We arrived at Rift Valley General Hospital a little before 11 a.m.
Our team had been waiting for this visit all week. We had never been to a hospital before, and we all prayed for favor and miracle during the bumpy car ride there.
We were greeted by a man named Peter and given a tour of the grounds. The wings of the hospital spread out under open skies and cover hundreds of patients and 60 staff. We walked under a roof of aluminum sheets and a sidewalk encroached by gardens encroached by weeds. Alternating in the windows were patients and piles of old equipment pressed against the rusted windows. The buildings were all equal in their shade of pale yellow, dulled further by the rain.
As we walked, Peter asked me if we were able to dig and clean and cut the grass. (As an aside, Kenyans mostly believe that Americans are incapable of manual labor.) He led us to a building tucked in the back corner of the hospital and handed us rubber boots. We exchanged them for our shoes and walked in the ill-fitting boots back across the campus. We settled near the kitchen, and he handed us rubber gloves and our assignment — cleaning sewers.
***
The first thing they tell you is: No expectations.
Your route may change; ours has. Your teams may change; ours have. Your ministry may look different than what you read on your setup sheet; ours does every month.
The only exception to no expectations is to believe that God will be there in big ways.
We believed that on Friday at the hospital. Even while sweeping sewers with brooms to wide to work, we believed.
***
At 1 p.m., we broke for lunch, expecting to eat and then visit patients before heading home.
We watched nurses carry food in tin buckets to the spread wings of the hospital. It was 1:15.
We were promised lunch in ten minutes and told not to worry. It was 2:05.
We watched students and staff eat their lunch right in front of us. It was 2:45.
We heard the news that there was no lunch for us. It was 3:05.
We saw our guide from the hospital and asked him what had happened. He said not to worry, just to wait, that now he did have food. He served us too-hot-to-drink tea. It was 3:15.
We were approached by a woman who wanted to take us to the laboratory. It was 3:16. We finished our tea.
At 3:50, 10 minutes before we were supposed to go, we were served a bowl of rice.
***
We never saw a patient that day. We prayed for no one. No one was healed.
As we sat for three hours just waiting for food, I was angry with God. My thoughts drifted. Why had He given us such high expectations for a day that led to nothing but disappointment? What was the purpose of bringing us there only to work for two hours and be bored for three?
What if I never witness a healing on the Race?
Sometimes I struggle with my faith, and I think that if I only once told a blind man to see in the name of Jesus, and he saw, that I would never doubt again. But then I think about Peter, who witnessed the raising of Jairus' daughter from the dead, who saw the transfiguration and heard the voice of the Lord, who declared Jesus as the Christ. He doubted. Thomas saw Jesus crucified and then three days later, saw him again, but didn't believe until he felt the holes in his hands.
Jesus said to him, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed."
I believe, but I still want to see.
Our pastor arrived to pick us up, and we piled into his hatchback. I got into the trunk and watched the hospital shrink as we drove away. It was 4:33.
