Sick and Saved

I didn’t sleep well on Monday night, so when I woke up Tuesday feeling especially haggard, it was no surprise.

Tuesdays are long days for me with not one, but two language classes back to back and that afternoon I was supposed to be going out to lunch and to the market with a colleague/friend.

“A hot shower and an extra cup of coffee should do the trick,” I thought to myself that morning. But I kept a chill, so I dug through our stacked trunks to find the thin sweater I had brought as a last minute thought before coming to live in a tropical climate. The temperature outside would reach 100 degrees that day, but my body felt otherwise.

I trudged through the language class and tried to nap in the car on the way to pick up my friend. I was starving from not eating breakfast but by the time our lunch arrived at the nice restaurant, I had lost my appetite.

It was at this point that my body began telling me, “Go home. Go home now!” But my friend needed to go to the big touristy market downtown to purchase some items she needed for a ministry project she’s working on, and I didn’t want to let her down. So we went.

Thankfully, she had a couple ibuprofen in her purse that she gave me and quickly, I was feeling more myself.

When we arrived at the market, she went off in search of her purchases and I decided to sit on a little bench and wait.

No sooner had I sat down when the beggers and the knick-knack sellers approached and hovered.

I remembered back to the first time I had visited that market, I felt a little intimidated by these people, speaking a language I didn’t understand and not leaving me alone when I said, “No.”

But this go ‘round, I saw it as an opportunity to speak to these people and practice my language skills.

One dodgy-little man was selling wood-carved, hand-painted, toy tops. He showed how to make them spin. He said, “for your children.”

I winked at him and said, “I have no children.” He knew I wasn’t serious and he saw the opportunity for fun.

His next approach he said, “for your husband.”

I replied, “I have no husband.” Even though he pointed to my wedding band on my ring finger.

Finally seeing no other way around my objections he said, “No husband, no children. You lonely! You need toy for you!”

He shook with his thunderous belly laugh as he walked away.

After all the vendors made their attempts to sell me their wares and had walked away, one tiny little girl came and sat beside me on the bench. Her clothes were dusty and worn, but she had a bright smile. A timid voice surprised me as she spoke in broken English, “I sell magnet. You buy magnet?”

“What is your name?” I asked in her language.

She was obviously a little astonished that I could speak in her native tongue. “Chimmey*,” she said quietly. (*name changed)

“Chimmey, why are you not in school like all the other boys and girls your age?” I asked.

“I don’t go to school. I work here to sell magnet. You buy magnet?” she replied.

“How do you speak English so well?” was my next question for the little girl.

“I am now ten years old. I have been working in this place since I could walk. I talk to the English speakers who come here and I learn from them.”

Chimmey and I struck up a conversation that afternoon. I asked her if she had enough food to eat and if she had a comfortable place to sleep at night. I asked her if she was happy. She answered, “Yes,” to all my questions, but the look on her face said otherwise. It was then that I began to share J.C. with this precious little child.

Ironically, through the whole experience, I didn’t feel sick at all.

No, I knew that Father had honored my request from earlier that morning to put someone in my path that I could share with. He always does.

I bought a magnet from Chimmey that day, but even more than that, I shared with her the road to salvation.

When I finally got home later that day, I collapsed in my bed completely and utterly exhausted.

Wednesday rolled around to a full-blown sickness. High fever, body aches, miserable… you get the picture. The Australian doctor we normally visit was out of town, so I tried treating my symptoms with Tylenol but by Thursday, I was in such severe pain that CJ decided to take me to an emergency walk-in type clinic. (It would probably be like going to the emergency room in the states.)

Thankfully the local doctor working there spoke decent English and I was in a diagnostic room in no time.

It felt like I was fading in and out of consciousness. By this time I was wearing a sweatshirt and long sweatpants and had brought a blanket to wrap around myself.

Pretty quickly he said that I needed an IV of fluids.

I kept thinking “Fluids? Yeah, yeah. Give me something for pain!” Eventually the nurse produced a couple of pills that I took without even asking what they were. (I would later learn that it was a fever reducer/pain reliever type medicine.)

They ran test after test and finally I was admitted to a room with a bed and a pillow.

I was near the end of my rope by this time. You know how it is when you feel really awful but you gotta get dressed to go to the doctor, you have to ride in the car for what seems an insufferable amount of time, and you have to fill out paperwork and answer questions. You have to be poked and prodded. You’re hot, but you’re cold and somewhere in the back of your mind you’re worrying about your children that you left in the waiting room around the corner.

I was just about ready to faint from all the trauma when the nurse appeared to set up my IV. I was trying to be still and the room was so quiet. I was fading, fading…

As the nurse placed the needle in my arm she whispered over me, “In Jesus’ name.”

“What? What did she say? Did I hear her right? Is that what she really said?”

I turned to her and mustered all my strength to ask her, “Are you a Christian?”

She beamed as she replied, “Yes I am, and don’t you worry. You are in His hands.”

As soon as she left the room, the tears started flowing. Sobs were pouring out of me.

I know CJ was holding my hand, saying something sweet I’m sure, but I couldn’t get the nurse out of my head. Somewhere, sometime, someone like me shared the Truth with that nurse and she believed. Now here she was, ministering to me.

As I lay in my bed on Friday night trying to write this story, still a little sick and still completely unsure of what’s wrong with me, the words of the nurse keep ringing in my head. “Don’t worry. You are in His hands.”

Sometimes I wonder why the Father has seen fit to bring me to this country so far away from everything that is comfortable and secure.

Sometimes I think it’s because He wants me to share His good news with those who have never heard. And He does.

Sometimes I think it’s to remind me that life is but a vapor, and we should use every minute to bring glory to Him. That’s true too.

But mostly, I think He’s reminding me that no matter where I am in life and no matter what situation I find myself, I am in His hands.

To be sure, this road has been difficult and challenging. But there is no place I’d rather be than in the center of His will for my life.

Please keep praying for me until I win the battle against this mysterious sickness. Would you also please pray for Chimmey that Father would continue to put people in her path that will share His love?

Finally, I ask that you pray for the nurse at this clinic who is trying to live her life for Him? I can’t give her name for security reasons but Father will hear your prayers all the same.