New Clinic!!!

Last week was an exciting one. We moved our clinic into a compound of its own.

This means "WELCOME" - I wrote it myself :)

    Emily and I got to pick the colors to paint it, and arrange everything exactly the way we liked it. It was so much fun! It’s amazing to look back and see how the Lord has brought this clinic into being. We want to make a display showing the evolution of the clinic. Starting with a backpack, progressing to a storage room, then to the previous small building, and finally to having its very own clinic compound. God is faithful to finish what he started.

There was a medical team here this last week, treating patients and teaching us. Here’s a few stories from this past week:

“He looks” –  “Like not good, yah?” “Yeah like lethargic.”

Emily and I finished each other’s sentences regarding the child laying on the examination table. His eyes were dull and unfocused. He didn’t answer my questions. Mouth dry and sticky. Alayu had been coming to the clinic for the last couple weeks for a dressing change. He had been hit by a car, and lost his left leg below the knee. His wound looked great, but this day, the rest of him did not. His aunt, who always brings him, had carried him into the clinic. She always tells us he is sixteen, but Emily and I think he might be twelve.

          “He needs an IV.” “Yeah.”

We agreed on that, but there since there were three ER doctors here we asked one for their opinion. It’s always nice to have a doctor come affirm what we are thinking. Dr. Christy came over immediately to examine him. She nodded her approval on the IV and did a full assessment on him. When she pressed on his stomach he cried out and pushed her hand away. Same reaction for both sides.

“He’s dehydrated, but there might be something worse here…”

Dr. Christy told us to give him IV Zofran (for nausea) and 500 mls of normal saline. She returned to the medical team across the street, and left us to care for Alayu. It was really fun to have doctor’s orders and function as nurses! Haha, we don’t get to do that very often! He perked up quickly with the fluids, but after the bag finished he continued to guard his abdomen when touched. Dr. Christy sent Alayu and his aunt to the hospital for an ultrasound. It came back normal, so we will continue to monitor him in the weeks to come.

 

The next day, an older looking woman came in holding a large baby under a blanket. As she laid him on the exam table we realized he was, in fact, not a baby but a child. The mother told us he was twelve years old. He had twelve year old teeth, but the rest of him mimicked a large baby.

  The mom had brought him in to show us his new “bug bites” – all over his body. Two doctors agreed that it was a meningitis rash. They proceeded to do a spinal tap right there in the clinic! A previous team had donated six saddle blocks (like epidural kits). Emily and I had always laughed about them because we would never do that, but the Lord knew what we would need.

 

We started him on IV antibiotics, going through his tibia! One of the doctors showed us how to drill into his tibia to put the IV fluids through the bone because he had no findable veins. It really looked like a hospital in there! After he finished his bag the doctor showed us how to unscrew the IO (intra osteo). We will continue his antibiotics going intra-muscular.

The doctors also taught us how to suture using bananas and use lidocaine using their own arms!!! It was awesome.

Mad skills down here…mad skills.



