keep on dreaming

It was in a house just nearby in Akpakpa, Cotonou that I began dreaming big for Benin. Maybe the seeds were sewn long before, I don't know. We dreamed and we wrote lists as we felt the Holy Spirit breathe through our hearts. I was a part of the Advance team preparing for the ship to arrive in August 2014.

We allowed ourselves to fall in love with this Country. We dared to believe that mountains could be moved.

I think it was about 10 days before the ship was due to arrive that we heard it would not be coming. Ebola was spreading and we were afraid that our ship would be like a magnet attracting people in desperate need and make the situation a whole lot worse.

So you can imagine how it felt. Total disbelief. What on earth did God have in mind? What should we do with all those dreams?

And so 2 rich years later, the coast was clear and we made our way back.

A few months back, I shared some thoughts about redemption – regaining something that was lost. 

You can read the Mercy Ships statistics reports if you want to see what we’ve ‘done’. But as we all know, it is about so much more than that. Who can measure lives transformed? Who can count the seeds that have been sown? Who can know the dreams kept quietly in each of our hearts that have seen God’s powerful touch?

As we wrap up and say our goodbyes, all I can think of are the things He has redeemed.

Back in 2014 our Medical Capacity Building programs were still in their infancy – 2 years on and the people of Benin received so much more than they would have done then. Just today I met our key contact at the University Hospital and do you know what he said? He was saying thank you and I was returning my thanks… and he again returned his. I playfully said, ‘NO! It is us who are thankful!’, and with that he took a more serious tone; he told me to listen. He said that other missions come and they have compared us. He said that we are different. Others say they will do good things, but it is not always the case. Mercy Ships do what they say.

In the words of one of our local Day Crew as he shared his experience translating for our Anaesthesia mentoring participants, ‘…it’s about something so much bigger than me'.

I could tell you so much more, but what you must know is that it’s never the end of the story.

He’s always redeeming. He’s always regaining something lost. It’s who our God is.

It's been a wonderful 10 months here in Benin and now it's time to close our doors and take a chance to breathe. I will join the ship again in Gran Canaria at the end of July ready to sail to our next destination: Cameroon. But first some English fresh breezes, birdsong, friends & family and a few weeks of french study in Switzerland. 

Keep on dreaming precious friends, let His love and power invade every injustice and every thing you carry in your heart...

He sees it all

I have a 9am alarm on my phone every day; it’s a silent one and just flashes up with the words, “He sees it all’. It’s a phrase that has brought me comfort and peace on thousands of occasions. You see, living on a ship with 400 others has its moments. Sometimes I feel trodden on, ignored, forgotten, insulted, rejected, misunderstood, tired. The fact that, ‘He sees it all’ makes all the difference. It’s clearly not all bad or I wouldn’t still be here, but you know how those feelings can steal your joy? That one phrase helps me release forgiveness and put my trust in Him over and over and over again.

Last week I visited Ouidah – a town which is not only the birth place of Voodoo but also home to the ‘Gate of no return’ which stands and testifies to 400 horrific years of slave trade. 

20 or so years ago, this was identified as a world heritage site and 2 Km of the 200Km slave route here in Benin which runs from Abomey to Ouidah has become a ‘tourist attraction’. This 2 Km has a collection of monuments and statues that tell the story and give honour to those who lost their lives. We were greeted by our guide and said a cheery hello. Not thinking, I proudly announced I was from England and wished I never had as he went on to describe how we had played such a huge part in this piece of history. In one of the statues, the people are depicted as tree trunks – to show that they were not seen as people but as pieces of wood, or as ‘a commodity’. It broke my heart.

We learned that of the millions of people who left this region previously known as Dahomey, many of them died before they even reached the slave boats. The 200Km ‘slave route’ was one of, ‘survival of the fittest’ and if you didn’t fair well from the chains around your neck, wrists and ankles – or from the open infected wounds from where the chains dug into innocent flesh; or from the scarce food or water; or from pure exhaustion - your destination was death. Only the descendants of the King were exempt from being a slave – all women, men and children were taken. We saw the site of a communal grave, 12 metres in depth, where the dead and nearly dead were put. The nearly dead were ‘useless’, so left to die with the already dead. The ones left living - the 'fit', were sold and shipped with a 1000 on each boat and they lived in cramped conditions for several weeks or months as they traversed the Atlantic when yet more died. Women were raped and babies were conceived into this cruel story. I don’t want to know that this happened and I don’t want to admit that it still happens in a million different forms today. I can only trust and know that He sees it all.

