Summer Missions

Reflecting on Mission 2008 - by Cheryl Davis

An extraordinary experience must be shared, but how can you give someone adequate understanding of such a meaningful trip?  I doubt words or pictures can convey what is in my heart.  The Good Samaritan mission of 2008 was an incredible journey.

The obstacles began in earnest as soon as we arrived in Hanoi.  While medical luggage was stuck fast in the customs process, the team prayed.  God’s hand was with us and the equipment and supplies were finally released.  Throughout the two weeks, we experienced serious equipment failures, sick team members, and difficult facilities.  Tempers flared with the rising heat and humidity.  There were lengthy bus rides through the mountainous region of the north, often with pouring rain and long hours of work. There were tears of sadness and grief when we could not help and when we could not hold back death. 


   

There were also the sweet moments of grateful smiles, enthusiastic handshakes and hugs.  There were moments of good fellowship, the melody of praise and worship, shared meals and shared work.  There were answered prayers and shining times of God’s presence.  He was so faithful.  There were those who received Christ as their Savior and received us as friends.  There was fascination with the tribal people and their unusual dress.  Crowds and banners greeted us and so many people were eager to see us and receive all we had to give.  There was the joy of serving, laughing, rejoicing, victories and lives saved.

One late afternoon as we packed up to leave for the day, it sounded as though a party erupted in optometry.  We ran and peered in the window as an old man was shouting with joy.  He had just received glasses and could finally see. 

We had a young boy arrive at the clinic and he drew immediate attention.  His head and body were distorted from hydrocephalus.  There was but little we could do for him. He and his father received gifts and prayer.  Two particular members fell in love with this boy and sponsored him with their own money, so great was their compassion. 

This became a common story: members giving their own money to help those who were struggling, buying wheelchairs and walkers for them and also to help with expensive medications. The team delighted in being able to make that very personal connection with the ones they had come to help. 

I was called to the plight of a man who was 30 years old and suffering from Lou Gehrig’s disease, or ALS.  This difficult diagnosis moved the doctor profoundly.  As he held his patient’s hands and wept, we prayed over his condition and future, trusting the man to the Father’s care.  The doctor offered to pay for a wheelchair, but as the patient was still young, he would only accept a walking stick.

As I walked into M.A. (Medical Assistant) one morning, there was a young woman crying inconsolably.  She cried so much that she could not even respond to questioning.  She was living with a tumor the size of a football on her left hip.  Previously, she had gone for surgery, but it could not be removed because of the blood vessels involved. Now the fear of losing her ability to walk scared her.  Eight team members gathered around her, trying to give comfort.  I asked her to lift her eyes and look around at alour faces—that we stood with her as brothers and sisters in her difficulty. One team member began to share with her our hope, the woman began to calm down and then let us comfort her.  She then left to retrieve her x-rays so the doctor could check into more specialized surgery for her.

One afternoon I spotted a man walking on his knees.  He had been to both the dental and pharmacy clinics.  I thought he had cerebral palsy, as he was uncoordinated and being helped by his two friends that brought him to the clinic.  His friends had fashioned ‘shoes’ from portions of mo-ped tires wired around his lower legs and knees to protect them from dragging on the ground.  What a joyful man this was, shaking my hands in gratefulness and wanting his picture taken!  Madam Mai, in full view of all the locals, pulled out a wad of cash, and helped him get it in his shirt pocket.  His friends carried him and placed him on a moped, sandwiching him safely between themselves, and off they went with huge smiles.  Madam Mai and I had tears in our eyes as we hugged and watched them drive away.

A team member and I spotted a baby with a cleft palate in M.A.  The child appeared to be an infant, but was in fact 5 years old.  He had fused bone plates on his skull, and accompanying disabilities.  Though he had an operation in the past, clearly he was still not able to develop.  The team member’s own son had this same problem when born, although not as severe.  She was filled with compassion since her son had access to the health care that changed his life, and this child did not.  I told her she had particular authority in prayer over this case.  As she held the child, we all prayed together over him, overcome with emotion.  The mother was deeply moved by our actions.

