Normally we would wake up shortly after sunrise, a cloudy and wet air still settled on the grass outside our hotel door before rising into the Ugandan sky once the sun grew stronger. The occasional thunderstorm kept me awake in the earlier morning hours while it was still dark before dawn approached. At least, I would try to stay awake and listening to the booming thunder rolling in the distance--not a familiar sound I hear back home in Southern California. By the time we made it to breakfast the sun was already up; our group was happy to have the extra hour of sleep and rest. We mixed our instant Africafe or sipped hot African milk tea while eating the traditional potato and bean breakfast provided by our lodging.
Just down the road was the hospital we'd be visiting. I'd unknowingly ran past it on a morning jog a few days before, the wet red earth splashing up on my calves and staining my green Nikes. Our two Japanese tour busses must have been older than I, likely given to people in the north Ugandan village after the end of their civil war. The security gate at the hospital opened for us and we parked directly in front of the ER. As we got off the bus I immediately noticed a girl with short hair, like many of the poor men and women of the area, with a large gaping hole in her forearm and elbow. It was covered in a white substance, a medicine of sorts. Others sat in front of the run down hospital that was simple, a one-level cement building with square cutouts for doorways and windows beneath a tin roof. After gathering the supplies we had brought we split up into many smaller groups, a mix of Christians from California and our Ugandan brothers.
My buddy and I were paired with another twenty-something local guy from the church we were working with down the road. Upon walking into the men's surgical ward we saw about two dozen beds, some mattresses were empty but most were decorated with various bedsheets that each patient had provided in order to be granted permission to stay in the ward. It was immediately overwhelming as all we brought was a banana, some grain, and sugar. In addition to the hospital not providing bedding for the patients, food is scarce, and receiving treatment from a doctor is hard to come by. The twenty or so men each rely on family to bring them what they need as they await their need surgery. A despondent sixteen year old boy greeted me with sunken eyes as he turned to see us, his shoulder blades were reaching out of his back like wings and his frail legs dangling off the edge of his bed. He had a gastrointestinal issue which kept him from eating; he was dangerously malnourished. We talked with him as we did the other patients, passing out the few supplies we had, taking time to pray and encourage them.
I so badly wanted God to do a miracle. The poorest hospital in the city was understaffed, the doctor employed there was overworked, and the patients themselves could only receive treatment in which they could directly pay for. When we came to Joseph's bed he immediately sat himself up some. With his left arm held closely to his body, he smiled kindly and welcomed us. He told us about how he broke his arm and needed surgery, but he'd been in the hospital waiting for ten weeks for the operation. His condition was not high enough on the necessity list and his surgery was continuously delayed as patients with more urgent needs were treated. We told him that we had come to bless him with a little bag of food, that we were friends of a local church, and we asked to pray for him. Joseph said that he had seen us going about the ward and anticipated us praying for him more than he wanted the food in the bag we were passing out.
As we began to pray in faith we continued to invite God to speak and to heal. Laying hands on the man he nodded in agreement as we came before our Father seeking his healing tough. We prayed and waited, listened and declared truth. After several minutes passed I began to get frustrated. We kept asking that God would reveal more of himself, his truth, and make himself known to Joseph in that moment. We continued to ask for healing. When a particular picture came to my mind I didn't know what to make of it. I explained to Joseph that we believe sometimes God gives us pictures, I told him what I saw in my mind, it was simple really, but I had no interpretation for it. Joseph asked me to repeat myself. Again I explained what I saw in my mind's eye and asked him if it meant anything to him. Once more he asked me to tell him what I saw. After the third time he spoke softly, telling us that he knew exactly what it meant.
