Walking Through the Fire
This fall has been a season of trial and challenge, to say the least, and may newsletter this month may not be particularly upbeat, but it will be honest. Our clinic has faced an overwhelming month of loss, and my programs were hit with the highest rate of infant mortality that we have seen so far. There is a deep grief that follows each child we lose to malnutrition - a period of questioning and intensely feeling the loss of life just beginning. And while there is hope to be found in that these children, the most severe cases of illness, are coming into clinic seeking help, they are coming to us too late. I have spent too many days this fall saying to infants, “I love you. I will not stop fighting until you do.” And feeling that grief when their fight ends, when 14 hour days of crisis end in tragedy. Too many times.
In addition to a season of hard losses in clinic, I have experienced medical crisis within my own family - an emergency trip to the states and long days in hospital waiting rooms. I have witnessed from afar a purely evil act of violence in a neighborhood I called home in Pittsburgh. Small acts, that lead to big discouragements, like my car breaking down and being unusable to this day. Or more protesting shaking the bones of my country with an already unstable government. All of this in the midst of daily operations -parenting classes, nutrition counseling, taking children to surgical appointments and helping teenagers deliver healthy babies in broken hospital systems, because the work is never light here and seldom takes a break.
Guys, I am walking through the fire. With flames engulfing me from every angle I am standing defiantly and refusing to be taken down, but the fight is exhausting.
In addition to a season of hard losses in clinic, I have experienced medical crisis within my own family - an emergency trip to the states and long days in hospital waiting rooms. I have witnessed from afar a purely evil act of violence in a neighborhood I called home in Pittsburgh. Small acts, that lead to big discouragements, like my car breaking down and being unusable to this day. Or more protesting shaking the bones of my country with an already unstable government. All of this in the midst of daily operations -parenting classes, nutrition counseling, taking children to surgical appointments and helping teenagers deliver healthy babies in broken hospital systems, because the work is never light here and seldom takes a break.
Guys, I am walking through the fire. With flames engulfing me from every angle I am standing defiantly and refusing to be taken down, but the fight is exhausting.
“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord your God..”
I am on the other side, or maybe still in the midst, it’s hard to know, looking to God and asking for the purpose in the mess; seeking out the good that I have been taught can always be found. And there is indeed good, there are lessons to be learned and a purpose that God is faithfully speaking to me in the midst of hardship. He is saying that I cannot continue running my programs alone. I must make then sustainable, and sustainability means throwing my hands and pride up and asking for help. So steps in the right direction - I will be hiring a driver in the near future! And with the promise of not having to drive children in crisis personally all across this country, I will be able to spend more time in my office focusing on the development side of my work - not to mention creating a job for a Haitian! To know this step will lift some burden off my shoulders and share the weight with an experienced, caring driver, helping me advocate for patients, is a wonderful image.
God is also teaching me complete reliance on Him, because truthfully, I am at a point where there is little I can continue doing in my own strength, and nothing feels better than emptying my hands and saying “okay, Lord, it’s yours now. What’s next?”
And I can say with certainty, that what is next will be big. God never asks us to walk through the fire without strengthening us for a great purpose on the other side. We never leave the fire less refined, less prepared, or less sure of our strength than when we arrived. I have spent this season calming the crisis all around us here in Jubilee, and I cannot help but believe that God isn’t calling me to this forever. In this season I am seeing the crisis, the greatest needs facing our community, in a deeply personal way. I am letting these needs affect me and feeling the grief and destruction they leave in their wake. And I know God will use this season to push me into the next, where we begin meeting these needs at the root; preventing the illness rather than treating the symptoms.
But for now, I walk forward in God’s strength alone, hands high in the air, saying Ok God, this is yours now, what’s next?
I am on the other side, or maybe still in the midst, it’s hard to know, looking to God and asking for the purpose in the mess; seeking out the good that I have been taught can always be found. And there is indeed good, there are lessons to be learned and a purpose that God is faithfully speaking to me in the midst of hardship. He is saying that I cannot continue running my programs alone. I must make then sustainable, and sustainability means throwing my hands and pride up and asking for help. So steps in the right direction - I will be hiring a driver in the near future! And with the promise of not having to drive children in crisis personally all across this country, I will be able to spend more time in my office focusing on the development side of my work - not to mention creating a job for a Haitian! To know this step will lift some burden off my shoulders and share the weight with an experienced, caring driver, helping me advocate for patients, is a wonderful image.
God is also teaching me complete reliance on Him, because truthfully, I am at a point where there is little I can continue doing in my own strength, and nothing feels better than emptying my hands and saying “okay, Lord, it’s yours now. What’s next?”
And I can say with certainty, that what is next will be big. God never asks us to walk through the fire without strengthening us for a great purpose on the other side. We never leave the fire less refined, less prepared, or less sure of our strength than when we arrived. I have spent this season calming the crisis all around us here in Jubilee, and I cannot help but believe that God isn’t calling me to this forever. In this season I am seeing the crisis, the greatest needs facing our community, in a deeply personal way. I am letting these needs affect me and feeling the grief and destruction they leave in their wake. And I know God will use this season to push me into the next, where we begin meeting these needs at the root; preventing the illness rather than treating the symptoms.
But for now, I walk forward in God’s strength alone, hands high in the air, saying Ok God, this is yours now, what’s next?
