Earlier this week, Thomas, Mickey and I got to go with Ilse to Alotenango, a nearby town with a Health Center. Let’s just say that this clinic was unlike any I’ve ever been to, and I’d like to think that I’ve seen my fair share of clinics. We walked up and down the hilly streets in a crazy rainstorm, finally reaching the clinic at the bottom of a steep set of stairs. It could have been anything from the outside.
Inside, there was a green waiting room with a few chairs and one small television at the front playing what looked like a soap opera from the seventies. The doctor came and led us to his office, which was also the exam room. The men and I sat on chairs and the exam table while Ilse explained about Hope Haven and their need of new patients. The doctor started to laugh.
I don’t speak much Spanish, but it seems to me that—universally speaking—a doctor laughing is either a very good thing or a very bad thing. Turns out, it was definitely a GOD-thing. This doctor had received a call the day before from another village asking for just such help. There’s a small boy with cerebal palsy who hasn’t moved since he was born. A wheelchair would provide him and his family with much needed mobility.
Within about twenty minutes of being in the clinic, Ilse had five new clients—mostly children—that needed to be evaluated and then fitted for wheelchairs. We’d also talked with most of the clinic staff, given out half a dozen applications for wheelchairs and been asked to go on several house calls.
As we walked out, Ilse looked at me and smiled. “The wheelchair is just a tool, Heather,” she said. “Now, we can tell them about Jesus.”
