It was Thanksgiving Day. In America, that means turkey and stuffing, football and naps, and the best part, family gathered together to celebrate and be thankful. But we were in a foreign country, many miles away from loved ones. And oh, there are no turkeys in Ethiopia.
Andy and I awoke that morning and shared a simple breakfast in the dining room of our hotel. We then walked over to another hotel to meet up with Ethiopia Smile, a group that travels to Ethiopia " to care for orphans, widows, and the elderly with obvious dental infection". We had been connected with Moody Alexander, the leader of Ethiopia Smile, through a series of events preceding our trip and felt privileged to join their team for two days.
To be honest, it was pretty intimidating to walk into a lobby and meet forty strangers, who all obviously knew each other. We searched the room and found Sammy and Beza, and the four of us stood nervously in our matching t-shirts, waiting for instructions.
After a group picture, we piled into vans and set out for the neighborhood of Kare Kore, an impoverished community on the outskirts of Addis Ababa. We had no idea what to expect, but knew that Andy would be doing his thing (dentistry) while Sammy and Beza helped translate. I would be a "patient buddy." And Dawson, a history teacher from Texas (who we'd just met that morning), would be Andy's assistant.
That day our team, partnering with the Lelt Foundation, would be providing dental care (extractions) for the men, women, and children who lived in the area of Kare Kore. "The Lelt foundation provides nutritional and educational support to impoverished children in Ethiopia, and enables their parents to start their own sustainable small businesses."
As our vans pulled up to their main building, my eyes were drawn to the small crowd gathered under a makeshift tent, erected to keep them out of the already blazing sun. A small gate fashioned out of sticks kept the crowd in one place until we were ready for them. I noticed a group of curious children pressed up against the gate, probably wondering what these feringes (non-Ethiopians) were going to do to them. I was drawn to them and felt a strong desire to connect with them somehow. Pulling a small journal out of our backpack, I ripped out a bunch of paper and began making origami frogs. I had learned this valuable skill at sixth grade camp, and perfected it through the years. As a child, I would make paper frogs anytime I was bored - at school, at restaurants, in waiting rooms. (This was before the days of ipods. Kids were forced to entertain themselves with paper- haha!). The frogs are not only cute, but if you press on the back side, they actually jump!
As I started folding the paper, the kids gathered around, watching intently. After finishing the first frog, I held it up for them to see, and then made it jump through the fence into the group of kids. They laughed and smiled and began chattering away in Amharic. I asked them to teach me how to say "frog." Inkurarit. They laughed and laughed as I butchered the pronunciation. One little girl, determined to learn, sat in front of me watching as I made half a dozen more frogs. She then motioned for a piece of paper, and that smart little one did it on her first try. She beamed proudly, holding up her inkurarit for all the others to see.
One of my biggest fears in anticipation of traveling to a foreign country was that I would offend someone - that I would be ignorant of their culture and their customs and would inadvertently offend with my words or actions. I prayed desperately that God would help me to connect with the people I met, and that the love and respect in my heart would transcend any cultural barriers. This sweet time with those children, making paper frogs of all things, was such an answer to that prayer. We couldn't communicate, yet I was able to speak the universal language of play and fun and laughter. It's the children that your heart most breaks for. The innocent ones, the ones who haven't yet learned to distrust, or to fear, or to abandon hope. They come simply, without reservation, and they give freely - hugs, smiles, trust. Oh, how I adore the children we met on our trip there.
At some point they called me away and told me I had to start working. :) I was so excited to be a patient buddy. I loved the concept that Moody and his team had developed from previous trips. Each patient would begin at triage, where a doctor would assess their needs and write on a dental bib which teeth needed to be extracted. They would then be paired with a patient buddy who would walk them through the entire process - from waiting, to the procedure, to the pharmacist. While in the chair, the patient buddy would hold the patient's hand, whispering soothing words, and basically being a presence of peace in a potentially terrifying situation. These people have never been to a dentist. All they know is that they are in pain, and that there are people here to help. Needles and gauze and the strange metal tools are all foreign to them. So, to have one person by their side, holding their hand (literally) through the process, seemed to put everyone more at ease.