Oh Me of Little Faith

           “Our battle is not here, Kayla.” Murad shook his head. “It is so much spiritual things. Many devils are here.”
He told me there is a lot of demon possession in Korah. When I asked if he had ever cast one out himself, he looked at me as if I asked if he’d ever opened his eyes in the morning.
 “Of course!”
“Really?”
 “A lot of times.”
I sat staring at him with a gaping mouth. “You have?”
I was struck with the idea that this man, the one in front of me, had commanded evil spirits to get out and they heeded his word! He told me that sometimes he asks how many of them there are. Sometimes they say five or ten, and the biggest one is the spokesman. He said he always asks where it is from.
“One said, ‘I am from Sudan.’ Another, ‘I am the master of Korah.’”
Murad says, “Beu Yesus Kristos sim, hed!” (In the name of Jesus Christ, get out!)
That is all it takes. The shrieking, clawing person falls to the ground freed in the name of Jesus. Jesus’ name alone is so powerful that demons run at the sound of it from the mouth of a disciple. It is only by the power of God. Murad told me a story of one of his friends who was called to a home to cast out a demon. He walked through the door and the possessed person ran to the back of the room screaming,
“No! It’s a son of Jesus! What do you want with me? Please go! Please leave me alone!”
 Murad said sometimes the demon will ask if he can go into a sibling or a spouse, rather than leave all together. And then there are some, as Jesus said, (Matthew 17:21) that only go out by prayer and fasting. I continued to stare at him with wide eyes until he said,
“Kayla, are you scared?” I nodded that the whole demon scene was intimidating to me. “You don’t have to be scared, Kayla.” He poked my shoulder. “Greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world.”
My first response was, “I know.” But I had to ask myself, “Really Kayla, do you know? Do you know how great this God is, whom you serve?” I am far from grasping the extent of His greatness, but I am learning.
             Last week one of the Strong Hearts hospice patients tried to commit suicide. Someone insulted her, and she was wounded to the point that she no longer felt worth as a human being and was ready to end her life. The tongue – oh the weight it holds. Praise the Lord for the other people who appeared on the scene and intervened. The hospice team went to her house to visit, encourage and pray with her several times afterwards. I went on Wednesday, and I want to describe the amazing scene I witnessed and was a part of. She welcomed us enthusiastically into her home, not making eye contact. Shame crowded her demeanor as she sat down. We spoke with her gently and reminded her of her worth in Jesus Christ. We told her that the Creator of the universe designed her perfectly and intentionally, and it doesn’t matter what other people say. We reminded her that God gave her life, and the day her life ends is not her decision to make. She nodded knowingly, wringing her hands and saying “Amen” often.
          Then it was time to pray. Sitting in a deep recliner, she still had not looked up from the dirt floor. Fikru was appointed to pray. I moved to sit on the armrest of her chair and gathered my hands around her small shoulders. Fikru is a fairly quiet man….but not when he is praying. The power of God thunders from his mouth with authority. Ethiopians always talk really fast when they pray, and I usually cannot understand the majority of what is said. I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed my own prayer for her. Fikru prayed and prayed and prayed. Then he paused and moved closer to her. He put his hand on her forehead and spoke again louder and stronger. Her body tensed in my arms, and I began to understand what Fikru was saying.
“Who are you?” he demanded. The woman responded quickly with a high shrieky voice. “I am Satan.”
My eyes opened and my head jerked up.
“How many are you?”
“We are three.”
“How long have you lived here.”
“For three years.”
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. The demons inside were responding! The woman whooped and jumped in her chair as he continued to pray over her.
“In the name of Jesus, get out!” He reached over and hit her forehead three times.
“Ande!” (One) She screamed.
“Hulet!” (Two) She screamed.
“Sost!” (Three) She screamed longer and then fell back limply. She was free. Fikru comforted her and continued to pray. He prayed over her sleep, her home, her life, and that she would have peace from that day on. We stood to leave, and the woman kissed us all enthusiastically.
           I could not stop smiling. I was amazed at the way the demons had no choice but to flee when Fikru spoke the name of Jesus. What power is in His name alone! In the book of James it says that the demons believe and tremble. I saw three demons tremble that day.

 “Oh you of little faith. For truly I say to you that if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you shall say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there’ and it shall move. Nothing shall be impossible for you.”   ~Matthew 17:20~

            Jesus said that. This verse brings to me both shame and conviction. If we only need faith the size of a mustard seed to move mountains, I must not have much faith at all. I cannot comprehend all that God is capable of, and I know that my perception of what He can do through me is too small. There are some things in the Bible that I subconsciously consider only things that happened in Bible times. I often fail to remember that He is the same God with the same power, the same promises, and the same potential for revealing Himself in supernatural ways.

Oh me of little faith, for I serve that very God. 
 