We saw many of the old women, permanently bent way over from years of rice farming.  They were so small and shriveled, seeming hardly more than walking punctuation marks.  We shuffled them through dental work, getting glasses, and treated them for debilitating arthritis and the like.  Many of them wore their very best clothes to see the doctor.  They were particularly entertained by our tallest members who towered over them.

A mother brought her baby into the clinic, and the doctor noted his poor skin color. In the lab we had difficulty drawing blood; it finally flowed out with the hue of rusty water. We sent the exhausted baby to the hospital and he arrived literally dying in his mother’s arms. Later, back at the hotel, we received an emergency call from the surgical team at the hospital asking us to pray for the child’s life. He had been resuscitated and was in critical condition. Within minutes, much of the clinical team was gathered on the fifth floor contending in prayer for this precious little one.  The next morning we were told that the child had died. Though the team was grief-stricken, we were faced with a decision: become discouraged or become determined. There were four-hundred patients to see that day, and they were coming for our whole heart. The team did not waver in giving themselves fully to everyone they saw, bringing hope, healing and changing lives  God showed us that He was much bigger than tragedy and used even this child’s life to give our surgical team unprecedented access to the hospital.

I came across one man who grabbed my hands, pumping them up and down in happiness.  He was exclaiming something and finally motioned to the large tumor on the back of his neck and motioned as if he were taking it off and throwing it away.  I realized we had referred him for surgery to remove the tumor.  Later, while we were touring the hospital, a waving caught our eye. He beamed with newness of life after his completed surgery.  His neck covered in gauze, he delightedly motioned that the tumor had been thrown away forever!

I can’t even imagine how many teeth were pulled over the course of the mission.  So many people, young and old, had rotted or broken teeth.  It was remarkable to see how stoically the patients would lie in the chair to be rid of decay—even the children.  How happy they were when it was all over.  It was impressive to see the doctors involving young team members in the dental process.  The patients didn’t mind, and even seemed grateful that they would partner in relieving them of their burden.

The Tooth…	…The Bribe…	…All Done!

                                   
I was fetched to see a young patient who seemed autistic; he was hitting and spitting on everyone.  The team put a mask on him, a ‘spit catcher’.  When I arrived, he was hungrily reaching out to anyone who would hold his hand, restless and ready to strike out.  The father had to force him forward into MA.  He was being oppositional and difficult to manage, so I put my hand on his back and began to comfort him. He immediately became very calm and gentle.  I sang to him and rubbed his back.  When it was time for the father to move him to the next room, he lashed out again.  So I stood a ways before him, extending my open hand.  The father went to push him forward, but I gently stopped him.  After a few moments, the child reached out to me and put his hand in mine.  I sang to him as I led him to his next stop.  The father looked amazed, seeming to see for the first time how tenderness and patience was enough.  I got a father’s smile for a reward.

One morning, we arrived at clinic and the rain started pouring.  A tarp was quickly tied off to the porch to give more shelter from the rain.  Later, we were told that the people were amazed that we would get soaking wet just to keep the patients dry.  It was such a simple gesture; we had not thought twice about it. Yet it was received as a surprise that one individual would care so much for another.  This is Vietnam, so the rain cover later became shade from the hot afternoon sun that dried us out.

The second week a TV crew followed us and documented our mission.  The reporter candidly noted that all her life she had been taught to revere Ho Chi Minh, the supreme model.  After watching our team, she decided there was definitely more to learn.

Everywhere I looked, the team was bringing skill, thoroughness and compassion to the people they were here to serve.  It was humbling to watch our team treat more than 400 patients a day with the same love and care, no matter the heat, conditions or hours of work. 

The value of something is determined by how much you are willing to pay for it.  We were given so much.  Now thousands more have been shown how valuable they are through our actions. We will keep them forever in our hearts and they too knew someone was there to care for them.

The faces and images are imprinted on our memories and our hearts.  The Vietnamese people will now always be our brothers and sisters, held close in our prayers and shared experiences.