The day was extremely fast paced. As soon as I finished with one patient buddy, another one was waiting. The line of people waiting to be seen never seemed to diminish. And the building we were working in was not large. Patients sat in plastic lawn chairs with their heads propped up against the wall. Small tables were set up next to them to hold the dental tools and supplies needed for each procedure. Each doc had an assistant and in some cases, a translator. We were crammed into two rooms, constantly tripping over each other and bumping into each other. We never stopped for lunch. I grabbed a bite of a protein bar and a swig of water whenever I had a few seconds in between patients. It was hot. I had to squat on the floor next to the patient and try to stay out of the way of everyone else. My knees began to ache. My hands hurt from the pressure of nervous patients squeezing the life out of them. We didn't stop all day.
And I loved every. single. minute.
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| Waiting in triage |
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| Beza helping translate during a difficult procedure |
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| Sterilized tools |
One particular patient stood out to me. He was a young-looking man, quiet and slight of build. His clothing was threadbare and old and smelled of dirt and filth, his shoes a size too big and almost worn through the soles. I was paired with him and my first thought was, "How in the world am I supposed to comfort him? He's a man. He is NOT going to want some white girl holding his hand."
We found out he is 37 years old. I touched his arm and smiled. "I am 37 years old too!" He just looked at me. His eyes were wild with fear and I could feel his body trembling as he lay back on the table. Andy took a few minutes to pray for him while Sammy translated. Without thinking, I reached down and grabbed his hand with both of my hands and started praying silently for him. He was a hard case. He had big teeth with big roots, and it took Andy over 45 minutes to extract two teeth. This man probably had been in pain for years, and had learned to live with it. The wild fear never left his eyes, but over the course of time, I felt him begin squeezing my hand back. If he was forced to let go of my hand (in order to spit, or take a drink, or wipe his mouth), he immediately grabbed my hand again and squeezed hard.
I don't even know this man's name, and yet I feel a connection to him, and an affection for him, that is indescribable. For him to let me comfort him during a time where he was probably "supposed" to be strong and immovable - that was an incredibly humbling experience for me. To meet him in his fear and vulnerability, and be able to stand in the gap for him, praying peace over him, is one of the most significant things I have ever done. Such a small thing, yet such a monumental thing. I witnessed the amazing, healing power of touch and it is an experience I will never forget.
Some people argue that missions trips are an ineffective way to help. They say the money spent to travel could be better utilized if it was given directly to the ministries already set up in-country. My question is: Why can't we do both? I don't deny that there are incredible ministries in Ethiopia, Haiti, India, China, etc. that would benefit greatly from our financial support. And we should give. On the other hand, sometimes we also need to go there and see and love and touch and be broken. Witness the beauty of other places, other people, other cultures. To give our statistics (153 millions orphans) a name and a face. To hold one in our arms and weep, and come back home and put that picture on our mirror and pray, and tell the story to someone else. There is value in our presence. There is healing in our touch - not just for them, but for us. When you have a story and a face, you have a connection. Connection leads to compassion, and compassion moves us to action.
Thanksgiving 2013 is one I will never forget. We ended the day by celebrating Sammy's birthday with a delicious Italian meal and amazing conversation with new friends. We fell into bed exhausted and spent, but so very fulfilled. When you spend yourself for others, you always come away filled. It's a formula that doesn't add up, but somehow it's always true when you're doing it for love. We love because we are loved. (I John 4:19) We reach out because Jesus reached out to us. Jesus walked among us, touching, healing, loving, connecting. And when He left the earth for the final time, he said, Now you go, and you do what I did. Be My hands and feet wherever you go. (Matthew 28:18-20)
We don't have to travel to a foreign country to be His hands and feet (although if you ever have the chance, GO!). There are opportunities right here. We have to make ourselves available though. We have to let down our guards and open our hearts. Be ready when God puts someone in our path. Be willing to step out of a comfort zone. God's willing to use anyone, but we have to be the ones to say, "Yes."
As Matthew West urges in his song, "Do Something" --
We are the salt of the earth
We are a city on a hill
But we’re never gonna change the world
By standing still
God, may I run this race hard! Never stopping, never giving up, always looking up. Ready to act, ready to go, ready to do whatever You ask me to do.
