I didn’t walk into the local hospital of Nakuru, Kenya….I dragged myself. The gloomy rooms reeked with the smell of illness and the air was heavy with invisible hopelessness. Sick babies cried relentlessly in their mothers arms. Families who had been waiting days to see a doctor camped outside the waiting area. Solemn faces glared at me, the mzungu missionary, as I trudged along. Pastor Kimani slowly led me through the dim hallways, into a large room filled with suffering patients.
“Now, you minister to them.”
My eyes scanned the room. Hospital beds crowded every crevice, and each bed was occupied with someone in need of much more than just a handshake and a prayer. My heart was overwhelmed with hopelessness.
What can my little prayers do? They need so much more. Lord, help me!
I spotted a woman sitting in a corner bed, next to the window. She sat facing the rest of the room, her face blank of emotion. I approached her, unsure how to “minister.” I started up a small conversation, possible only through the use of a translator. With her face void of emotion, she shared part of her story with me and I listened actively, engaging where I could with questions.
“Hello! My name is Shanna. I’m from the United States. What is your name?”
“My name is Florence.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Florence! How old are you?”
“I don’t know. I think I am 24 or 25.”
“We are almost the same age! I am 24. You can be 24 with me, if you’d like! What happened to your leg?”
“My brother beat me.”
Florence lifts her long skirt to reveal a badly beaten and bruised leg. Dried blood has stained the tattered bandages. She also points to scars on her arms, which I assume are from the same incident. I wince at the sight of her injuries, wondering how anyone, especially a family membe,r could do such a thing.
“Oh no, that is terrible. I’m sorry to hear that. Is your leg healing fast?”
“I don’t know.”
Her leg looks as though the beating happened yesterday. I worry how bad of shape she was in when she arrived to the hospital.
“How long have you been in the hospital?”
“One month.”
Pastor Kimani informed me earlier that many of the patients are from extreme poverty in the rural areas surrounding Nakuru. They often cannot pay their hospital bills, so they are forced to remain in the hospital until their family can pay. Even the simplest injury may result in one staying weeks at a time.
“That’s a long time. I hope you can return home soon! Are you ready to go home?”
“Yes. I want to see my baby.”
“You have a baby? That’s wonderful! How old is your baby?”
“She is 14. I was raped by an older married man when I was a child. Now I have my baby.”
“I’m so sorry Florence. I do hope you can see your baby girl soon. Can I pray for you?”
As I prayed for Florence, my mind scrambled for the words to say. My voice cracked as tears welled in my eyes. I made my best effort to hold myself together, afraid of showing Florence the reality of how terrible her situation was. I prayed hard for healing and for hope. However, as I spoke the words, my heart felt hopeless. My prayer was so small. Florence’s problems were enormous.
After “amen-ing,” I sat next to Florence for a minute, rubbing her back with my left hand, holding her hand in my right. I wanted to do more. I wanted to see her smile.
So, I unzipped my bag and pulled out my iPod.
I scrolled the songs, searching for something. Anything.
I passed her my ear buds and clicked Play.
“I’m a Survivor” by Destiny’s Child played in Florence’s ears. She listened intently.
When the song finished, I had the translator convey the lyrics to her in Swahili. Her face remained emotionless. However, it was okay. Maybe it brought her joy and hope, somewhere inside, where I could not see. Somewhere invisible. We said our good-byes and I promised to visit her again. I promised to pray for her.
God, that was so hard. I didn’t know what to do, other than pray and play a song for her. I can’t imagine how hard her life is. Lord, bring her healing – for her leg, and for her heart. Give her hope that things are going to be okay; that you love her; you will never forsake her; you will take care of her. Lord, give me hope that you are using me; that my prayers are powerful because your Spirit resides in me; that Florence’s heart is touched by your Spirit. Give us all hope that this work we do is not in vain; that our futures are in your hands. Amen.
To be continued….
