Florence was on my mind and in my prayers the entire week following our hospital visit. Despite the dreary environment, I couldn’t wait to return to the hospital to see her.
This time, I prepared my heart in advance for what I would encounter. Or at least I thought I did.
I arrived at the small African hospital with my daypack on. I filled it with markers, paper, fingernail polishes and my iPod. My heart had spent 7 days burdened for the patients cooped up inside the local hospital’s grey walls. I wanted to bring them something to tear their mind from the sickness, boredom and hopelessness they felt. I wanted to bring Joy. Life. Hope.
Florence was easy to find in the familiar room; she was in the same corner bed by the window. I expected to see an unchanged blank look on her face, staring into the invisible air in front of her. However, to my surprise, she did have emotion on her face….JOY! She waved and smiled at me as I walked towards her. I quickly embraced her, and told her how I had been praying for her. I wanted her to know that she is loved and cared about; that God had specifically laid her on my heart the entire week.
I enthusiastically showered her with a myriad of markers and a stack of white papers. I offered to paint her fingernails as I plugged my iPod into small speakers. However, Florence kindly refused my offers. She was content to simply sit and talk. I was taken aback with her reaction to my gifts; I completely expected her to happily receive them as escapes from the mundane dreariness of her corner hospital bed.
Florence’s wounds appeared only slightly better than when I saw her the week before, yet conversation flowed smoothly and she didn’t have to be prompted with a string of questions. She said she was very happy for my visit. It did my heart so much good to see a small spark of joy and hope in her eyes. At the end of our time together, I prayed for her, still burdened by her awful situation…her bandaged leg, abusive brother and the pressures of being a young mother, but encouraged by the hope she seemed to be clinging to.
Florence and I, on the first day our team visited the hospital. Her leg was badly beaten by her brother and she has been in the hospital for a month due to lack of finances to pay her bills to leave.
As we left the hospital, my thoughts were wrapped up in my previous conversation with Florence. Our team was walking past the grassy courtyard of the hospital when a terrifying scream tore me from my thoughts. A Kenyan lady, with her hands covering her face, ran from the nearby waiting area and lunged her body into the grassy area, face first. She shouted and sobbed loudly, despite her muffled mouth. The courtyard area grew silent, as everyone stopped what they were doing to focus on this grief-stricken woman.
Our team stood dumbfounded for a moment, but silently and unanimously decided to approach the woman and pray over her. A nearby nurse quickly informed us of what I was already thinking:
Her child had just died in the waiting room…minutes away from seeing a doctor.
My heart broke as I knelt beside her and laid my shaky hand on her back. The team began to pray all at once for this hurting stranger. I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice was too choked to form words. Her body shook with each sob, providing me with a small a glimpse of the immense sadness she must have felt. Tears streamed down my face, as I found myself unable to pray out loud. I simply cried with her, unable to offer any form of hope, not even a prayer, for her pain.
Hebrews 10:23
“Our hope for You is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort.”
2nd Corinthians 1:7
“For to this end we toil and strive, because we have our hope set on the living God, who is the Savior of all people, especially of those who believe.”
1st Timothy 4:10
