Ward 4

Today Team Pulse took a trip to a local hospital. I don’t
know what we were expecting, really. I don’t know what I was expecting. I know
better than to expect pristine conditions in a third world nation. I knew to
expect people who were suffering from all sorts of diseases that this horrid,
broken world, but I never expected to experience what I experienced today.

We started off the day chipper enough, praying for what was
in store today. We prayed for divine appointments. We prayed for the
expectation of seeing healing. We prayed our declarations as a team today. I
stood on a chair and said them in confidence.

“I uproariously laugh
when I hear a lie from the devil!”

And then we traveled to the hospital. It was decided then we
would all stick together, as a team. We visited Ward 8 first, the psyche ward. That
was uncomfortable enough as it was, as one of the patients showed us a map of
Kenya he had drawn upon the wall with his morning porridge. Not too bad. We
prayed for the patients, avoided a confrontation, and left.

Then we came to Ward 4, where they kept the Male patients.
We had been told that a wedding was going to be held there today. Our spirits
lifted, as Kris was going to be missing an important wedding back home today.
We all assured her, that this was probably God’s way of making up for that
loss. She was excited. I was excited for her. I told her that God loved her so
much to make up for what she was missing.

We walked in, and I beheld a hospital room of many beds, not
unlike what I had imagined. Malaria nets hung tied from a rope, and the beds
were full of patients. My teammate Tyler and I prayed for a man named Samuel,
who had lost his hearing. His son Moses stood by his bedside, assuring us his
father was going to be discharged today. Praise God.

We went and prayed for some convicts, who were handcuffed to
their beds, IV’s in their hands, crust of blood surrounding the entry wound.
They were grateful for our prayers.

We turned and walked into the other side of the ward, and I
noticed my team leader, Chad, standing before a bed with his bible in hand.
Only he and God  knows which book he was
reading from. The rest of the team stood as onlookers, observing a bed on the
left side of the room. As I turned to see what they were looking at, I noticed
some hotel workers moving the arms of one of the men on the beds.

Something wasn’t right.

Then I looked at my feet. A stretcher.

My mind raced as I suddenly realized what was going on. The
looks on my team’s faces answered what little doubt I had.

This man had just died.

Amidst the wails of sorrow and the shock of watching him
being dragged from his bed and covered with a sheet, I stood there. What else
could I do?

I watched them carry him out of the room, and I caught the
eye of Tyler, who’s face betrayed the sincerest form of what I was feeling at
that moment.

“Did this really just
happen?”

Swarms of thoughts, lies, and fear ran through my head. “How’s that, for healing ministry?”  the devil speaks to me.

No.

I watch them take him out of the door. What can I possibly
do NOW?

I could feel my teeth grind as I struggled for answers. “Where’s your hope NOW, Christian?” the
devil speaks to me.

NO.

I needed air. I rush past Tyler to the door. I walk outside
and watch the people, the people who are still ALIVE, watch the stretcher pass.
Their faces are emotionless, and why shouldn’t they be? How often do you have
to SEE this to become NUMB to it?

Anger floods my soul. “Too
late now. Why don’t you try praying for someone else?” the devil speaks to
me.

NO!

I UPROARIOUSLY LAUGH WHEN I HEAR A LIE FROM THE DEVIL!!!!

As my hands ball into fists and tears of rage play at the
corners of my eyes, I refuse to accept this. I refuse to accept that this man
just died and that there is NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT.

My teammate Mary Hollis walks outside then, and I see her.

“Come with me, Mary. We’re going to pray for that man.”

We attempt to chase the stretcher down. I am praying for a
miracle. We end up not being able to see where it went. I no longer care.

I start praying there, in the middle of the courtyard, for
the impossible to happen. I start praying for God to raise this man from the
dead.

“Jesus, you said that we will do works greater than even
you, because you have gone to your father, and you say that whatever we ask in
YOUR name, YOU will do. So I ask, RAISE THIS MAN.”

I don’t remember the rest of my prayer. I wish that I could
say that I saw a miracle happen. I wish I could, right now, be shouting to the
mountainside of God’s glory, how He touched that man and I was able to witness
this.

God didn’t raise him.

Hours later, I find myself on my bed, listening to a song my
friend Carrie gave me, and tears well up in my eyes as the lyrics ring in my
ears.

Away from me

I cried for some meaning for the day. Yeah, people die all
the time. The devil wants us to believe there is no point in the suffering.

The most important part of the song finally reaches my ears.

Love is watching
someone die.

I wipe away the silent tears, not wanting my team mate
beneath me to hear, because I don’t want to have to explain.

I think of all of the people in my life who have had to
watch their loved ones die. Fathers. Mothers. Sisters. Brothers. I can’t
explain the empathy I feel for them, thinking of the pain they have had to
endure. Thinking of the Love they freely gave as they sat, helpless, watching
their loved ones die.

And even I, helpless. Watching that man die. Did he know he
was loved? Does he still know?

Do I still know?

I am determined to love God regardless of whether or not He
answers all of my prayers, especially the
ones that mean life or death.

I will still uproariously laugh when I hear a lie from the
Devil. Eventually, he’s going to have to stop telling jokes that aren’t funny.
One of these days, he’s going to laugh himself, in disbelief, when one of my
prayers ARE actually answered.