He's Got the Whole World in His Hands

 

       Several months ago, I wrote a blog about a little boy named Abreham with Down Syndrome and two heart defects. My friend Emily, along with his sponsor have been working all year to get this child a medical visa to the United States for surgery. To read his background story, go to this website by his sponsor, Wendy:

http://harper9.blogspot.com/2013/05/operation-abraham.html

       About three weeks ago, Wendy began talking with Emily about a doctor that would be traveling to Tenwik hospital in Kenya on June 2nd. He could do testing to see if Abreham is a candidate for surgery, and not too high risk. A cardiac surgeon is also available at the hospital. The doctors and hospital agreed, and arrangements were made for Abreham to travel to Kenya. I was asked to escort him and his mother, Yangoose, along with my Amharic teacher Ebise to translate.

 

 The Lord marvelously provided the funds through Wendy’s networking, and everything else fell into place like stepping stones. The Lord prepared the way for Abreham.

Before leaving, I printed an e-mail from a lady at the hospital summarized like this:

When you get to Nairobi, get a taxi to the bus station. Take a bus to Bomet. At Bomet, take a taxi to the hospital. Ask the guard for operation room reception and ask for Lucy. And then she gave estimates for how much the tickets and rides would be.

            I laughed when I read the e-mail. “Lord,” I looked up, “you do know I’ve never been to Kenya, right?”

We arrived in Nairobi Saturday night on an uneventful flight. Yangoose was stoic, and Abreham slept the whole way. We got through the airport with little delay and out the other side. Several taxis were lined up on the curb, and I was immediately approached by a smiley gentleman with a lot of teeth. I told him we needed to go to the bus station and he loaded our bags in his trunk. All four of us sat in the back. When I looked up, the car was moving but there was no driver and no steering wheel! I panicked for 3 seconds until noticing that the driver was directly in front of me clutching a wheel. Kenyans drive on the left side of the road. The traffic was similar to Ethiopia – lawless - but much much faster. We bought the fattest bananas I had ever seen through the window while stuck in a traffic jam.

            Found the bus station, got tickets, four hours on a rock hard seat to Bomet, taxi to the hospital, guard pointed to reception. No Lucy was to be found, but another sweet nurse led us to the guest house. Tenwik is a Christian campus including the hospital, a church, housing for the staff, and a guest house for visiting doctors and patients. It was an absolutely beautiful, serene Godly atmosphere. Sunday morning we went to the church on campus and rested.  

Monday was the big day. We found the correct line to stand in for registration, and there we stood for the next three hours. I guess Kenya and Ethiopia are sisters. J Eventually we were ushered into an examination room where Dr. Lisky (the traveling doctor) and Dr. White the cardio surgeon were waiting. They were both wonderful, and good with mother and child.

At the end of the echocardiograph they were both in agreement that Abreham’s heart is inoperable. The two holes are small, and his heart is compensating for them now. “If we operate,” they told us, “his life will be shorter.” My own heart sank into my chest. Dr. Lisky explained everything through Ebise to Yangoose, and prayed with us there in the office. Yangoose wiped her eyes and fastened Abreham to her back. I thanked the doctor and headed back to the guest house. I felt as if Yangoose thought the doctors had sentenced her son. Ebise and I sat down with her again to explain the truth of the situation. She responded well, and I am convinced she understood.

It was hard for me to understand myself. It’s so hard to look at a sweet-faced boy like Abreham, know he is sick, and hear a doctor say there is nothing more we can do. We have done all that we can do for this child. We often as Christians say, “Well, all we can do is pray.” I have said it myself, but I think it a grossly inaccurate thing to say. First of all, Abreham’s life was never in our human hands. His life never depended on what we did for him, and prayer is not a last resort! God has had his hand over this child’s life the entire time. He was knit in his mother’s womb, and planned from the beginning. God’s got it. He has not moved. He is sitting on his throne. We are not in control. I have peace that God is, and that He will keep Abreham according to His perfect will. He’s got the whole world in His hands.

