What is Poverty?

When I was in Tchaguine, I met a 40 year old woman named Masana. She hadn't eaten solid food or drank much of anything for 4 months. Her family kept her in the hut while she practically rotted away from a disease that no one cared to treat. When Diane and I went to visit her, it was much too late to restore her physical health. But as we sat there, flies swarming, the smell of months of urine seeping through the grass mat, Masana was living in what was closest to hell you could get on earth. We prayed with her, Diane read stories from the Bible to her, and she acknowledged (as much as anyone who is half-dead can) that Jesus is the Savior.

Yesterday, I was at my uncle's retirement party. The food was great, and there was such an abundance that the waiters and waitresses would come around and pick up the empty plates as people went up to get more food. As I sat there, looking down at my mashed potatoes, fried chicken, pasta and breadsticks, Masana flashed into my mind. In that moment I realized something. We were living in what was closest to heaven as you could get on earth, but some people in the room may not ever accept Jesus.

So who is poor?

From whom much has been given...

This trip has made me keenly aware of the privileges I have. I am one of few who can say that I have grown up in a country with a beautiful Christian heritage, with access to an education, financial freedom to pursue that education, and a supportive and loving family behind me in the process. I have been given intelligence and the ability to excel in classes. I have been given good health and freedom from mental illness. So what? How am I going to steward these gifts and blessings?
Before going to Chad, I was seriously considering not applying to medical school. I was considering at least taking a year off (which isn't bad at all... still considering it in the back of my mind), rethinking the whole medical career. It wasn't until this trip that I realized my true underlying motivations for wanting to back out of something I have been passionate about since I was 5.
I am deathly afraid of failure.
Through this trip, I have realized that I not only have all these privileges, but I have a sovereign God who works for my good, who delights in my work, and who wants me to walk by faith, not by sight. He has given me a passion for medicine, and I am going to trust that He is going to use that passion in me.
So from now on, I'm not going to fear.
I'm not going to do schoolwork half-hearted.
I'm not going to cringe at medical school applications.
I am going to pursue excellence in my classes.
I am going to ask God for wisdom and perseverance, and let Him guide me through the rest of my education.
And I am going to rejoice and thank Him for everything he has given me.

Her Name was Kuyom

She was 7 years old. She came to our VBS that we were doing, just a mini-skirt, and nothing else on. She was a cutie. Her dad, Capitan, is a good friend of the Vanderkoois. She died today, after being sick only since Sunday.
We went to the compound where the koo kina mati was going on, about an hour after she died. They hadn't wrapped the body yet or buried it. All the men were sitting outside the compound, and all the women were gathered around the family and the body, weeping and wailing. Capitan is currently in nursing school in the capital, so when he got the call that his daughter was ill he headed home, but he didn't make it back in time. His other children were wailing, crying for their dad. This scene happens all too often, and since I have been in Chad, I have been to 3 koo kina matis, and there have been several other deaths as well. Last weekend, 3 infants died within a few hours of each other. I went to visit a lady named Masana who will probably die soon. On the way to visit those who are sick, I meet more who are ill.
How long, oh Lord? How long until you redeem the earth? Until there are no more tears?

It's a Boy!

Yesterday I thought I would stop by the clinic, just to say hi to the workers and see if there was anything going on. Much to my surprise, there was a girl, probably 16 or 17, who had just gone into labor and was about to deliver her first baby. Epaphras, the nurse at the clinic, shooed me in the way of the baby birthing room, and soon enough I was standing next to the girl and her mother, fanning her to keep the flies off as she went into labor. I can honestly say it was one of the most surreal experiences I've had since being in Chad. I don't know that I would have guessed that I would be cheering on a  girl, most likely 5 years younger than me, while she brings her first baby into the world.
Most women don't name their babies until about a month later, when they are sure it will survive for a while at least. Especially with their first child, the chances of surviving are not all that great. Many times, if you ask someone how many children they have, they will say how many are living and how many have died, and in my experience there are usually 2 or 3 (sometimes more) that have died, unless the person is really lucky. A lot of this can be easily prevented, a lot of it they have the resources for, and I haven't even scratched the surface of understanding how healthcare works in this culture. One thing I do know is that everyone here has confronted death. They process it. They take time to grieve. And I have learned a lot from their perspective.