A letter to my pastor...

There is so much to share about my previous work with Mac Med. I had the opportunity to work with Mac Med in Trujillo, Peru in 1998. Some time ago, I wrote a letter to my pastor about some of these memories...

Rainer -

I've been meaning to write... I'm at the hospital doctors lounge, waiting for a patient to be admitted to the floor so that I can go see her, so I have a few minutes.

Now and then, I am really struck by some of your words, and how they fit into my experiences. It was two or three weeks ago, as you were teaching about the miracles in John, that I was struck by your words fitting in with my thoughts about my mission work.

In 1998, I had the chance to spend seven weeks on four different trips to Latin America. I went to Peru in January, with a Baptist missionary group, then to Mexico twice when I was serving as a Missions Elder with CKPC, and then went to Honduras a few days after Hurricane Mitch, in November. It was a pivotal year, and led me to my career now. (But that's another story.) I've had many conversations with others about missions, and what might seem to be the futility of medical missions overseas. And I heard my conclusions about missions echoed in your words about Jesus's miracles.

You had presented the question about the healing at the Sheep Gate, about why Jesus didn't just heal them all. He could heal the sick all over the world. He's God! He makes the rules! And the reason that you presented from the Word was that miracles were not only for the one healed but had a much larger purpose - so that we might believe, and then come to eternal life through Jesus. And that echoed in me.

In Peru, we saw about 2500 patients in two weeks, two doctors and two dentists. And I learned that we were seeing "the diseases of the poor" - skin infections from poor hygiene, arthritis from working hard, fatigue. And I began questioning my own arrogance in going on this trip - after all, the kid with the ear infection was going to get another one in a few weeks, and I wouldn't be there to help. It was as though I was riding in on a white horse, but not really rescuing anyone! I was able to ease some pain for a while, and maybe that was enough. When I talk to other medical professionals about the trips, they point this out as a futile exercise. But the real purpose of the trip was quickly evident - it was about eternal life!

The trip to Peru was with a group of about thirty people. We were working with two brothers, who pastored five churches. And one of the brothers had been working for years building a compound in one of the poor neighborhoods surrounding the city of Trujillo, in coastal Northern Peru. He was finally finished with the building projects - a building for worship, and a building for teaching. He was opening it as an orphanage and school for the neighborhood. And we were the "draw" to get people to come to see the new project. So, as we were seeing patients, the rest of the staff were telling the people about the plans for the property - weekly services, and daily ministry of teaching and providing food for the kids. And they were telling of The Good News! Like Jesus's miracles, we were there not just for the provision of medical care for a few, but so that many others would come to believe in Jesus! What a privilege! When we gathered for a meal together after a long day, it wasn't the conversation that I might have expected. It wasn't like my med school days, where we worked hard and then talked about the amazing medical cases we had seen. The group wanted to talk about how many people had professed faith in Jesus that day, how many souls had been saved!

It wasn't the medical care that was important, though that's why the people came. It was the Good News, and the changes we were helping to make for eternity. What a privilege.

One of the first weeks we visited West Sound, Ricki was teaching about Jesus's powers, and he mentioned Chris and Debbie Clark's experiences with touching the kids they encounter in Africa. and that reminded me of one of the strongest, most powerful moments of my life, which occurred in Peru.

We had been seeing people in the clinic for a few days. We'd gotten used to the routine. The women were staying with the pastor, and the men at a nearby hotel. We'd meet at the pastor's house in the morning, and take an old school bus to the site of our clinic. When we arrived each morning, we were greeted by many many people waiting. Some of them had been waiting all night so that they'd be near the head of the line in the morning. Most of them were women and children. We'd honk and the caretaker would open the large gate, and we'd pull the bus through the crowd into the compound, closing the gate behind us. In Peru, everything is behind a wall or fence. The compound was surrounded by a ten-foot concrete wall, with broken bottles on the top of the concrete wall to discourage burglars. The fence was a large iron solid door, painted yellow to match the wall.