           I e-mailed their sponsor Wendy and reported the results. She responded as I did, and said she would change our return date for Wednesday. She then asked me if I would take them to do something fun before we left. I asked around the campus, and everyone voted safari. Tuesday morning I spoke with the visitor’s coordinator who arranged for us to leave within thirty minutes and to spend the night in what she called “a five star tent”. I loaded my troop into a pick-up truck, and off we bumped down the bumpiest “road” I have ever seen. I mean, we could have all used a chiropractor within the first ten minutes. Haha, I loved it! It was only fifty kilometers or so, but it took us two and a half hours to make it.

 

We drove through a gate and into a circle drive. We fell out of the truck and saw a man and woman standing in the doorway with a tray of rolled hot cloths. “Jambo!” she greeted us. By tongs he handed us each a cloth for our faces and a cup of mango juice. The woman continued to welcome us and explained the schedule. We were to eat lunch on the deck by the pool, drop our things in the tent, go on the first game drive, and eat dinner. Tomorrow, we were to go on an early morning game drive, eat breakfast upon returning, and our driver would come to take us to the airport. The “five star tent” was a small house inside a large canvas tent, fitted with refrigerator, flushing toilet, pillow-top beds, and a hot shower.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                      Our “tent’s” balcony overlooked a river with hippos and crocodiles we could watch. Everything was stunning, and the food was like a delicious never ending stream into our mouths. The game drives were amazing too. We saw every animal I imagined on a safari, with an exception to elephants. We were so close to them! Yangoose, Abreham, and Ebise enjoyed it immensely. When would they ever get to do something like this? It was such a blessing for all of us. My breath was taken by all the different and wonderful things the Lord has made. We watched the sun go down and the sun come up on the savanna.

 

 

He commands the sun to move. He fashions the horn of the buffalo and the paw of the lion. He teaches the gazelle to leap and paints the zebra’s stripes.

Truly, He's got the whole world in His hands.

 

  

 
 

 

             

He is Jealous For Me

In my time with the Lord I have been reading through the Old Testament prophets. I have enjoyed it immensely. So much of God’s character is revealed through the situations and prophecies. I am now at the end of Zechariah. Yesterday, I was very struck by this verse:

“Thus says the Lord of hosts, ‘I am exceedingly jealous for Zion, yes, with great wrath I am jealous for her.’” – Zechariah 8:2

“I am exceedingly jealous for Zion…” We, the church, are Zion. He is exceedingly jealous for us. That verse was not the first or only time in the book the Lord said that He was jealous for them. Zechariah said repeatedly, “‘I am jealous for Zion,’ thus says the Lord of hosts.”

I got very stuck on that. I know He wants me. I know He loves me. But to think that He is even jealous over me. Jealous? Yes, and “with great wrath” He is jealous. I’m a really jealous person. I want to be liked, I want to be loved. I am jealous for the attention of people that I love. (My mom is nodding her head. ;) ) That jealousy is not always satisfied, because the people that I love also love others and may even like others more than they like me. The hearts of the people of Israel had wandered from God time and time again. But it amazes me that each time God scattered them, he gathered them back to Himself. Our hearts, as theirs, constantly wander from the fold of God. And yet, He gathers us back because He is jealous for us.

Chapter eight continues with God’s promises of how He will bless and strengthen Israel, how He would build them up again, and bring them peace. Then the last verse of the chapter reads:

“Thus says the Lord of Hosts, ‘In those days ten men from all the nations will grasp the garment of a Jew saying, “Let us go with you, for we have heard that God is with you.”’” (v.23)

I was thinking….uh…whoa. It should be like that for every Christian. I remember my dad praying at the dinner table often that people who don’t know Christ would look at our family and notice we had something they didn’t have. People should notice. It should be very obvious that God is with us.

My dear brothers and sisters, God Almighty is jealous for us! With great wrath He is jealous for you! He gathers you from the corners of the earth where you have been scattered. He strengthens your feeble hands and your shaking knees. He has purposed to do you good. You are the apple of His eye! Praise Him, all you people!

