Life Down the Rutted Red Road

I was called over to hospital at 0430 the other morning. It is never a good thing if they are calling me at that time.

It was for a premature baby, a two day old boy that had been born elsewhere and then brought to us at a few hours of age. We had followed our normal protocols and commenced him on our full treatment. Yet, by the time I arrived in the early hours of that morning, his colour was grey and he was not moving.  The nurse who called me had been trying to resuscitate him. We tried again together, in the view of the child with sickle cell on oxygen, and the mother of our other premature baby who was nearly ready for discharge after five weeks with us and the grandmother watching over the unconscious six year old with cerebral malaria. We tried for several minutes, but there was no heartbeat and no breathing.

Huwo kalaas. He is finished, we explained to the family. Our treatment had not been enough and there was nothing more we could do.

We removed the medical paraphernalia and wrapped up the baby. The ward settled back down to get some rest and I headed back to my house.

And, as I walked the well-worn path the fireflies danced around me in the grass, winking light into the darkness.

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I have been reading through the book of Exodus. It is a book about God who sees the suffering of his people. Oh God, see these people around me and their suffering. About God who acted mightily to rescue his people.  Oh that you would use your power to restore this situation and rescue your people. About the God who revealed himself to his people. I do want to know you more. The God who called Moses to enter the thick darkness to meet with him. Ah what? Darkness!

Darkness is the hours listening to the gunshots wondering if death is going to come for someone tonight.  Darkness is watching the child’s laboured breathing and not knowing if she will make it through the night.  Darkness is listening to the creak of the bush and the rustle of leaves, knowing there is danger out there but being unable to see it. Darkness is not knowing if we will be forced to leave this week or if there is a future for us in this place.  Darkness is when the torch has broken and the moon is hiding and we cannot find the path.

Yet, sometimes we are called to enter into the darkness. And, it is in the midst of darkness that we see the flash of the firefly.

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This place reminds me of the many things I cannot do. Despite my best efforts, I cannot keep track of every little detail of patient care and make sure nothing slips through the gaps. I cannot make a baby breathe. I cannot bring back to life those who have passed. I cannot listen to every story of suffering. I cannot chase away all the fear. I cannot stop the fighting. I cannot bring peace.

But, I am not meant to be enough. I am not meant to be the sun that shines in the day.

But maybe, as we wait for the dawn, I can join the dance of the fireflies in the darkness.