Last week I had a chat with someone about our work in Guinea. Yes that’s right – we finish here in June and head to Cameroon for 10 months in August and then after that, we will go to Guinea. My head is in 4 countries at the moment – Madagascar, Benin, Cameroon, Guinea and 5 if you include home….

Guinea – a Country which was already struggling to survive and then Ebola hit. I learned that they currently have 7 Anaesthetic doctors for the entire country. And sadly because of difficulties, they are not getting paid which leaves much of the work to the nurses. Nurses cannot prescribe and anyway, even if they could – there isn’t a functioning anaesthesia machine and except for those who have their own, there are no laryngoscopes and little in the way of drugs. That means no general anaesthesia for much of Guinea. My heart cries out at the utter injustice. Large salty tears bulge up out of my eyes and so they should. He sees it all. He has to. It’s too big for me.

And so as a sweet reminder, this week, a patient came back on board. Bignon – I told you about her before. She was born with a cleft lip and plate. A few months back she had her lip fixed and now she’s ready for her palate to be fixed too. Bignon – her name means, ‘all God does is good’. In the face of brokenness and almost guaranteed rejection, her mum and dad decided to call their sweet little bundle, ‘all God does is good’. They must have known He sees it all.

And oh the peace that brings. May you know it too. 

Love always KWW xx

these legs now run!

3 siblings all have cataract surgery: these eyes can now see!

these feet have new paths to walk on!

baby girl

I've just spent 2 wonderful weeks in Madagascar. Truly fabulous. My task was to take a close look at some of the projects that we were a part of these last couple of years and to see how they are doing. What went well? What didn't go so well? And what could we do better next time? I prayed that these questions would be wrapped in humility and love. That their delivery would go deeper than the reports that would be produced and that somehow some more love would be deposited in this sweet country. It's rich culture and breath taking landscape is a reflection of some of the beautiful hearts I have met. The trip was not without its challenges and cultural mountains to climb. In 2 weeks I think I slept (or tried to) in 9 different beds and I took 11 flights from beginning to end. It was a privilege and a joy to see many successes, but one of my biggest take homes.... I just wish we could do more. Obedience is one thing. Not turning a blind eye to the need is commendable. True. But the need is vast and we are a drop in the ocean. So we keep on dripping and learning along the way....

Madagascar by air... for some reason the photos simply won't behave and sit right... I'm sorry....

We were a team of 3 and our plan was to visit 16 of the Regional Hospitals throughout the country in which we’d given some training during our 2 years in Madagascar. I was there to launch these evaluation efforts and they will continue for 2 weeks after I leave. All of our medical capacity building efforts share one common goal; to make surgery safer and we wanted to see how we had done. Five billion (yes, five billion) people lack access to safe, affordable and timely surgery worldwide and we are trying to do at least something to set the balance right.  Getting around Madagascar is no small feat, so we partnered together with MAF, who expertly deposited us in places it would otherwise take days to reach. In one of our hospital visits, I had the privilege of watching new life being born….

Oh baby girl, I doubt you will ever know how things were on the day you were born. I wish you could have seen your mum. She was so brave. I saw her wheeled into the operating room. She didn't even look like she was in labour to me; she lay flat and still and with her dark brown eyes wide open. I can't imagine the fear in her heart. I tried to let my eyes lock with hers - to let her know that the white girl was no threat - but I'm not sure what she was thinking. You'd been trying to get out for many hours and so they decided to do a C-section. I'm glad you were in the right place - it's not easy to get to a hospital in your country and just a few days before, I heard of someone being carried on foot 87Kms to reach surgical care. 87Kms. On foot. It's difficult to build roads with so many obstacles in the way – not just physical, but everything else too.

Your mum lay waiting in the operating room, exposed, vulnerable and alone. I was wondering why the wait was so long and then it dawned on me; your family must have been busy out there gathering money to buy the supplies for the surgery to start. Finally, a brown cardboard box arrived containing some needles and fluids and other supplies that the team would need to keep you and your mum safe. The anaesthetist prepared to give your mum a spinal anesthetic. She gracefully bent forward and let him do his thing. Not a whimper. Not even a wince of her face. She was so brave. I wanted to hold her hand and let her know everything was going to be alright. But the blue drape hid her face and, as she lay behind it, the team began the task of preparing for your escape.

