to keep a quiet heart

It's been a busy busy two weeks, and it promises to continue as we gear up for our first day of surgery for this outreach, tomorrow.  Our nursing team has moved from orientation to putting on a wildly fun hospital open house for the crew; from a full-blown mock hospital evacuation to screening thousands of patients at a sports stadium, all in a week.  Amazing...successful...utterly exhausting.  Each time I sit down to start a blog post I end up closing the computer, taking my headphones out of my ears, and falling asleep long before 10 pm.  After testing the evacuation stretchers to trial a few ways to secure a ventilated patient, a few thoughtful friends threatened to strap me into one and haul me down the hallways back to bed if I didn't go get some sleep.

Melisa volunteered to be our initial victim for
stretcher-testing before the evacuation drill.
Although firmly secured with a good airway
 (mock-intubated), she could not see much
of what went on.

When this involved being carried up and
down the stairs blind, we definitely
challenged how much she was willing to trust
us!  If you ever find me strapped
into an evac stretcher sleeping, I blame Melisa.

In a momentarily peaceful moment last weekend, I spent time in the warm sun looking out over the water from deck 8 and reflecting on life.  The view is the same as when we were here in 2010, with the whole of the navy on one side and the bustling port on the other.  The ship is mostly the same, but with constantly new and different crew finding their way around with life and excitement and vision.  To them the wards are empty, full of promise and potential.

As I look into the ward, I don't always see the smoothly tucked blankets over the empty beds or the beautifully clean floor sparkling in the light.  I don't see the new ventilators and monitors by the ICU bedside, or my own hands full of freshly revised paperwork.

Instead there are still faces and memories everywhere - some filled with wonder and reflection on the goodness of God, many with laughter and dancing and incredible stories of healing.  And some, as I uncover them, are still a little raw and tender with sorrow.

Here in Togo I first saw things happen that weren't medically possible and watched in wonder as we prayed and an arterial bleed stopped underneath my hands.  It was here that I realized physical healing was useless unless the soul healed as well and began to hope again.  Here I saw people who owned nothing and still had everything.  Here I helplessly cuddled a dying baby as he began to slip away in my arms, and I asked God why.  It was here I realized that I can't have all the answers and, as difficult as it was, resolved to surrender.

I'm excited for this outreach in Togo.  Tomorrow the wards will start to fill with patients again, scared and full of an unfamiliar hope.  Tomorrow our nurses get to be nurses again, and we get to be a small part of God at work in healing lives and faces and bodies and souls.  God is already at work, and I can't wait to see what he is going to do!

My prayer for this outreach reflects that of George Dawson, who begged for heavenly vision and a heart full of trust.  I, too would ask to see through God's eyes - to see more than just the physical deformity and need, and to see more than the pain and difficulties of this life.  I would ask for a quiet heart, constantly trusting in the Lord who promises to carry me, even when I can't see.

O Lord our governor, we beseech Thee, of Thy mercy,

That we may have the heavenly vision,

And behold things as they seem unto Thee.

That the turmoil of this world may be seen by us

To be bringing forth the sweet peace of the eternal years,

And that in all the troubles and sorrows or our own hearts

We may behold good, and so, with quiet mind

And inward peace, careless of outward storm,

We may do the duty of life which brings to us

A quiet heart, ever trusting in Thee.

~ George Dawson