Working aboard a hospital ship in West Africa isn’t the most secure and predictable job I’ve ever had. There are so many things that we don’t always know, that we can’t know. Things we think we know and then find out that actually we didn’t after all. Questions come up that I never really thought about at when I lived in the States:
Will the frozen food container come through so we’ll have meat to eat, or will it be stuck on the dock for the next 3 weeks?
Will I be woken up for an emergency in the middle of the night tonight?
Will I get malaria tomorrow?
Has one of the mischievous children on A ward escaped down the hallway?
Will the water truck show up so we’ll be able to continue showering regularly?
Who will move in this week when my roommate moves out…and who will be moving in next month?
Is the floor sideways (or in nautical terms…are we listing)?
Realities are true here that weren’t my reality before. Like the fact that in less than a week my hospital temporarily won’t be a hospital any more. Or in two weeks I’ve been reassigned to the hospitality department for the duration of the sail. Or that I don’t actually know what date I’m leaving the country, even though it’s only 2 or 3 weeks away, because we won’t know until a day or two ahead of time for security reasons (and you all won’t know until after we’ve sailed).
There is a truth that holds firm in my life when everything else changes. I hear it in the streets, in the wards, in a soft chant that soothes my heart in the busy office and in the silent hum of the engines through the night. It’s in the songs we sing at church and in ward worship, that we murmur as we rock children to sleep.
Yu are de pillar that holds my life
Yu are de pillar that holds my life
Masta Jesus, yu are de pillar that holds my life
Masta Jesus, yu are de pillar that holds my life
It's only on the truth of my master Jesus that I can stand, tall and strong and confident. He is my rock, my strength, my constant. It is only He that holds my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment