The day I went to the hospital but didn’t go into the hospital
My translator, Gerson, and I arrived at the hospital around 4:30 in the afternoon as usual, ready to head to the maternity ward—my favorite place at the hospital. But today I never did make it inside the building!
I stopped to hand out bananas and talk with some of the women who sat outside of the children’s ward—there is always a group of women there, you can’t just walk by! We talked with a few different mamas with their kids. One of them is our Pastor Mario’s wife, from a nearby bush village. They first brought their year and a half old daughter at the beginning of the year for something simple, but then she contracted a skin condition that spread through the children’s ward of the hospital. Now, about three weeks later, her skin has cleared, her health: improved, and the hospital is just monitoring some of her nutritional needs before sending her home.
Moving on to the next mamas, still en route to the maternity ward, we ended up having a great discussion on the demonic and why witchdoctors are bad. During that conversation, there was a woman named Julia who listened, but didn’t say anything. I had already prayed for her 3-year-old daughter, Fatima, who had malaria. After a point, she went off to do her own thing.
By the time we finished visiting with all the mamas outside of the children’s ward and praying for their sick kids, it was 6 o’clock, which marks the end of visiting hours. Gerson and I headed back to the car when we passed by Julia once again. I struck up conversation and discovered she was 3-months pregnant. The father of her 3-year-old had died shortly after the birth and the father of the baby in her belly is uninvolved. I asked if she is at least happy with her pregnancy, and misunderstanding my meaning, she said, “No.” She thought I was asking if she is happy in life in general! Through some more questioning, I discovered the father of the baby is married to another woman who is also pregnant.
Throughout the course of the conversation, I could hear Holy Spirit screaming, “She’s worth so much more than that!” So I got to tell her of her value. That God knit her together in her mother’s womb. He has plans, a hope, and a future for her—just like He has plans for her daughter Fatima and the baby in her belly—and it’s not to be someone’s affair. She got to hear of how much her Creator loves her, that He can give her peace, turn pain into joy, and heal without cost. That He brought me all the way from Texas just to tell her that!
In the end, she prayed and received Jesus as well as the Holy Spirit. We invited her to church and she understood that you can’t serve two gods—that Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. I also walked through some of the practicalities of leaving the mosque where her daughter’s family attends, and the transition that it will be. The next time I went to the hospital, she was gone, but I know that she has tasted of His goodness and she rests in His hands of grace!