times I think he enjoys the fellowship and company of the doctors here.  Karapen has planted churches throughout Papua New Guinea.  And during our short-staffed week, he came to my room needing a new supply of medicines because he was going to help open a church in Enga, a remote province requiring a significant journey for this faithful servant.  I wrote his prescriptions and tried to encourage him, but I could feel the line building up as the minutes ticked away.

But Karapen, as usual, slowed me down.

I wrote some time ago about looking for the one patient each day that I should minister to in the midst of a streaming line of hurting and needy people.  That day, I was grateful that for Karapen - I was the one.

He set down his cane and put his weathered hands on mine and prayed that I would have strength for the work of the hospital, and then prayed for my entire family by name, asking that God would give us grace to continue the work here.

And that grace met me.  In the smiles around me.  In the patients who could see my fatigue and put their arms on me and pray for me.  In the nurses who pick up extra work (in spite of their pay cuts) to make things a bit easier for the doctors.  In the miraculous recoveries of my patients.  And most of all in the felt presence of that fellow traveler, who at times interrupts my labour and pain to show me that my weariness is truly a part of the upward way.

Josh - healed, now back to work.
 

Tetanus no more.

An open apology

Most of the time I write a blog post, I imagine that the people reading it want to know about the stories and lives of my patients in the hospital. On some occasions I branch out. And lately I've struggled with something a little different.

My fellow missionaries.

Not the ones who serve alongside me at Kudjip. I mean the cadre of missionaries around the world – of whom I know a small collection – working to improve lives and share God's love in a myriad of ways.

By nature I feel I am a competitive person. At four years old, I joined my first soccer team – the Hawks. We had uniforms of silver with black vertical pinstripes, black shorts and black socks. I played goalie for one game and let in a bunch of goals. I quickly got out of the goal box into “midfield” - though positions at that age are laughable in soccer. We barely had a winning season.

I can't remember anything else about being four, but I remember my first team. Throughout my life I have LOVED soccer – the competitive nature, the teamwork, being outside in all weather and how the skills were so international.

In high school, once I stopped messing around being a rebellious teenager, I crushed my school work and standardized tests, carrying the same attitude into undergraduate studies and medical school.

 

Clearly one of my proudest moments

In some ways I like this nature – it pushes me to excel, to accept challenges and to hit problems head on and work hard.

But there is a downside, and I'm learning it, albeit slowly.

I struggle comparing myself and my ministry to other missionaries frequently. Competing with my co-laborers.

We have friends serving in parts of the world that I can't even mention. We have friends serving in parts of the world with the worst health statistics in most categories. We have friends serving in battle zones - in the backyard of ISIS. We have friends in some really difficult places. And recently I've encountered various “movements” which emphasize certain parts of the world neglected by missions.

Why do I find myself disliking these movements?

Because the place I work is surrounded by tropical jungle and lush gardens? Because the majority of this island is “Christian”? Because the temperature varies from 55 to 85 degrees? Because my mission field isn't in the 10/40 window or on somebody's list of tough-to-reach places? Because I'm not the “best” missionary I know? 

 

Our rugged mission field

Sadly, yes.

So I've had a bit of a bad attitude. I haven't acted on it much, but isn't it wrong to even harbor ill will toward your brother in your heart?  More importantly, I'm realizing the effect it has on my own ministry here. Am I minimizing the kinds of things I can do to show God's love among the PNG highlanders because I'm too preoccupied with how my efforts stack up against someone else?

This week I've sat down and joined my hands in prayer with patients who won't survive a year, a month or even a week. I've prayed for them full of nothing but tears. I've told people they have HIV and that their lives will never be the same. I've told a young mother her child is dying of cancer and there's nothing to be done for them. I've told a husband that his wife and mother to his four children will not live through her hospital stay – and been sadly proven right within a couple of days. I've pushed the last few breaths into the life of a young man that I know would have survived if he lived in a country with intensive care units.

But are none of them considered “high priority” because they are not on somebody's list or in the "window"?

 So close ...

 In my exam room, the operating room or walking the wards surrounded by the sounds of grieving family members - have I allowed myself to believe that?  And to question if my time and energy is worthwhile in this place?  Sometimes, I have.