Your mums belly looked pretty small tucked inside her petite Malagasy figure, but you popped out a healthy size and you even had a few folds of skin wrapping a little flesh; your mum had been feeding you well. What a shock for you to feel the cool air and bright lights. I didn't hear anything, but your legs kicked and your hand gave a wave. After a few seconds you gave a cry and I could feel the relief in the room. All was well with you, precious girl. A midwife whipped you away whilst the team closed up your emergency exit. You'd made it.

I went to your mum and told her she was brave and gave my congratulations. I'm not sure she understood what I said but I hope she could tell from my eyes that it was a message of love. I hate to think I added to her fear. I was simply there to observe the team in action and they did great. I saw some equipment that we had donated in use. It measured your mum’s oxygen levels and helped the team get any warning signs of things going wrong. We hadn’t done much, but we hoped to make surgery safer - for you, precious baby girl.

You were born on International women's day and as I sat pondering the privilege of witnessing your first few miracle breaths of life, I prayed over you. I prayed that you would be a woman of courage. A woman who would stand for justice. A woman who would be instrumental in changing health care in your country. It's not all down to you, baby girl, don't worry. But I pray that you will grow up and one day acknowledge the bravery of your sweet mother that day and be inspired, just as I was. She could have died, you know - and she was all alone. She just braved it all.

And meanwhile a storm was brewing. Not only have you been born into a culture where accessing health care is so impossible and one where even the pesky mosquitos are out to get you, but one where tropical storms hit too. We drove away from the hospital with a cyclone circling and watched as the looming clouds descended. As we drove, we saw rice fields drowning under inches of rain and we heard stories of destroyed homes and lives lost.

Oh baby girl, this isn't fair for you. What if we could trade places? What if I could be the one under the leaking roof and you be the one tucked up in my cosy guest house? I don't know why it should be me and not you. I'm sorry. But let's both be brave, OK? Let's both stand for what's right. Let's be brave when it feels scary. Let's be women who know that they are beautifully and wonderfully made and walk in the confidence of that. Let's remember that we were created for a purpose. Let's not be defeated - we've each got battles, baby girl. Some people will be kind and others will simply try to make us small, but let’s embrace God’s empowering grace and stand to fight and let Him work it altogether for His glory. We will have bruises, no doubt, and likely some scars. But we will fight for justice, OK? There will be no haves and have nots. We will dream big and we will call heaven down to earth and encourage others to do the same. OK?

I can’t wait to hear your stories. May justice reign and beauty transcend all the brokenness in-between.

Love always, KWW

more than enough

More than enough -- I remember hearing these words when I was contemplating coming back to the ship around 6 years ago. I was wondering how I would gather enough finance to fund life as a volunteer and how I would get someone to rent my newly bought flat. I mean, I’d done it all before and felt like my circle had already given more than enough to love and support me… but I felt God say, ‘…there will always be more than enough’. Sometimes it’s been 22p too much, but nevertheless, I can testify that it’s been my story – there has always been MORE than enough. Not just enough, but actually MORE than enough. Even 22 teeny pence can be more than what you need.

But lately I’ve been realizing my understanding of those reassuring words needed to grow. Would there always be enough grace for living in community? More than enough peace when I felt anxious? More than enough sleep when I felt overwhelmed? More than enough friends when I felt alone? More than enough love to fill my gaping holes of grief? Would there?

There is. And even more than that, I’ve found you only know those depths when you start scraping the barrel.

This is the truth – Blessed – lucky – are those who cry. Blessed are those who are sad, who mourn, who feel the loss of what they love – because they will be held by the One who loves them. There is a strange and aching happiness only the hurting know – for they shall be held. (Matt 5 – and Ann Voskamp)

It's all so upside down. I’ve often wondered how I’d feel if my heart went through some massive tragedy. I think it’s the result of caring for many people who have faced just that. I wonder – would I show such courage? Such blind trust? Would I have enough strength to keep on going?

And then I started thinking of all the things in my heart and realised that perhaps there’s quite a bit of’tragedy’ in there already. It’s all relative isn’t it. But heart stuff is never small. My forever friend who recently left the ship --- the life sharing, the professional support, the feeling understood, the safety of just knowing she was there…. and then there’s living life alone. Well it’s not like I’m ever truly alone. But there are things I don’t have that grieve my heart….

