Hope

Kirstie Randall, Ward Supervisor, wrote these words just a week ago as we celebrated Easter on the ship and she has given me permission to share them with you, my faithful blog readers!

"Isn’t it incredible that we get to believe that hope rises from dead places and that impossible stones can be rolled away? I heard these words the other day and was reminded once again what a privilege it is to be part of bringing hope and healing in this place. As I sit and type in my little office on Deck 3, I’m thinking of the hundreds of Mercy Shippers around the world who work tirelessly to help make this happen and I’m forever grateful for each one. It’s difficult to know how to express that thanks – even to those a few feet away on decks above and below me. But I know the things that fill my heart and make it all seem worthwhile are the times I see a patient face to face and see hope rise in their eyes and wish you could each share these moments too. So wherever you are in the world reading this, whether it’s oceans away or a deck above or below, let the taste of life on Deck 3 that I share here fill your heart and come as a huge thanks for being a part of this unique and precious body.

Imagine having lost your baby in prolonged labour. Imagine having a hole in your bladder that means you leak urine – the whole time. Imagine being rejected by your family because, basically, you don’t smell very nice. Imagine living with the stench of stale urine that never ever goes away. Not ever. Imagine the hopelessness. Imagine thinking that this is forever. How would you feel? How would you heave yourself up from your sleeping mat on the dusty floor every day? Imagine thinking that you’re the only one – that there’s no one else who understands. It’s a story that we’ve heard told again and again during these last 7 weeks of Obstetric Fistula surgery on board. But the stories didn’t end there. Imagine finding out that there is a place where hope is born every day. Imagine hearing that there are people who can help… imagine stepping foot on our big white ship for the very first time.

And so these ladies arrive. We group them into a ward of their own – not to isolate them, but to give them a safe space so they’re not surrounded by children running around or people who have no idea what they have been through. They each share a living space for anywhere from a week to several weeks whilst they have their surgery and recover from it and what happens is simply beautiful. They share their stories. They realize that they are not the ‘only one’. They begin to hope. They begin to believe that life might get better. They begin to believe that their impossible stones might just get rolled away. People sit with them and hold their hands. They make friendship bracelets and they play Jenga. And in this beautiful place, a haven is created and a hope for a different future is born – and not only that – a hope for each other is born as well. A few weeks back, we had one lady who was not doing so well – she was in pain, still leaking urine and feeling generally pretty yucky. One of the nurses saw her crying and when asked why, she discovered that they were not tears of sadness or self pity but tears of joy. She said she was just so happy for the lady in the bed next to her who was now healed.  How easy would you find it to rejoice when others rejoice… even when your deepest hope is not yet realized for yourself? Isn’t it beautiful?

And in amongst this haven of hope, the ladies sing. Most of our patients get to climb up to Deck 7 every afternoon for an hour or so of air and a glimpse of life beyond our windowless Deck 3. But since this special group of ladies aren’t allowed to climb the stairs whilst they heal, the nurses and translators have created a daily – twice daily – sometimes even more often than that – routine to keep them from lying in bed ALL day long. They just simply walk up and down the corridor and sing and there’s nothing like the sound of it wafting it’s way into my office. It’s eerily beautiful and I know in these moments it’s not just about the singing. They harmonise and sing words of thanks to God. It’s stunning in itself but something far bigger is happening than just that. As the ladies sing, I know that God’s Spirit is thick upon them. There’s safety, there’s acceptance, there’s love, there’s freedom, there’s healing for hearts that have lived with the deepest kind of rejection I could ever imagine and the hope that was born continues to grow. Whether they know it or not, Jesus is walking those corridors with them and breathing new life into them. I know He is. I can feel it. And I can see it written on their faces. Chains are being broken and it makes my heart soar. 

I could tell you more tales from Deck 3 but time is short… but what you need to know is that no matter where in the world you might be reading this, you are part of these stories too.

Thank you for believing that hope can rise from dead places and impossible stones can be rolled away for the hundreds of God’s precious children who walk these corridors of hope.  Isn’t it a privilege?  "

Each of the VVF ladies is given a new dress when they are discharged from the hospital.  The dress ceremony is a celebration of hope and new beginnings!