(Note: obviously this is not necessarily the belief of those involved in difficult places or these kinds of movements, but my own personal challenge)

So I apologize to my comrades around the world for having a bad attitude - thinking that my ministry needs to compete with others.  But also to my ministry here in PNG because I've let that competitive spirit skew my perception of the sacred work that we've been given to do, each in our different ways to different people.

And going forward, I pray that I can learn to better appreciate whatever way God allows me to bring genuine healing and hope to people, families, the mountains of PNG and, in some way, the world that He desperately hopes to restore.

“O most loving God, who in the Person of Thy Son Jesus Christ didst manifest Thy love to man by relieving all manner of suffering and healing all manner of disease, grant Thy blessing, I pray, to all who in any corner of the world are serving in Christ's name:

All ministers of the gospel of Christ:

All social workers:

All missionary workers abroad:

All doctors and nurses who faithfully tend the sick.

Accomplish through them Thy great purpose of goodwill to men, and grant them in their own hearts the joy of Christ's most real presence.”

-John Baillie

Unnoticed

"Then the woman, seeing that she could not go unnoticed, came trembling and fell at his feet."

Luke 8:47

We are back in Papua New Guinea, and the familiar sights and sounds are a comfort as I sometimes find my mind wandering to my family and friends back home.  The tropical mountains around us, the rain and misty clouds rolling down in the valleys, our house and garden, our neighbors.  The nurses and staff who smile warmly when they see me, almost surprised that I am back among them.  The hospital, my HIV patients, the smiles of mothers as I examine their babies every morning.  The crowds of people who wait hours to be seen by one of our doctors, some of them traveling many miles over dangerous roads.

Lucy arrived at Kudjip with a scarf wrapped around her head.  She paid her fees at our business office and joined many others waiting for her visit, her patient record book in her hands and her bilum in her lap.  As she sat there, patients in front of her were called to various rooms, received their care and went to the dispensary for their medicines or to the lab to get further testing.  And each time, she moved a little closer to the row of doctor's offices, keeping her scarf positioned over her as she shuffled down the line.

When I went through residency, I spent two or three nights each month being "volun-told" to our program's domestic medical missions outreach, Good Samaritan.  With only a couple of hours in the evening to work with, young doctors found themselves grappling with crowds of patients, most of whom needed a comforting shoulder and listening ear more than just medicines or lab tests.  During those hours, when I already felt the fatigue of my long hospital hours, I struggled to see how I could minister in the midst of the craziness that bringing medical care entails.  I get so busy and wrapped up with ordering the right tests and giving the right treatment (or in Papua New Guinea - clamping arteries, setting bones and delivering babies) that I forget sometimes what my medicine is supposed to include - a way of ministering God's love to those I see.

But one night, working on the van, I shared with the nurses an idea I felt God give me.  I couldn't "dig in" to every one of my patients.  I might have compassion for, but I couldn't love the crowd.  But I felt in every day that I practiced medicine, I would get one patient to listen to, to cry over, to pray with.  Since then, I've looked for "the one" - the person who wasn't supposed to see any doctor that day except me.  That God put in my path so that we could comfort each other.

As Lucy approached the front of our waiting area, I called her to my room.  She sat down and handed me a book full of doctor's visits at various hospitals around the country.  She had been seen for pelvic pain many times and got no relief from different medicines and treatments.  Her scarf slipped and I noticed a black eye and cut on her lip that had been somewhat hastily sutured the week before.  As we talked I felt sure - she was the one.  Unnoticed, perhaps until this moment, but I couldn't just send her away with pills.

After examining and scanning her, I knew that Lucy had pelvic pain from repeated infections.  As I slowed down to hear her story, she said that her husband had many other women, that she struggled to keep their children going to school and maintain their garden to feed them, that he got violent with her sometimes.  We cried and prayed together - and a very small smile crept to the corners of her mouth as I said, "Amen"

"When I’m bowed down with sorrow I will lift up Your name
and the foxes in the vineyard will not steal my joy"

 -Good to Me

Then she was gone, and I was calling the next patient waiting to my room, as the crowds all shuffled forward again.

Jesus lived an incredible ministry of touching crowds - feeding thousands and healing all who were oppressed and sick.  But to me, some of the most inspiring moments of his life were the ones in which he slowed down for one in need.  Someone that He would not allow to go unnoticed, but make a radical and personal effort to change them.  Jesus for the one.

