Perspective

Last week wasn't awesome.  I (Peter) was frustrated - okay, I was angry - on a number of fronts.  The other day one of the writers onboard asked if I would be willing to share a brief story about my time in Africa or on the Africa Mercy.  Writing it provided the perspective that I needed to shake out of my funk.  Thanks, Gracie.

Here it is:

How do you describe a changed life?  Where does one begin to express the depth of gratitude for a transformed heart?  Mercy Ships is about changed lives.  It is not what we do, it is who we are.  In the past seven years onboard the Africa Mercy I have seen physical, emotional, and spiritual transformation that defy reason and logic; miraculous healing, lives mended, hearts born anew, brokenness made whole.  My heart leaps for joy each time a Mercy Ships crew member impacts the life of those we are called to serve, in whatever capacity that may be.  Words cannot adequately express the glory of this process.

It is not these changed lives that I struggle most to describe, though.  It is my own.  When I first arrived in West Africa I was assaulted by experiences and sensations that I had no frame of reference for; physical destruction, ravaged bodies, trash-strewn roads, filthy water, oppressive heat, and a worldview and approach to life that was completely foreign to me – even after cross-cultural training.

Time, relationships, and the unrelenting love of those we come to serve have worked a gradual metamorphosis of my heart and paradigm.  The circumstances of life in the West and Central African nations that we serve is much the same as it was seven years ago when I first arrived.   However now I see beauty, opportunity, unfathomable joy…  I weep for the times that my vision falters and mourn the loss of a day spent doing anything other than reveling in the glorious adventure I am fortunate to be a part of.

Regardless of how long I stay or where I go next, these years will always be ones that I can celebrate as transformational.  West and Central Africa are not comprised of ‘developing nations’ to me.  They are where I learned that pain and joy are not mutually exclusive; to savor the lingering heat of pepper sauce at the back of my throat, and that plantains will sooth the burn; that many of my assumptions about the world and the teachings of Christ were, at best, narrow; to recognize the trickle of sweat down my back as a reminder of the blessing of this journey; the snap at the end of a handshake; the privilege of learning to see things from a new perspective; and knowing that I need to be transformed by Christ through those we serve at least as much as they need to be transformed by Christ through us.

Guitar Hero

Elijah has been getting guitar lessons from one of our friends, Nick Cash.  Having awesome guys like Nick giving of their time to do something like this (for free, no less) is one of the awesome things about community.

Elijah has been learning incredibly fast and joined Nick in doing worship for our Monday morning community meetings.  We are so proud of Elijah and his commitment to learning this skill, and we are blown away by how incredible he is at it!

Shipping Container Swimming

Okay, so it isn't exactly a shipping container, but it's pretty stinkin' close.  Several years ago someone donated money to have a swimming pool installed on the Africa Mercy.  Though it isn't much to look at (it pretty much is a shipping container with the top cut off that was placed on top of the deck and then a platform was built around) we are so very grateful to have it.  We make use of it frequently and it is a fantastic place for the boys to get some energy out - when there aren't a bunch of people sitting around it who cringe at getting splashed by rambunctious kids.  It is a pool...

Here are some photos of us using the pump-action water guns that Santa brought for Christmas.

Elijah taking aim

Malachi preparing for an attach

I think I missed my calling as a Navy Seal

Xavier leading the charge

Love in Action

The amazing Communication team has put together this phenomenal video called 'Love Is'.  It is absolutely worth watching and reminds us of why we are here, and the privilege that it is.

Love Is

Camping in Congo

Well, I guess we've ticked that one off of our Bucket List.  Seriously, how many American kids (or adults for that matter) can say that they've been camping in Congo?  We had a blast hiking, whittling sticks, roasting hot dogs, climbing trees, and listening to the chimpanzees keep us up all night.  And what camping trip would be complete without a few mishaps?  You'll have to check the captions below to find them...

Xavier got car sick on the ride out.  Peter's has was the chosen receptacle. 

Campfire - the boys had a blast with this.

Peter and Xavier taking it easy and looking at the sky

Elijah and his friend Elliot out hiking

Just a cool photo of the forest/jungle

Elijah found a funnel-web spider

Roasting hot dogs

Malachi and his friend Nathaniel spent a couple hours whittling sticks

Doesn't look too bad but it sure did hurt!  Xavier as swinging on a vine and a large branch came loose from the tree it was attached to and fell about 30 feet onto Peter's head.

Tree walking.  Malachi and Nathaniel had a great time climbing around in one of the big trees.

Nathaniel, Elijah, and Xavier checking out a termite hill.

The trail-head for the hike.  A ladder followed by about a 100 yards of steep incline.

Patient Story - Emmanoel

Elodie refuses to sleep. She wants to be up in case her son wakes. Tonight, her hair is pushed back, and she keeps one hand on her son’s leg at all times. She has to be exhausted; yet, she is acutely alert. What is it about mothers that “kicks in” on long nights like these?

