HAITI (KTRE) - The Fredonia Hill Baptist Church group split into two groups Friday. One group got up at 5 a.m. and went back to Merger for Vacation Bible School. The second got to sleep in and went up the mountain to Kencoff for another medical clinic. I joined the medical team.
Our team of three nurses have seen nearly 300 patients the last three days. They expect to see at least 50 more tomorrow. We're really thankful that Christian Nichols, Morgan Moreman and Dana Oldham have contributed their tireless efforts all week. We can't give them enough credit for what they've done.
We're working on long-term treatment for the patients. We're not just treating and releasing. We're telling them what they need to do to take better care of themselves. It's amazing how much they have not been educated about. Stuff like back and neck stretches and how to properly wash their hands.
I've tried to stay away from too many personal stories, as I feel this week has been what the team is doing as well as trying to raise awareness of Haiti. But this is one I feel I need to share.
On Thursday, as we were going door-to-door and visiting people in Merger, we asked one man, through an interpreter, if we could pray for him and what specifically we could pray for. He told us he wanted more faith in God.
I wanted him to know that he wasn't alone in that effort. I, too, wanted more faith. I told the interpreter to tell him, "You and I have the same problems, we're are exactly alike."
Yes, here was me, who has a car to drive, an air-conditioned home and a big-screen TV, telling this man, who lives in a cinder-block home and sleeps on a cardboard box and was entertaining himself by standing in the hot sun and cutting up avocados, that I knew what he was going through.
The interpreter only gave me a strange look. There was an awkward silence before my pastor, Pat Kelly, saved me and said, "Tell him we are alike in that we all want more faith."
That night at dinner, Pat said, "Man, I kinda had to save you there when you said that."
I started laughing and said, "Yeah, I was like, 'Don't worry buddy, I know exactly how you feel in your cinder block home. I'm struggling just like you.'"
We had a really long laugh about that and started telling others the story. They also found it funny.
Later that night, when we started to complain about how we had to get up early, or our long layover in Miami, we laughed about how we were complaining about situations which Haitians can only dream about being in. We mockingly called our situations, "the struggle."
And I think that's what will keep me content for a while. Every time I start to complain about missing my favorite TV show or having a flat tire or bumping my head on the ceiling fan when I get out of the top bunk (It's a true story; it happened this morning), I'll remember "the struggle."