A big part of my heart looks at the crowds.  The vast numbers of people needing help.  The people who get just a short time in our hospital compared to their incredible lives happening in villages all around us.  I want to make a difference there and change their country.  

How many people today, in PNG, South Sudan, England, America or around the world are lining up at a doctor's office with real hurt and need.  How can I make an impact there?

I don't know how to change that world, but I am so grateful for the opportunity to touch the one.

Jan 4th Report

For those who have been interested to hear about our time in PNG but we haven't been able to connect directly yet, our church will host us on the evening of Jan 4th at 6pm for a time of dinner and sharing about the ministry at Kudjip.

We will have dinner and childcare available from 6pm to 8pm.  We plan to share some of our experiences and stories, but to allow time for personal interaction and questions as well.

Please RSVP and let us know if you plan to come, and if you will bring children - how many and the ages.

What:  Crouch Papua New Guinea Ministry Report

Where:  Believers Church, Tulsa

When:  6pm, Monday, January 4th 

Thank you for your continued prayers for our family and efforts.

Familiar

"And I feel I should know this place as a road winds on in a wide open space

The wind plays a haunting tune as I make my way through a night all alone"

-Lonesome Dreams

Yei, South Sudan

My heart sank as I walked into the delivery room at Bet Eman hospital.  Despite crossing the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, despite trading grass huts for skyscrapers and grass huts again, despite having left Papua New Guinea and journeying to the heart of Africa - the sight in front of me felt crushingly familiar.

The week before, the young lady I now worried over had delivered a healthy but small baby by cesarean section. She had a low blood count but was able to leave the hospital for her village.  Unfortunately something went terribly wrong - infection or some other malady brought her back to the hospital with a hemoglobin count of 3 and unconscious.  Her brother, John-Mathias, discovered her ill at home and brought her to us.

As she lay unconscious with a pulse I could barely feel and no blood pressure picking up, the clinical officers and I quickly elevated her legs, gave her IV fluids and prayed that a family member would be able to give blood of her type.  She wasn't bleeding and an ultrasound didn't show any free blood around her operation sight making me think she contracted a hemolyzing infection dropping her already tenuous blood count.

Amazingly, the lab tech, Innocent, found that her brother was a match.  He began drawing the blood as I went back to the delivery room.  That is when my heart dropped.  She took her last few agonal breaths and I knew we wouldn't be able to get the blood in time.  We tried resuscitating her but Rose died just as her brother's blood became available.

The clinical officer, Gloria, put her arms on John-Mathias' shoulders and comforted him.  I breathed deeply and fought back tears as I walked under the brilliant African stars to my apartment.

My visit to South Sudan felt fast, furious and amazing.

Fast because of the jet lag and busy 7 days, furious because the intensity of the place proved every bit as real as I suspected.  Amazing because despite the loss, need and challenges, I witnessed the undeniable faithfulness of God lived through the lives of people He called to live among the South Sudanese and bring them their best measure of His grace.

About 5 years ago, Jeff and Elizabeth Perry followed God's call to one of the most remote corners of the globe, along with 8 of their 9 children.  Jeff and a colleague Dr Poole and now Dr Matthew Loftus work at Bet Eman hospital to show God's love and bring health to women and children.  Every day, I saw Jeff fill the roles of physician, administrator, teacher, husband and father.  I enjoyed their family and got welcomed into their home by Elizabeth and the kids.  I just pray that the small measure of service I could bring helped them.

Me, Dr Joel Watson and Dr Jeff Perry

I thank God that the last couple of years at Kudjip gave me some clinical skills to bring to bear at the hospital and enjoyed exchanging ideas and "war stories" with Jeff.  But as I sit in the Entebbe airport in Uganda I am more grateful that the struggles of South Sudanese or Papua New Guineans are not won or lost in my hands.  As much as my heart breaks for those, like Rose, that I can't physically heal, I feel at peace knowing that my brief glimpse into their lives pales compared to the heart of God that beats and breaks with theirs.  That His comfort will be shared with her family through those who continue to feel and give His love at Bet Eman.  That because He is good, I can trust Him and see the Peace that South Sudan so desperately needs take an increasing hold in the lives of its people.