If not for his surgery this morning, Elodie’s son, Emmanoel, would have died by suffocation before his third birthday. A tumor in his mouth cut off his airway to the point that he was passing out three times a day. Emmanoel’s shallow and labored breathing sounded like a perpetual asthma attack. Every breath he took made those around him feel restless and eager to do something – find an inhaler, an EpiPen, an ambulance . . . anything.

In the last year and a half, Elodie and her husband, Maurice, had tried everything. At first, doctors told them that their infant son had “just malaria.” But, as Emmanoel grew, his breathing worsened. In early 2013, they took him to Kinshasa, the capital of neighboring Democratic Republic of Congo. It was there that doctors identified the culprit – a tumor growing from Emmanoel’s palate was slowly suffocating him. He needed an operation, they said, but it was not a surgery that they would do.

With each day after their return home, Emmanoel’s intermittent breathing worsened, and he began losing consciousness. His blackouts became so regular that Elodie no longer rushed him to the hospital. Maurice also stopped sleeping at night because he was afraid Emmanoel would suffocate before the dawn.

Maurice and Elodie were out of options and resources, and their son was almost out of time. Now losing consciousness three times a day, they feared that, eventually, he would pass out and not wake up again.

Soon Maurice was no longer the only one up each night – Emmanoel could not sleep either. His body would wake him up, gasping for air. The result was a sleep-deprived, short-of-breath toddler sitting in his weary father’s lap.

Between sleepless nights at home, Maurice worked in Pointe Noire’s shipping port. On a hazy Friday in early August, he saw an unusual ship pull in – it was rumored to have a hospital onboard.

For the next three weeks, Maurice and Elodie counted down each day until Mercy Ships doctors would begin seeing patients. That day came on Wednesday, August 28th, when Emmanoel and his parents waited in a line of more than 7,300 people to be seen by Mercy Ships. Before Emmanoel reached the front of the line, he had already passed out at least once and required the attention of the Mercy Ships Emergency Medical Team.  

Emmanoel was scheduled for surgery onboard the Africa Mercy, and, within a few days, he became one of Mercy Ships’ first patients in Congo. “I don’t know how he survived this long; I really don’t,” Dr. Mark Shrime, Emmanoel’s surgeon, said during the operation.

In his adult-size hospital bed, two-year-old Emmanoel looks even smaller than usual tonight. He’s hooked up to lots of beeping machines. Elodie sits at his bedside like a determined watchdog. Maurice has gone home for the night to care for Emmanoel’s older brother and sister. During rounds this evening, Mercy Ships surgeons and nurses huddled over Emmanoel’s bed. “See all of these nurses?” a crewmember asked Elodie. “He is in very good hands. You should try to get some sleep.”

Elodie nodded in the direction of the comment but kept her focus on Emmanoel. The translator laughed, “No, I don’t think she will do that,” he said in English. But there was no need to translate Elodie’s disinterest in sleep. The tenacity of parents with sick children is the same in every language.

Emmanoel has never been able to speak. When he had the tumor in his mouth, he could only make certain noises. He called Elodie “ch-ch-ch.”

“I can’t wait to hear my son say my name,” Elodie says. Perhaps the hope she has for the future is the source of her “motherhood adrenaline” tonight . . .

That night was the last sleepless night for Elodie. Today, she is well-rested and energized by the sound of her child’s voice. In three weeks’ time, Emmanoel has become a different child, smiling on the dock in the arms of his doting parents. With each day, Emmanoel continues to heal and grow and breathe. He has learned to say three words in French, starting with mother and uncle. He isn’t able to say father yet, but Elodie insists that Maurice doesn’t mind. Instead, Maurice is happiest to hear Emmanoel say the word demain, which means tomorrow.

Tonight, as the sun sets over Congo, Maurice and Elodie will sleep soundly once again . . . because their child will live to see tomorrow.

 

Maurice and Emmanoel

Elodie and Emmanoel

Dr. Michelle (anaesthitist) and Elodie

Story by Catherine Murphy
Edited by Nancy Predaina
Photos by Josh Callow, Ryan Cardoza, Catherine Murphy, and Michelle Murrey

Coming 'Home'

Home...  Ask our kids where that is and you'll get several different answers: Washington, Texas, the ship, cabin 6315, Africa.  However, if you ask them where they're from it's a unanimous - "Washington".  However they have spent very little of the last seven years there.  Our decision was to budget for making it back 'home' every three years.  This coming summer is three years since the last time we were back together as a family.  To be blunt, we can't afford to financially.  Just as honestly, we can't afford not to emotionally.  We love our life here and continue to be blessed by our calling to be a part of the ministry of Mercy Ships on the Africa Mercy, and we need a break.  We would love to reconnect with family and friends, for our kids (especially Xavier) to experience 4th of July, and for Dara and I to recharge our batteries a bit.


We recognize that many who read this blog are already supporting us - thank you! - and that others are struggling themselves financially.  Also, some are unable to commit to a regular monthly support payment.  Perhaps, however, some would like to make a tax deductible end of year donation or would like to support a specific initiative. 

The biggest challenge is airfare.  We are several thousand dollars short.  If you are able to help out, please visit this website to give through Mercy Ships (tax deductible in the US).  Any amount helps!