He is jealous for me

Loves like a hurricane

I am a tree, bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy

When all of a sudden

I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory

And I realize just how beautiful you are

And how great your affections are for me

Oh, how he loves us so

Oh, how he loves us

How he loves us so

God Equips The Called

                Wednesday morning I set out with the hospice team as usual for the home visits. There were three patients on the agenda: Marage, Yeshiemebet, and Yisharege. Marage first. We trekked up the streets, down the footpaths, and through the bushes to find her home. Up a narrow alley between two houses, we finally arrived. These houses are tucked in! We entered her dark home, barely bigger than the bed she was lying in. Marage was on her side, and so skinny her hip was defined under a thick felt blanket that covered her.

“Marage,” I addressed her. “Dehna nesh?” How are you?

                She did not respond, but lay weak and motionless. Her eyes rolled back, and her mouth was dry. Her blood pressure was too low and her pulse was too fast. One of her neighbors sat by the door, very concerned. “Bezi samint menim megeb albelachem.” She hasn’t eaten or drank anything all week. The lady told us she was concerned that Marage was going to die alone. Her husband left her and their small daughter when she got sick. Her other family lives in the countryside. There is no one here in Addis to help her. The lady told us that the homeowner and other neighbors had carried Marage to the local hospital twice last week. Both times they had been refused admission because there were not enough beds. They gave her a reference to a governmental hospital about fifteen kilometers away, but they had no money for transportation or to pay for her care there. Marage had been in bed ever since. She was severely dehydrated.

“She needs an IV,” I said out loud. The other hospice members – none medical – looked at me. I examined her tiny arms, from which surprisingly popped large veins.

 “I’ll be right back.”

Her home was fairly close to our clinic, a blessing to count. I knew we had a bunch of IV supplies in totes in the back of the clinic. We had planned to donate them to a hospital, because we hadn’t ever needed them before. I dug through the totes, thoughts a merry-go-round in my head. In my last semester of nursing school I did a proctorship in the emergency room under a wonderful nurse named Mary Buth. I told her at the beginning that I wanted to get good at starting IV’s, and she made it her objective to be sure I did. Under her guidance I became quite proficient at it. I had been very comfortable then, but this month marked one year since graduation, and I hadn’t started an IV since school. I also have never decided of my own accord to give an IV, what fluid to give, how much, and how fast!

I AM NOT A REAL DOCTOR!!!! But I was the only one there.

I found what I needed in the clinic and hiked back down the stony path to her house. I arranged my things on the table and gloved up. I looked above her bed for something to hang the IV bag on. Nothing. I don’t know how to say nail in Amharic, so I charaded pounding something into the wall. They understood, and produced a long nail. (I don’t know where all these things come from sometimes.) They pounded the nail into the mud wall, tested the strength and nodded at me. Things pretty much went like clock-work after that. I hung  500 mLs, set the drip rate for an hour and went to the clinic to see patients. After thirty minutes I returned to check her. She looked so much better! Her eyes were not rolling and she told me she felt much better. Her lungs were clear, blood pressure still low, heart rate still high. When that bag finished I hung another 500 mLs. Elsebet, a Strong Hearts nurse tagged me, and returned to take that bag down. She called my phone and said that Marage’s blood pressure was 120/80 (perfect), and she looked great. Praise the Lord! I told Elsebet to leave the IV and I would check her in the morning. The next morning I went to her home and found her eating a cookie by her own hand! She talked with me, very aware. Her blood pressure was low again, so I decided to give her some more fluid. A little later it was back up again and we discontinued the IV.

I thank the Lord for the way He equips me in situations like this one. I honestly do not have confidence in myself a lot of the time. I think of how the Lord knew this day Marage would need an IV, and prepared Mary Buth to teach me to start one. I praise the Lord for Mary. I praise Him for the little things like that nail to pound in the earthen wall. God is faithful. He walks into these dark homes with me, and provides everything I need. We never go alone. Please pray with us as we enter these homes, dark with the absence of Light.

 

 “God doesn’t call the equipped. He equips the called.”   -  Anonymous

 

What If I Give All?