Laiki was brought to the delivery room by two nurses from the nearby St Bakhita delivery ward.  She suffered a seizure during her labor and the sisters quickly got her to us.  One of them, Sister Florence had a familiar look to her and when I asked, "Yu stap orait?" this Papua New Guinean nurse now working in South Sudan nearly fell over.

Laiki was still confused from her seizure and had a dangerously high blood pressure.  Recognizing she couldn't cooperate with her first delivery, I called our OR team to prepare her for Csection to attempt to save her and her baby.

As she fought us in her post-ictal delirium, we managed to get her to sleep.  Her blood pressure stabilized and out came a beautiful crying baby.  Over the next few days she recovered and cared for her baby.  She and I may arrive at our respective homes about the same time tomorrow night.  And I know that those miraculous healings will continue at Bet Eman because of God's consistent heart to live among the needy and hurting of our world.

So despite the distance between PNG, the US and South Sudan; despite the new languages and faces, despite the hot dust in lieu of the dense jungles, I felt that familiar, compassionate presence of Christ.

http://www.perryclan.com/

Do speak and pray

Since coming back to the US for our first furlough, we've been blessed with time to spend among family and friends that we haven't seen in a long time.  Times of reconnecting have been sweet:  sitting on porches watching children play together, having lunch or dinner and talking about lives now lived across oceans, late-night movies and sleep-overs.

We've also had the chance to do a lot of things we never realized were such a privilege until living in Papua New Guinea.  The park, the library, the Oklahoma Aquarium, going out to a restaurant, the State Fair, riding an elevator, having a root beer float, hunting and fishing.

Several people asked what the biggest difference between PNG and the US is.  It would seem obvious: skyscrapers instead of grass huts, steady employment instead of subsistence farming, schools, cars, roads, reliable running water and electricity.

But the thing that overwhelmed both Esther and I after just a few days here is actually the pace of life.

In PNG we would hope to get one thing done in a day.  Not an errand off station, but just one thing like "get extra light bulbs from maintenance."  If that happened the day could be called successful.  In the US, it feels like several things all need to be happening at once or everyone gets worried about "being behind" or "not getting anything done."

Two days after we landed I went to the AT&T store to get two new mobile phones set up for us on a "go-phone" plan.  After walking in the store, I waited about three minutes until a "customer service representative" could help me.  As we looked at phones, she charged the old phone I brought with no battery power remaining.  She then collected two new sim cards, put them in the phones, activated the account and printed a receipt as well as information about the new service from her tablet.  The entire encounter took about 15 minutes and I left with working phones for both of us.  During our transaction she kept saying things like, "Sorry for the wait" or "This just takes a while" when the printer delayed for a moment.  I wanted to shout, "Yes, sometimes it does - but this is NOT that time!"

No wires.  No stamps.  No waiting for printer ink.  No waiting for the "cell phone guy" to come back with the key to the cabinet containing the sim cards.  No watchman guarding the vehicle outside.  No children going with you on every errand (thank you Mimi and Papa).  Yet none of it moves fast enough for us.

Sometimes I've found it difficult to move from the hustle and bustle of working in a mission hospital with a slow culture around me to having a time of rest amid a culture of busy-ness.

The time that seemed like it might stretch forever before we came home has been evaporating.  So many things that need to get done, ought to get done and some things we just want to get done.

But I've managed to enjoy extra time around the house and with the kids during the mornings while keeping myself a little busy.

In my afternoons, I've been largely studying for my public health course through the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine.  As a life-long learner, I love this course because I feel like I'm learning things I can apply to my work in PNG as well as having the "opportunity" of learning a new topic every couple months.

 I've also picked up a little work in a rural emergency room as well as a local hospice agency and giving a couple lectures at the In His Image residency.

We spoke at Believers Church last Sunday, and were reminded again of how grateful we are to be part of this body.  We felt encouraged and touched by the leadership in giving us a time to share our heart and stories from PNG.



We also had the chance to share with In His Image friends and family at a bible study last week.

These times of sharing about our ministry seem intimidating at first, but once we're surrounded by those who have loved, prayed for and given financially to our ministry the nerves are calm and an atmosphere of family takes over.

