Another flicker of lightning illuminated the interior of the woven-stick hut. Flashes were so constant, I felt like a strobe light had been set atop the kitchen tukul. I ignited a charcoal fire in a jiko (pot) and gathered supplies to make chicken-pot-pie. Although only 4:30 pm, the sky was as dark as night, and rain dumped like Victoria Falls over Mabaan County. In between eerie flashes, I worked by the light of the flame's glowing coals.
Grace, a Mabaan lady who works on the compound, was caught in the downpour. She finished hanging clothes up (to dry later), then dashed into the kitchen. Grace was completely drenched, and being accustomed to 30/40-degree C weather, she was shivering from the cold rain. We laughed and chatted for a bit, but I saw that she was uncomfortably cold. Hearing the deluge fade to a gentle patter, I spontaneously dashed toward my tukul to bring some dry clothes for Grace.
Brick paths are set upon the bare dirt all around the compound; they serve as elevated walkways through the mire when downpours occur. In my hurry, I did not heed loose bricks, and found my leap across a waterway severely curtailed. My first toe on my left foot got caught and twisted; I found myself hugging the mud and, judging from the pain, I thought that my toenail had come off. After rinsing off the blood and mud, I found the offending appendage to be punctured, bruised, swollen and immobile. I had never felt such pain (but then I haven't experienced much), and I found it almost humorous that I should dislocate my toe in Doro where there is no ice. I had ample time that weekend to sit and contemplate suffering and how it can be beneficial; the violet toe, elevated on my exercise ball, stared back at me like a bloodshot eye.
My toe seemed so insignificant when compared with the physical suffering of the Mabaan people living around me in this Upper Nile State. Fifteen-year old Angelina was in labor for three days with her first child before setting out with her family to seek medical assistance. They journeyed for two days, only to have hospitals turn them away because of weekend hours. Angelina was in her fifth day of labor when she arrived at the Doro clinic. Dr Rob was present to aid her with the complicated delivery of a little boy... a child who survived only minutes after the traumatic birth. Too exhausted even to mourn the loss of their first baby, the teenage couple seemed relieved to have survived the ordeal. Angelina faces a long road to recovery as her body fights infection and repairs itself. She is being cared for at the clinic, and I wonder what she is feeling when she hears the robust cries of newborns.
Emotional pain stabs far deeper than physical injury and can leave lasting scars that threaten to dehisce. David, in Psalm 31, mourns; "My eye wastes away with grief, yes, my soul and my body!" (vs 9). Dr Rob and his brothers took a four-wheeling trip through the bush to a distant village last weekend. The trip was arduous; one of the quads had a malfunctioning air-filter, and the dusty journey required the piece to be disassembled and cleaned every dozen kilometers. However, their journey was worth the pain. They were preparing one of our Community Health Workers to establish his own clinic there for the people. At church that Sunday, the people of Kortumback told their story with tears of anguish. During the past three months, the rains had turned the surrounding land into an impassible swamp. Without access to medical care, fifty-six of their children had died due to preventable diseases. Spontaneously during the service, one of the people asked how they could have a relationship with Jesus and prayed with the pastor.
The Southern Sudanese people have been touched by the pain of warfare, loss of family, disease, displacement from home. They carry deep pain and each can share a story worthy of a transcribed biography. In the past few days, however, I witnessed a young man suffer for Truth. Abraham was protecting what belonged to the new mission clinic when he stopped some local people from stealing building supplies. He wasn't employed by the clinic; didn't have any other motive to protect hospital property. When those who were thieving discovered his name, they sought him out and attacked Abraham with bwongs. Abraham came to the clinic with two severe lacerations on his head, and another puncture on his neck. He simply said that he had been in a fight. I judged him as one of the many alcoholics that presents at the clinic with various ailments. It wasn't until the second time he came for a dressing change that someone told me his story. Abraham sat quietly as his stitches were examined without thought of retribution or reward. He just did what was morally right.
Grace, a Mabaan lady who works on the compound, was caught in the downpour. She finished hanging clothes up (to dry later), then dashed into the kitchen. Grace was completely drenched, and being accustomed to 30/40-degree C weather, she was shivering from the cold rain. We laughed and chatted for a bit, but I saw that she was uncomfortably cold. Hearing the deluge fade to a gentle patter, I spontaneously dashed toward my tukul to bring some dry clothes for Grace.
Brick paths are set upon the bare dirt all around the compound; they serve as elevated walkways through the mire when downpours occur. In my hurry, I did not heed loose bricks, and found my leap across a waterway severely curtailed. My first toe on my left foot got caught and twisted; I found myself hugging the mud and, judging from the pain, I thought that my toenail had come off. After rinsing off the blood and mud, I found the offending appendage to be punctured, bruised, swollen and immobile. I had never felt such pain (but then I haven't experienced much), and I found it almost humorous that I should dislocate my toe in Doro where there is no ice. I had ample time that weekend to sit and contemplate suffering and how it can be beneficial; the violet toe, elevated on my exercise ball, stared back at me like a bloodshot eye.