And Regina… she’s my friend from Ghana who I met 11 years ago. Long story short, she came to London for surgery because we couldn’t help her on the big white ship. She bravely showed the world that beauty wasn’t on the outside. She strutted around London like she owned the place – complete with her facial tumour. What a trooper. And what a journey she’s been on. Her very own father – the one who loved her so much and someone I am sure was responsible for cultivating such a non-apologetic attitude deep inside her – was tragically killed in the midst of all this. But tumour or not, she knows who she is. And so the story continues – this time she came back to the ship for review, just this week. Sadly there are ongoing problems that are too big for us. Too risky to tackle. And so as I parceled her and her aunty on their way back to Ghana, her only words were, ‘please don’t cry for me’… and, ‘give me a mercy ship water bottle’…. as my heart fought the injustice, the thought that -- if this was me, I’d be tucked up in a hospital bed receiving my world class treatment for free - - but for her, she’s on her way back on a 24 hour bus ride home… as I fought the injustice, I remembered 2 things…

One. Love hurts and we just gotta keep on loving…

Two. The ironic freedom Regina has in living for today… so many of our stealers revolve around fear of the future… In the face of ‘inoperable’, what if I just worried about a water bottle. It’s tragic and beautifully freeing all at the same time.

… If you decide for God, living a life of God-worship, it follows that you don’t fuss about what’s on the table at mealtimes or whether the clothes in your closet are in fashion. There is far more to your life than the food you put in your stomach, more to your outer appearance than the clothes you hang on your body. Look at the birds, free and unfettered, not tied down to a job description, careless in the care of God. And you count far more to him than birds.

 Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes. Matt. 6

And so there it is my friends. Stop worrying. Love deeply. There will always be more than enough. 'Cos when you feel a radical gratitude for what you have, you end up wanting to go to the ends of the earth to share it. Radical giving is the way to radical abundance.

I continue to receive abundance and I aint gonna stop giving. It’s what makes me feel alive.

‘Beat, beloved heart beat, beat on in the world. You will be broken and you will be loved. You don’t ever have to be afraid….’. (Ann Voskamp)

… there will always be more than enough. Don’t forget that.

Love always. KWW

If you haven't seen it already, please take a look at this thank you video https://vimeo.com/196459222

Mothers celebrating their baby's clubfeet becoming straight at our 'dance ceremony'... kinda says it all...

insondable

It was late in the afternoon and I was embracing the heat. It appears there is no ‘cool of the day’ here in Benin. Meltingly hot, I found myself attending a ceremony for a man I had come to know, to receive one of the highest honours in his Country: For service to his nation, by order of the President. The usual ‘protocol’ was observed – hierarchy is important here - and I listened in awe at his lists of achievements for health care in Benin. A true hero. As the heat sapped the life out of me, I wondered if I could have done it – if I could have got out of bed every morning to 99% humidity and to a workplace where my love for people was bound within limits I could not control. I wondered how his compassion hadn’t died or faded to apathy. Maybe it had somedays. Anyways… his turn came to return the speech. My ears cling to every word and I do my best to follow without making my own story up… ‘Merci a Dieu – notre Dieu insondable….’… the room rippled with soft and heartfelt ‘Amen’s’. Something had been said and I needed to know what it was. Something in the room had woken up.

I scrabbled for my dictionary…. Insondable. ‘unfathomable’. Now I get it. He was talking of our unfathomable God. And everyone agreed.

I’ve had the privilege of spending a few hours on some of the wards we are doing mentoring projects on this last couple of weeks. It fills my heart. I wonder how the nurse so ably does 7 dressings on the trot, with one single sterile dressing tray and somehow keeps it (pretty much) sterile for all 7 patients. I wonder at hours spent folding pieces of gauze, cut from big rolls of it… because the pre packs cost way too much. I wonder how their skilled hands twist and fold to make dressings I thought only Johnson and Johnson knew how to create. I hear the cries of young children in pain because their parents can’t afford the pain killers they need. I watch a mothers head drop to the floor as she awaits her child’s dressing, only to be told they cannot do it because she cannot afford the supplies and the wound stays dirty.

I can’t even take it. Unfathomable. In the wrong sense of the word.

What on Earth gave me the right to be born in a Country where we lavishly throw many of these things away? Where we tidy away half open packets of gauze in the bin and buy Paracetamol for 16p. Why should it be so? How can it be OK? It’s not. And it should wrench my heart and make me want to scream. That is OK. That is the only right response.

And yet our God is unfathomable. These people who have so little are the happiest I know. They giggle about Yovos (White people) trying to say their names and they generously offer me a bite of their lunch. They make me feel alive and they remind me that our God is unfathomable. They know it more than I, and I am jealous of that. They know they have nothing else. They have nothing. Yes, I am jealous of that. Unfathomable.

