The last week of ministry in Busia was in the local hospital. After a couple weeks of door-to-door, I was thrilled about this ministry.
Once again, we split up into groups of two or three, with a member of the church who acted as an interpreter. There were four wards that we focused on: men’s, women’s, kids, and maternity. The only ward I never went to was the children’s.
I thought about writing stories about the different people we met, but I didn’t want it to turn into some kind of sensationalist storytelling. Suffice it to say, we saw some things in that hospital that we will never forget. And it was a challenge to have to go from bed to bed, trying to infuse some joy and hope into the patients. Some of them were absolutely secure in the knowledge that the Lord would heal them– I met one old lady who I just wanted to adopt as a third grandma because she was so sweet and spunky. But then we also encountered the opposite– people who had lost all hope and felt completely invisible. It’s difficult to know what to say to those people. All we could do was hold their hands and tell them that they are not forgotten– that we serve a God who heals, who comforts, and who loves them more than they could ever know. As hard as it was, it was a joy to be able to speak life into them. The Lord had us there for a purpose– it was not in vain that we visited each of those beds. I just pray that it impacted them as much as it did us.
