Chalk

We were learning how to dig proper pit latrines that day. Sandy, the nurse director, was standing at the chalkboard and attempting to draw a diagram for the community health worker students. The ragged piece of chalk screeched against the wall, but left no mark. Sandy broke off the dirty tip, the chalk was reapplied to the board, and the lesson continued successfully.

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I had a rough day this past week; nothing went according to 'my' plan. When the large number of patients at the clinic began to dwindle, there were more patients arriving to be seen, a surgery to assist with, cleaning to be done. Just when I was preparing to get my 2pm lunch, I received some bad news.

A few days ago, Tita came to the clinic with a nasty axe wound. There had been a small artery severed, and I applied pressure to stop the bleeding. The bleeding stopped, I cleansed the wound and sutured her lateral right leg with 11 stitches. Unfortunately, Tita had to walk home, but the wound was clean and dry when she left the clinic.

So when her son reported to me that Tita was at home with a "very swollen" leg, I was frightened that the artery had torn and bled into the tissues. I felt very guilty that I may have caused someone damage and stressed about practicing beyond my level of expertise.

After clinic, Dr Rob and I biked through a group of villages in Doro and tried to find Tita's home. The day was oppressively hot, but black clouds and a heavy wind suddenly swept down on us as we rode. Lightning repeatedly snaked from the ominous sky to waving trees; I pedaled faster along the rutted dirt path. Farther into the village, we stopped and I inquired in basic Mabaan where Tita lived. Apparently I didn't get the message across because a small boy led us to the tukul of another Tita. By this time, the clouds were spilling over; Dr Rob and I had no choice but to hustle to the clinic and wait out the storm. When we arrived at the building, we found people who had traveled all day were waiting to be seen.

The storm left deep mud puddles; my flip-flops got stuck as I pushed my bike and sloshed back to base. I felt miserable. I had been so proud of how I had sutured Tita's leg. But I had failed. Failed finding the patient that was reportedly suffering from a possible hematoma. Failed to consult Dr Rob prior to sewing up the wound. The weather complemented my mood.

Back at my tukul, I had some quiet time with Jesus. I realized that my anxiety was purposeless. The verses from 1 Peter 5: 5-7 worked to humble and encourage me; "God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble. Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you." I prayed for Tita; only God knew what state of health she was in. I surrendered her to the Great Physician and prayed for her healing.

Early the next morning, I was pleasantly surprised when Tita greeted me at the clinic. I was thrilled that she was well enough to walk from home; I ushered her inside and inspected the leg. To my joy, the incision was healing perfectly! I cleansed and bandaged the wound and praised God for her health. We agreed that God is good and healing is from His hands.

I heard an interesting analogy from a Sudanese man that day at lunch; that believers are chalk in the Master's hand. We surrender ourselves to Him, and He uses us to draw out His plan. We are imperfect and crumbly, and when we are finished, He uses another piece to continue His work. The chalk has no glory in itself; its purpose is to contribute to the big picture. The chalk cannot see how it is being used by the Teacher or how its life will be spent. The Teacher sees the whole blackboard at once, but the chalk is spent on a 2D plane.

Isaiah uses a similar metaphor for Jesus' sovereignty; "We are the clay, and You our potter; and all we are the work of Your hand," (Is. 64:8). Therefore, "we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellence of the power may be of God and not of us," (2 Cor. 4:7). I'm encouraged that Christ is the Author and, by His grace, we are the imperfect tools He uses.