 

           There’s a song by Ray Boltz called, “What If I Give All?” The chorus goes like this:

What if I give all I have?
What will that gift do?
My child, a gift like that
Could change the world
It could feed a multitude
He didn’t close his eyes
Or turn away
I can see him standing tall
He saw the need
And I can hear him say
What if I give all

The song is about a little boy in church, who after listening to the pastor talk about hungry children gave all the money he had to feed them. It compares this child to the one in the Bible who gave his fish and loaves of bread to Jesus. I love this song. I sang it in church with my brother, Devon, one time.

I was skyping with my youngest brother, Riley, one day. Riley just turned five years old. This is him with the dum-dums I left him for his birthday. J

 

He plunged himself in front of the camera and said, “Kayla! Did you get my money?”

“Your what?” I didn’t hear him.

“My money? Did you get my money?”

I looked at mom. She told him it hadn’t gotten there yet and sent him away. She then explained to me what had happened the day before. They had watched Riley go to the mailbox. They saw him come back empty handed. Mom waited for him to go inside before checking to see what he had put in the mailbox. She pulled out an envelope, heavy with a lot of change. Without letting on that she had removed it, she asked Riley what the envelope was for. He told her it was all the money he had, and it was for all the poor people in Ethiopia. Mom counted it later. It was just over five dollars mostly in change. Every time I skyped with my family that month, Riley would come flying over to the computer. “Did you give my money to the poor people yet?”

To be perfectly honest, I kept forgetting. I am surrounded by poor people. They don’t exactly stand out to me around here. But one day I was on my way home from Korah. I stumbled out of the nine seater taxi with twenty-three people in it, tripped on my flip-flop, and regained composure. Sitting toothless on the corner under a faded umbrella was my old friend, Workaye, the beggar. I wrote about meeting her in a previous blog. (She’s the one who spit in my hand.) When I saw her I remembered the five dollars I had not yet given out. “Workaye!” I called to her. She looked with delight into my face and asked me where I’d been. I told her I’d been busy, etc… I sat down next to her on the sidewalk, and we continued our conversation. People stopped on the road, grabbed friends, and stood there observing our interaction and eavesdropping on the conversation. “Workaye, I have four brothers. The youngest one’s name is Riley…” I told her about Riley, his trip to the mailbox, and what he intended for his five dollars. She listened intently as my gringo Amharic lurched out of my mouth, and by God’s grace understood.

“One hundred birr is about five dollars. And I have here,” I finished, “The one hundred birr from Riley that I was instructed to give to someone. I want to give it to you.”

She kind of stared at it for a minute. And then gratefully took it out of my hand. I don’t know if Workaye had ever held a hundred birr in her hand before. It was precious. She bowed low to the ground. She thanked me, she blessed me, she blessed Riley, she blessed my family, she blessed my cow (not really), and starting at my hand kissed the length of my arm. There was no spitting this time. J Just a lot of blessings.

What if I give all? What a concept. Who does that? Not many of us! Why is it always the ones with so little who are willing to give everything? That widow in the Bible did! (Mark 12:41-44) She gave all she had and it wasn’t much! Earthly wealth has such a hold on us. It’s amazing how we put our faith and our sweat into such perishable things like silver and gold. How very difficult it is to let it go. But, what if we gave all? My baby brother, Riley, did. What if you did? What if we all did?

What if I did? What if I gave all?

Tadessa

           Some days there are five or less people to be seen at the clinic. Other days there is a crowd waiting and a steady flow of new arrivals until we finally close the door. This day, about a month and a half ago, was one of those seemingly endless stream of people days. A man came in that I didn’t recognize and told me that his father was sick and I needed to come see him in his home. He said he couldn’t walk, was very sick, and had some wounds. I asked how long he had been unable to walk or leave his home. He said his dad had been in bed for a year and eight months. All you medical people out there just yelled, “Bed Sores!” That’s exactly what I said. I told him that when I finished with all the patients who were at the clinic I would follow him to his home to see his dad. The man sat on the bench for the next hour and a half waiting for me. The final patient treated, I locked the door and followed the man to his home. It was very close to the church compound where the clinic is, so my parental readers can take a deep breath. J I was not in danger.