Speaking of family.  Last week we enjoyed Levi's birthday party and we were joined by his cousin, Eva, whose special day is only a couple days before his.  This week we plan to celebrate Thanksgiving and indulge in the American traditions of turkey and pecan pie.

Next Thursday I will take a 10 day trip to East Africa. 
The purpose of this trip is two-fold.  Partly I will be trying to help a colleague and fellow medical missionary who currently works at a Mother-Baby hospital there.  I will also be looking into this hospital, people and country as a potential field for our future.  While we return to PNG in January, our hearts have been stirred toward Africa since we met there over 10 years ago and have felt God asking us to explore and consider if and when we might transition there at some point.  Pray for safety in the current climate, a spirit of discernment and service during my time there and for Esther who will stay back in the US with our kids working on some of her US citizenship application.

Thank you to each of you that has partnered with us in prayer and in giving for our ministry at Kudjip hospital and during our first furlough here in the US.  We love having the opportunity to serve the Lord in PNG, to connect with and encourage our family at home and explore prayerfully where He leads us for the future.

Feel free to contact us if you are interested in hearing more and connecting in person.

Sorrow and love

Most mornings, after the insects and birds wake me up, I try to spend some quiet moments on our back porch preparing for my day. The kids are usually asleep and I sometimes read through passages of scripture or listen to music. And every morning I look out on the village of Kuplang with a small mountain rising from its tea fields to catch the first rays of morning sunlight from behind me.

The past couple months have seen very little rain in our area of the highlands, and the situation has begun getting desperate. Fires roam unchecked around us, burning homes and gardens.

This morning I looked out on my usual landscape and saw that “my” mountain had scorch marks and blackened trees, like so many around us. Gardens are now just ashes, as are the homes around them. Some of our Kudjip staff family recently suffered the loss of homes, and even personal savings. They now live in a nearby village trying to piece together their livelihoods.

As our family watched another unchecked fire on the mountains around us last night, Esther said, “It's amazing to just feel so helpless.”

  Photo: Dr. Ben

 

In two days, my family of five will board a plane bound for the U.S.

In some ways it terrifies me.

When we left nearly two years ago, I honestly didn't know how long we might stay in Papua New Guinea.  When we tore down decorations in our Tulsa rental home, sold our cars, packed a few belongings into crates and said farewell my mind started making excuses.  Excuses to move home sooner - in some ways, almost praying that God would give us an 'about-face' and return us to the States.

Then the work in the hospital started.  And our daughter Lucy was born.  And adventures in the mountains of this rugged country took hold.  And it seemed obvious that we could be here forever.

But patients died.  Children and babies and mothers lost their lives while literally in my hands.  Levi got sick and I honestly didn't know at the time if he might join their ranks - the longest night of my life.

As reality set in, my heart hardened a bit.  My blogs decreased.  I struggled to diligently catalog the plight and losses encountered by the people of this incredible country.  It seemed like the sorrows of this place started to eclipse the love that brought me here in the first place.

This morning I cried, looking at my scorched mountain, knowing that in a few days I would leave this place to its ongoing struggle. I can't control the rain, and many times, I can't control what ultimately happens to my patients here. Any grandiose thoughts I once had about my own abilities are long gone.

 
I don't know what difference I make in the middle of this. But I feel an overwhelming sense of both sorrow and love at the thought of leaving.

Sorrow because as much as I've invested in this place the past two years, its difficulties remain. The mountain stands scorched. The hospital goes on – every day bringing healing to some, and crying with others. The people continue to piece together their livelihoods amidst challenges – challenges that most of the world doesn't see or consider.

Love because of the beauty of the people around me. My ex-pat colleagues, my Papua New Guinean neighbors and friends, my patients and their families who continue their own journeys in this place. Who every day take the blended steps of joy and heartache along these scorched fields, trusting in the faithfulness of a kinder tomorrow.

But one morning, as I look on my burned mountain, the rain will come again …

“O Lord my God, who dwellest in pure blessed serenity beyond the reach of mortal pain, yet lookest down in unspeakable love and tenderness upon the sorrows of earth, give me grace … “
-John Baillie


Thank you for joining our journey these past two years, and as we look to continue in Papua New Guinea in 2016.