An Ordinary Day

People often ask what an average day looks like for us. The problem is, everyday looks different, even when you think you know what it will look like. Friday was just the same as every other day, unordinary.

Following our morning prayer I received a call from a village pastor, Constance, who had a woman in his congregation that was very sick. I tried to ask him over the phone what was wrong, but only received perplexing answers. What I did understand was that he needed us to come immediately. After an abrupt breakfast of groundnut paste on bread, Faye & I set out. We drove off of the main road, with the Nile river valley to our right, rock outcroppings in the foreground & hazy mountains in the distance, down a decrepit dirt road to the village of Ajujo, a piece of serenity amidst an urgent situation.

We finally reached the sick woman’s tukal, where we were ushered inside only to see a semi-conscious woman half dressed lying on a mat. While a friend dressed her, another gathered belongings. Then they struggled to lift her to her feet, and she precariously stood cross-legged, head limp to the side. They were able to drag her toward the back seat of the truck, where Faye received her, nestled her in and cradled her lifeless head on her shoulder.

The commotion was halted momentarily as Faye prayed for this woman, Jane, who had lost her 1 ½ year old firstborn girl about 3 weeks ago, and has been unable to bear the grief. Her pain was so deep, it caused her what the doctors later diagnosed as nuerogenic shock. After prayer, the rescue mission again commenced. I tried to drive steadily, for as I looked in the rearview mirror, I could see Faye carefully struggling to steady her listless head.

After successfully admitting Jane to the hospital, we returned to our compound for some momentary rest & food before embarking on the second mission of the day. Sunday, our beloved friend & gate keeper, heard that his niece had fallen deathly ill and was not being properly cared for. He asked our assistance to go and fetch this young girl, and we happily obliged.

Again we headed out, veering off the main road and deep into the bush. The scenery was serenely similar, and oddly so was our mood. The day was not going as “planned,” but maybe we were accepting our lot, being the hands & feet of Jesus, caring for the sick. Or maybe it was Sunday’s kind, yet concerned demeanor, his resolve to not let a relative fall sick. He wasn’t anxious or scared, he was simply doing what he knew was right, and we agreed.

The girl was staying on the outskirts of Ribidere, an abandoned refugee settlement. All of its previous inhabitants were repatriated back to Sudan, leaving an entire village behind. The road worsened, so we parked the car and footed a short distance to where Florence was living. We cordially greeted the family and children, all of whom looked emaciated and tattered. The isolation of the place seems to take a toll on these people. Sunday briefly explained the situation to the parents, they consented, and off we went. Fortunately, Florence had improved over the last couple of days, so she was able to walk back to the car, saving us from what would have been a surprisingly light load for a girl her age.

As we drove back through the somewhat haunting abandoned village, with our Florence, emotionless due to her grim illness, and Sunday, the relieved parent, I reflected back on what had been a day full of transporting the unwell. I realized how privileged we are to be living in this place. I felt very close to the heart of Jesus, like I was doing what he desired most, to alleviate the pain of his own.