I ducked into the dark home, and before my eyes adjusted I could smell the man inside. The entire home is one room. No windows. Just a small table and bed, on which a very wilted old man lay under a heavy felt blanket.

 He had leprosy before, as evidenced by his stubbed feet, fingerless hands, and empty eye sockets. Although now healed from the leprosy, he was completely lame and blind. Flies covered him. They crawled into his nose and flocked in the holes where his eyes had been. I grasped his hand, introducing myself before pealing back the blanket. The man was emaciated, and the smell when I removed that blanket was unlike anything my young nostrils had ever suffered. I took a quick look at the wounds that were there and ran back to the clinic to get what I needed. I grabbed a huge bag of masks along with the wound dressings.

 I put three masks over my mouth and nose for the smell, but still as I cleaned and dressed his sores I audibly gagged several times. I was grateful for his hearing loss in that case. He would turn slowly and cooperatively as I needed him to, and would call out, “Hakim!” (Doctor). There were balloons of pus under his skin in two places, which I drained.  As I worked he yelled and jerked in pain. Each time I uncovered a wound, flies would flock to it. I found scores of maggots crawling between his legs and inside his wounds. They may have been doing something good, but I pulled them all off him. I rolled him over onto his other side to reveal a small open pressure ulcer on his hip. I couldn’t believe how small it was for having laid on it for a year and eight months. There was no sheet on the bed. He was lying on layers of coats. They were so dirty – straw, dead skin, and small stones caked into his sores. There was a lake of thick pus from his wounds underneath him, and he was also incontinent. After cleaning him as best I could, I removed the top layer of coats and put a disposable towel underneath him. I covered his body again with the blanket and prayed with him before leaving. I put him on an antibiotic and pain medicine, and instructed the neighbor lady in the room to turn him frequently, and to change the dressings every day like I had, and that I would come every three days.

I went to his home every three days as I promised. Every time I came, it was worse. The smell lessened, but the pus continued to drain from his body like a spring. And the wounds got bigger and bigger. The true size and depth of them was slowly revealed, until one day he moved his leg, and I realized I was looking at his muscle. Then I saw his bone. Eventually, his entire hip was bare and open.

I visited him on a Thursday and found two screws – apparently he had had surgery at some time - sticking out about an inch in the midst of it all. The wound was yellow, and Tadessa was cold and lethargic.

 Two young ladies from my church were with me on this day - Mandy and Abby Forenz. They had been adopted from Ethiopia four years ago, and were revisiting for the first time. I warned them before entering Tadessa’s home that it was going to be difficult and emotional. I was so proud of both of them when inside. Abby opened and passed me supplies while Mandy spoke soothing words and held Tadessa’s arms that were unconsciously fighting me. When we finished with the wound dressing, we knelt to pray with him. I again prayed that the Lord would just take him quickly. Tears fell from all our eyes, as we realized this man’s time on this earth was almost spent.

I went to his house again the next morning. The door was locked, but when I looked through the cracks I saw the bed was gone. There was a tent outside with people inside it. This is called the likso bet. It’s a place of mourning where people will come and sit with the family for over a week. “He’s gone,” I said. “Praise God.”

Sometimes my job here in Korah is a lot of fun. It’s always hard work, but there is a lot of instant gratification. People are often so appreciative, and I see the fruit of my labor. That part makes it such a pleasure. Other times, like this one, it can be very hard. The first time I met Tadessa, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to make him well again. He was a hospice patient. It was painful to watch him get worse and not be able to stop it. I had the privilege, however, of praying with him often, and reminding him that he was not alone. I told him every time that Jesus was walking with him, and would not leave him. He had four sons – three in the federal prison and the one who brought me lived in the countryside. Everyone had left this man.

But Jesus, Creator of the world, never left him - a reminder also to the healthy.