He continued to confess to us his brokenness and how the picture spoke directly to that. He admitted that he needed to trust God again but that he'd been pulled in many other directions. We led him in a prayer of repentance, and we all prayed together celebrating the goodness of God. I am still amazed that God would speak to us, a couple of Westerners, to bring the love of Christ to a man we'd never met, stuck in a hospital bed in the middle of Africa. Even as we left his bedside to go pray for the next man I began wrestling with the disappointment that Joseph wasn't physically healed while we simultaneously were celebrating that God met with him uniquely, calling him back to follow Jesus.
Just down the road was the hospital we'd be visiting. I'd unknowingly ran past it on a morning jog a few days before, the wet red earth splashing up on my calves and staining my green Nikes. Our two Japanese tour busses must have been older than I, likely given to people in the north Ugandan village after the end of their civil war. The security gate at the hospital opened for us and we parked directly in front of the ER. As we got off the bus I immediately noticed a girl with short hair, like many of the poor men and women of the area, with a large gaping hole in her forearm and elbow. It was covered in a white substance, a medicine of sorts. Others sat in front of the run down hospital that was simple, a one-level cement building with square cutouts for doorways and windows beneath a tin roof. After gathering the supplies we had brought we split up into many smaller groups, a mix of Christians from California and our Ugandan brothers.
My buddy and I were paired with another twenty-something local guy from the church we were working with down the road. Upon walking into the men's surgical ward we saw about two dozen beds, some mattresses were empty but most were decorated with various bedsheets that each patient had provided in order to be granted permission to stay in the ward. It was immediately overwhelming as all we brought was a banana, some grain, and sugar. In addition to the hospital not providing bedding for the patients, food is scarce, and receiving treatment from a doctor is hard to come by. The twenty or so men each rely on family to bring them what they need as they await their need surgery. A despondent sixteen year old boy greeted me with sunken eyes as he turned to see us, his shoulder blades were reaching out of his back like wings and his frail legs dangling off the edge of his bed. He had a gastrointestinal issue which kept him from eating; he was dangerously malnourished. We talked with him as we did the other patients, passing out the few supplies we had, taking time to pray and encourage them.
I so badly wanted God to do a miracle. The poorest hospital in the city was understaffed, the doctor employed there was overworked, and the patients themselves could only receive treatment in which they could directly pay for. When we came to Joseph's bed he immediately sat himself up some. With his left arm held closely to his body, he smiled kindly and welcomed us. He told us about how he broke his arm and needed surgery, but he'd been in the hospital waiting for ten weeks for the operation. His condition was not high enough on the necessity list and his surgery was continuously delayed as patients with more urgent needs were treated. We told him that we had come to bless him with a little bag of food, that we were friends of a local church, and we asked to pray for him. Joseph said that he had seen us going about the ward and anticipated us praying for him more than he wanted the food in the bag we were passing out.
As we began to pray in faith we continued to invite God to speak and to heal. Laying hands on the man he nodded in agreement as we came before our Father seeking his healing tough. We prayed and waited, listened and declared truth. After several minutes passed I began to get frustrated. We kept asking that God would reveal more of himself, his truth, and make himself known to Joseph in that moment. We continued to ask for healing. When a particular picture came to my mind I didn't know what to make of it. I explained to Joseph that we believe sometimes God gives us pictures, I told him what I saw in my mind, it was simple really, but I had no interpretation for it. Joseph asked me to repeat myself. Again I explained what I saw in my mind's eye and asked him if it meant anything to him. Once more he asked me to tell him what I saw. After the third time he spoke softly, telling us that he knew exactly what it meant.
He continued to confess to us his brokenness and how the picture spoke directly to that. He admitted that he needed to trust God again but that he'd been pulled in many other directions. We led him in a prayer of repentance, and we all prayed together celebrating the goodness of God. I am still amazed that God would speak to us, a couple of Westerners, to bring the love of Christ to a man we'd never met, stuck in a hospital bed in the middle of Africa. Even as we left his bedside to go pray for the next man I began wrestling with the disappointment that Joseph wasn't physically healed while we simultaneously were celebrating that God met with him uniquely, calling him back to follow Jesus.
