As part of our ministry here in Busia, we’ve been making hospital visits. Some of my team members love this, but for me it’s probably the most challenging thing I’ve done on this trip. The hospital is noisy, smelly, and crowded. In the wards we’ve been visiting, beds are lined up in big rooms with two see-through dividers, and about twelve beds in every divided section. Some of the patients are surrounded by family and friends, while others have no one near them other than the next patient eight feet away.
My father recently spent several weeks in the hospital, and it’s not a time I like thinking about. Seeing my wonderful father so weak is an image I only wish I could get out of her mind. Every time we leave the hospitals in Busia, I am exhausted, even though at most we’re there for two hours. I have such recent and strong negative associations with being in hospital.
A lot of the patients only speak Swahili, so we go with translators (also known as pastors). The very first child my small group went up to was hooked up to an oxygen machine, another horrible reminder of hospitals at home. I wanted to run out of there and never look back, but I stayed, and because of that I learned about a little boy named Solomon. His mother, Esther, told us that he had a bad cough, wasn’t getting enough oxygen, and didn’t have enough blood. In Kenya, the power goes out frequently, and when it does that means the oxygen machine no longer works. Things were not looking good for Solomon.
With no other way to help, we did what we came to do, and we prayed for Solomon. Pastor
Steve laid his hand on Solomon, and we prayed for God to remove the sickness. He stopped coughing for the moment, and at that time we had to move on to pray for the dozens of other sick children. We left, and for a while I forgot about Solomon.
A couple days ago, Micah and I were walking home from the church, and a woman approached us. I recognized her, but could not place her. And then it hit me– it was Esther. She seemed so happy, and so full of joy, and she asked us to come pray with Solomon at their house. Micah was not there the day we met him, but he trusted me that I remembered this woman correctly, so we followed her a little ways off the main road to her house.
We entered her home and there we found Solomon, healthy, and giggling as babies tend to do. She said that the day after we’d come, he became better and came home, and had been healthy ever since. She called out to Micah and me to say thank you, but more than accepting thanks I was thrilled to be able to rejoice with her that her son was better.
Hooray!