During the day, I met a man with an infection in his foot. Had he been in my clinic here, I would have admitted him to the hospital for treatment. We gave him an injection of an antibiotic, I cleaned and dressed his wound, and asked him to return the following day for more treatment. I was careful to describe the importance of returning for more care.

The next morning, there was the usual crowd. And through the day, I saw patients, mindful that I was to meet this man again. In early afternoon, I hadn't yet seen him. I worried that he was stuck outside the door, unable to convince the gatekeeper that I had wanted him to come in again. So, I took one of the brothers with me as an interpreter, and stepped through the swinging door that was cut into the large iron gate, into the crowd.

I looked around, but there must have been a couple of hundred people still waiting. It was mid-summer in Peru, and I'm sure it was over 100 degrees, in the sun outside the gate. I was used to sweating all day, in my sandals and hospital scrubs. And as I looked around the crowd, I began to see mothers, coming forward to meet me, with their babies in their hands. There was no way we could see them all; many would likely spend the night to be in line for tomorrow. They wanted me to see their children, to heal them. And as I sit here typing this, I am moved to tears, struck by the memory of that moment. I felt a young girl reaching for my arm, tugging at the hair on my forearm. And I was overwhelmed by the thought of the crowd, pushing in on Jesus, and him knowing that He had healed because the woman had touched him. I felt so unworthy, so impotent to serve these people; they were seeking so much from me, and I had so little to give. I wonder now what that crowd thought of "the blue-eyed doctor", standing before them crying. (They referred to me by that name not because of my eye-color - I have brown eyes. Rather, they were referring to me as the caucasian, as opposed to the other doctor on the team, a Mexican national. Since I was "the blue-eyed doctor", I was assumed to be the better doctor, even though my colleague had much more experience and could speak with them without an interpreter.)

I didn't see the man with the infected foot again. I don't know what became of him.

There are many more stories about my work that year. And, as I said, it led to a life change for me, in that I now have the privilege of working in the mission field each day. I'll tell you that story sometime.

Thank you for your work, Rainer. I'm sure that you have days of frustration, times of doubt. And I want you to know what a difference you are making in my family, in my life, through your work for the Lord. I'm praying for your work and your family.

I'm having a tough weekend on call. The patient I'm waiting for is a 16-year-old girl who is brought in by ambulance after an overdose this morning. I haven't met her yet, but the ER doctor told me her story. Her mother was involved in drugs, and lost custody of her. She was then sent to live with her father, who abused her. She's now living with her grandparents. She's been cutting herself. Her boyfriend just split up with her, and she became despondent enough want to kill herself.

Yesterday, I admitted a man with kidney failure. As I gathered the story, I spoke with his wife and aduct stepson. He also had a 9-year-old daughter and 8-year-old son. The story is that, for about a year now, the man has been so mentally ill that he has spent most days drinking gallons of water and repeatedly forcing himslelf to vomit. He has become so dehydrated from forced vomiting that his kidneys are failing. His wife tells me that he can't get psychiatric care because he has no money and no insurance. And that part of the story is not unique to him - what a difficult burden some of our neighbors are carrying.

Some days come with such a burden in my work.

So, I'd appreciate your continued prayers for me, for my work, for my partners, that we can take on some of the burden with these neighbors, that we can ease suffering and, if it's not too arrogant, show the light and hope of Jesus through our work. I often think that I am quite lucky because I know that my work has impact, that I have a chance each day to touch someone in need. Just as you do. And I pray that the compassion that I can muster will be seen for what it is - grace that has been placed on my heart by the example Jesus, and by the gift of the indwelling Holy Spirit. That others might notice a difference in me, and I can point them to Jesus. I know others who are "quite proud of their humility", and I want to be an instrument for Jesus, for His glory.

Well, my patient is upstairs now, so I'll go meet her. And I'll see you tonight.

Thank you, again, for all that you do.

Doug