So, Here it Is

It's been mentioned to me on several occasions that I need to start writing about my ministry.  Since I am on a short hiatus from school until the fall, I decided to finally take that advice to heart.  There's so many different amazing stories to share.  But first, I suppose I should start by telling you a little bit about myself and give you a little history of the project.

God has been grooming me to be a hospital and hospice chaplain ever since I was a very little girl.  If you ask my mother, she'll tell you she's never seen a little kid who enjoyed visiting people in nursing homes and hospitals as much as I did.  It's true.  I wouldn't just visit with the person I was brought there to see.  I would go from room to room entertaining people, talking to them, getting to know them.  The more attention I got, the moire I loved to do it.  At nine years old, I was there with my great grandmother on the day she died.  My grandmother always said how astounded she was to literally see the love of God coming out of me and onto my grandmother.  She couldn't explain how a nine year old seemed to know exactly what to do.  To this day, I still know exactly what to do.  I don't even think about it or consider it: I just do it.  As I am growing and maturing in my spiritual journey with the Lord, I am beginning to understand that to share God's love, mercy and grace with the sick and dying is God's purpose for me in this life.  It's a purpose I don't take lightly, and it is a purpose for which I am eternally grateful.  I will forever affirm that my patients give me so much more than I could ever give them.  I am drawn to their energy, love, and courage as amazing human beings with incredible stories to share.  It pains me that others cannot bring themselves to know these amazingly strong people.  This is through no fault of their own.  However, more sadly, it is through no fault of the patient's either.  They didn't do anything to receive the constant pain, depression, loneliness, and complete despair.  Yet the are shunned by their families, their friends, and even their churches for things they can't control.  One of my goals is for them to know they are entitled to a God given right to be treated as beautiful, beloved children of Christ.  No matter what our situation, this is our birthright.  I show God's love for them in many different ways.  First and foremost, I am never afraid to get close to them.  I sit on their beds, hold their hands, kiss their cheeks, cry with them, laugh with them, dance and play with them.  I go to where they are.  Sometimes there is no room for them in a regular bed, and they are placed on the floor under the beds.  If that is the case, I will go right under the bed with them.  I never use gloves or masks.  Too many times, the only form of human touch the patients are subjected to is through the coldness of latex gloves, and I want my patients to feel actual human touch.  A lot of people may think this is not hygenic.  But, apart from taking precautions by not touching any broken skin, I could own stock in hand sanitizer. Most people are surprised to learn I have never once gotten sick from the hospital.  Another one of God's ways of protecting me.

When I first came to Kenya, I spent a lot of time volunteering in several different ministries, trying to find the best fit for me.  I volunteered in orphanages run by missionaries as well as orphanages run by Kenyan pastors.  I loved spending time with the children.  But I didn't feel that volunteering in an orphanage or starting one of my own was what God intended for me.  I also volunteered in a colony where people with leprosy and their families were placed by the government.  In Kenya, if a person has a disease like leprosy, they, as well as anyone else in their blood line, are considered spoiled, and cursed.  The government forces them into colonies far away from civilization, not giving them any food and barely giving them water.  In doing so, the hope is that these suffering people and their families will die off, thereby ridding the country of the curse.  It's a horrible situation and so very sad.  I volunteered in the colony for about a month, as a teacher's aide and medical assistant. (Side note: About four months prior to this, I had had foot surgery.  I mentioned to my podiatrist that I could never work with feet, and that I admired and respected someone who could.  Four months later, I found myself with a leproscopic foot in my face, digging out lovely creatures called chiggers.  Chiggers bury themselves in people's feet and breed there unless someone digs them out.  Moral of the story: never say you aren't going to do something, because God will almost always find a way for you to do it!)  Volunteering in the colony was a better fit, but I still felt like God wanted me somewhere else.  About three weeks later, I phoned a buddy of mine named Johnny.  I was having a very difficult time volunteering in an orphanage in Kinango.  Kinango is a small village located among the wild elephants, about an hour outside the coastal town of Mombasa.  To give you an idea of its remoteness, it takes about two hours by bus to get off of the mountain.  We then have to take a matatu for about forty five minutes, to get to another matatu, to get on the ferry, to then get over to Mombasa.  We then spent about two hours doing our business (a little longer if we had to go grocery shopping), and then we had to make the return trip back again.  Needless to say, we only went to town once a week.  The rest of the time was spent at the orphanage.  In writing this, I'm feeling a little sentimental about the experience.  However, while I was in the thick of it, it was a very difficult situation for me.  I called up a buddy of mine, Johnny, who lived with his wife in Nakuru.  They graciously offered me a place to stay for a while, until I could figure out my place in this foreign country.  A couple of days later, I went with my friend Ben to visit a government hospital.  I was beyond horrified.  There were people on the floor on blankets, lying in their own bodily fluids.  There were dead bodies in the beds.  When we visited the mental health ward, the patients were locked in their cells like animals.  The nurse on duty took us to each cell, and told us, point by point, why the patient was there.  All the patients could do was look as complete strangers were appraised of their complete medical histories.  However, another thing that really surprised was, despite all of this, I found myself hardly being able to wait to return.  I knew, the moment I walked onto the campus, that volunteering in the hospital field is where the Lord intends for me to be.  He continues to show this to me day by day.  In my one and a half years of volunteering as a chaplain for government hospitals, my immeasurable desire to spend time with my patients and my unwavering resolve to help them know they are unconditionally love has remained strong.  In fact, as time goes on, my strength and desire only increases.  Helping my patients has become my passion, and I can't imagine doing anything else with my life.