My toe seemed so insignificant when compared with the physical suffering of the Mabaan people living around me in this Upper Nile State. Fifteen-year old Angelina was in labor for three days with her first child before setting out with her family to seek medical assistance. They journeyed for two days, only to have hospitals turn them away because of weekend hours. Angelina was in her fifth day of labor when she arrived at the Doro clinic. Dr Rob was present to aid her with the complicated delivery of a little boy... a child who survived only minutes after the traumatic birth. Too exhausted even to mourn the loss of their first baby, the teenage couple seemed relieved to have survived the ordeal. Angelina faces a long road to recovery as her body fights infection and repairs itself. She is being cared for at the clinic, and I wonder what she is feeling when she hears the robust cries of newborns.
Emotional pain stabs far deeper than physical injury and can leave lasting scars that threaten to dehisce. David, in Psalm 31, mourns; "My eye wastes away with grief, yes, my soul and my body!" (vs 9). Dr Rob and his brothers took a four-wheeling trip through the bush to a distant village last weekend. The trip was arduous; one of the quads had a malfunctioning air-filter, and the dusty journey required the piece to be disassembled and cleaned every dozen kilometers. However, their journey was worth the pain. They were preparing one of our Community Health Workers to establish his own clinic there for the people. At church that Sunday, the people of Kortumback told their story with tears of anguish. During the past three months, the rains had turned the surrounding land into an impassible swamp. Without access to medical care, fifty-six of their children had died due to preventable diseases. Spontaneously during the service, one of the people asked how they could have a relationship with Jesus and prayed with the pastor.
The Southern Sudanese people have been touched by the pain of warfare, loss of family, disease, displacement from home. They carry deep pain and each can share a story worthy of a transcribed biography. In the past few days, however, I witnessed a young man suffer for Truth. Abraham was protecting what belonged to the new mission clinic when he stopped some local people from stealing building supplies. He wasn't employed by the clinic; didn't have any other motive to protect hospital property. When those who were thieving discovered his name, they sought him out and attacked Abraham with bwongs. Abraham came to the clinic with two severe lacerations on his head, and another puncture on his neck. He simply said that he had been in a fight. I judged him as one of the many alcoholics that presents at the clinic with various ailments. It wasn't until the second time he came for a dressing change that someone told me his story. Abraham sat quietly as his stitches were examined without thought of retribution or reward. He just did what was morally right.
People who are persecuted for their faith in Jesus Christ experience the most meaningful type of suffering. We are mortal beings; physical suffering will always have an end. Emotional turmoil will terminate in heaven as well; "And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away," (Revelation 21:4). But the effects of identifying with Jesus in His death and resurrection will live forever. Jesus is our Great High Priest who constantly lives to make intercession for us. When Jesus spoke with Saul on the road to Damascus, He said "Why are you persecuting Me?" (Acts 9:4) in the present tense. Saul was persecuting the Christians, and Jesus said that he was hurting Him. What a comfort that we can partake in the sufferings of Jesus, and that He identifies with us.
Greater still is the benefit of persecution; "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. For the earnest expectation of the creation eagerly waits for the revealing of the sons of God," (Romans 8:18-19). May I learn, like Paul, to "count all things as rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having my own righteousness, which is from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ, the righteousness which is from God by faith; that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death," (Philippians 3: 8-10).
In light of the suffering that surrounded me in Mabaan, my toe was of little consequence. Although it pained me, it was not spiritual or emotional suffering. And, despite dislocation, it went back to being a benign appendage very soon. Discomforts remind me to echo Paul's writing once again in 2 Corinthians 5:4; "For we who are in this tent groan, being burdened, not because we want to be unclothed, but further clothed, that mortality may be swallowed up by life."
Greater still is the benefit of persecution; "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. For the earnest expectation of the creation eagerly waits for the revealing of the sons of God," (Romans 8:18-19). May I learn, like Paul, to "count all things as rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having my own righteousness, which is from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ, the righteousness which is from God by faith; that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death," (Philippians 3: 8-10).
In light of the suffering that surrounded me in Mabaan, my toe was of little consequence. Although it pained me, it was not spiritual or emotional suffering. And, despite dislocation, it went back to being a benign appendage very soon. Discomforts remind me to echo Paul's writing once again in 2 Corinthians 5:4; "For we who are in this tent groan, being burdened, not because we want to be unclothed, but further clothed, that mortality may be swallowed up by life."
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