kneel down here

The original title of this post was going to be 'bang head here'.
Maybe you can relate.
Have you ever been frustrated? So frustrated you want to cry? Scream? Throw something? Walk away? Give up?
Today I was at a loss for words, I was even angry for a bit. It seemed like around every corner there was a brick wall in front of me.

It started out with hopeful news for one of my patients, we might be able to do his surgery after all. I was happy for him, excited to tell him the plan. Another biopsy, a different surgeon, just tell us 'yes'.
Except he didn't. He actually would hardly look us in the eye. The fetish priest, aka 'traditional healer' told him we would leave him with a big wound, and that's only if he didn't die like apparently "many" do. The room was heavy, everyone looked as though they could feel the weight. Our message of good news was unwanted, WE were the enemy. Prayers seemed like a dim flame, flickering in a dark room. Oh Andre, how can I show you?

Next was Madjida, a sweet old man with a big smile, minus one front tooth. After praying he promptly told us about how Jesus was just a prophet. He said he didn't want to get into it, that Muslims and Christians war over that same conversation. I spoke the only words I could come up with, I don't know how to have these talks...
"We worship God, and yes, we believe Jesus is His son. He was the living example of love, we are just following that model. We are trying to love."

Then there's Pania. A little two year old with a massive tumor slowly taking his life. I didn't mention before that my best guess is that he has also had a stroke. When chemotherapy is given without steroids, swelling can occur in the brain. In his case this resulted in no use of his left arm and a weakness in his left leg that causes him to slowly limp wherever he goes. Basically, the doctor in the 'hospital' here messed up by my estimations. Then he sent him to the ship for us to bring the bad news that no, this little boy will die without a miracle.
Awesome.

Onto my Burkitt's kids. I brought them on Monday, got a call on Tuesday they had no running or drinking water, and Wednesday learned even more ways the hospital was trying to purposely hassle them. Not allowed to go outside the gates for food, the parents were forced to eat the expensive food inside. The lack of water wasn't hospital-wide, if they paid they could go take a shower. The same went for use of the toilette. Every day this week we were there, and everyday something new came up. The free stay, as agreed upon with Mercy Ships, was now going to cost us. Shocker.

All day God was good, He provided glimpses of joy as a means of encouraging my mom and I. As I carried little Luc down the stairs of the hospital, ready to be discharged, followed by our entire Burkitt's entourage, post second round, I felt good. Really good.
On Thursdays I pray with a couple of friends, and tonight my friend Meg and I bowed our heads, tired and weary from long days.

God, this is so frustrating. Why does it have to be so hard?


Suzanne,
I see Andre.
I know Madjida,
I hold Pania in the palm of my hand,
I love Maddie, Rachelle, and Luc.
They are mine.

All day I was saying 'bang head here'. Tonight, as I prayed, and quietly surrendered everything, instead of my own voice I heard;

Give it to me, its not yours. Its ok.
kneel down here.