I’m going home in a few weeks for Christmas and I don’t know if I can do it. I want to see nature and breathe fresh breezes. I want to see friends and hug family tight. But please don’t make me face the reality that I do not know my unfathomable God as well as my friends here do. Please don’t let me get distracted with stuff and wrap myself in control and fear.

Please instead sweep me up in an awe – of your great grace, of your great love, of the beauty of your birth and your gift of eternity. Overwhelm me in that and allow me to love generously. Allow me the gift of being loved generously too. I long for those things.

And let my unfathomable God be seen for who He is.

In awe and love always, KWW

all God does is good

It's been a whirl of a few months - after a fantastically restful break over the summer, I rejoined my floating home in late July in Durban. From there, we set sail for Cape Town where we spent a few days. If you have never been - well, you must. Table Mountain stands majestically above the city skyline, as the Africa Mercy takes its home on the Waterfront harbour. For me, it was a time of rest, refueling and a little bit of planning for the months ahead. From there we took a 10 day sail to our new home in Cotonou, Benin.

I'm in a new season now and have moved from Hospital Director to Medical Capacity Building Director. I wanted to get my hands dirty in a different way and have the opportunity to get involved with the training side of what we do. 

This is me with my Medical Capacity Building team. As a team, our goal is to support and strengthen the local surgical health system from grassroots to Government in the most impactful way. Ambitious, aren't we?!

This is what we hope to provide:

·        High quality medical education programs and quality improvement initiatives which include courses and mentoring in the areas of Anaesthesia, Surgeon mentoring, Surgical Nursing – Ward and OR, Biomed, Ponseti and Nutrition (Food for life).

·        Targeted donations

·        Targeted Infrastructure projects

·        Support to the Government to influence policy development such as implementation of WHO Safe Surgical Checklist and National Surgical Plans

·        Data collection for use in research and impact evaluation

It's an honour to be a part of creating and building a 'lasting impact'.

I'm still keen to keep my hand in the clinical side of things we do, particularly in relation to quality and evaluation. One of my favourite events of the last few months, was the surgical evaluation days we held for patients who we provided surgery for here in Benin back in 2009. It's not often we get the chance to re-connect, to check on how people are doing, to encourage, love, laugh, to learn what went well and what we could have done better. In fact, there aren't many people or organisations in the world who do such a thing. Patients were surprised as we showed them photos of what they looked like back in 2009 and were, without a doubt, touched by the fact that we cared enough to dig out their phone numbers and hunt them down from so long ago. Below, Dr Gary Parker - our Max Fac surgeon of nearly 30 years, reconnects with some long lost friends..

And for the patients who still have life transforming surgery to come, here's a small glimpse of some of the beauties we have lined up....

The twinkle in her eyes would never tell you of her twisted feet beneath....

Same for this little one...

Like so many of the people we get the privilege of caring for, I just love to watch the transformation. It's a delight to look beyond their eyes and to let them know that we see them as more than meets the eye. Treasured children, wonderfully and fearfully made.

One such treasure with who is in our line up with a Cleft lip is called 'Bignon'. Some born with such disfigurements are rejected and spend their lives fighting to be known - worse, even thrown away. But you know what Bignon means? 'All God does is good' - her mum and dad knew there was more to their treasure than a funky lip.

And with that thought, my friends, I will leave you.

All God does is good.

Check out this incredible short video....

Love always, KWW

light

We all know what happens when you put a plant by the window, it grows towards the light. I’m looking at a plant doing that right now. Its leaves are, literally, stretched towards the light. It’s like they couldn’t get any closer if they tried. They are desperate for it. Desperate for a taste of life.

Just yesterday I turned the plant around. I faced it towards the wall, back towards the light, ‘face’ towards… not very much. Nothing life giving, anyway. And, do you know – it was only a few hours before I could see those leaves turning back towards the light. They simply cannot bear to be away from it. They just can’t do it. They’re desperate.

I wish I looked like that. I wish you could look at me and see me desperate. Desperately turned towards the light. I wish,  if you took me on a good day and stripped away all that was good and picked me up and turned me away from the light – I wish, I wish you would find me desperately turning back towards the light.

I wish, if we found ourselves in some lifeless conversation… if we felt like death had got it’s hold… if things were being torn down or gossip was spreading its infective spew, if light was not present and hopelessness was staring right at us… I wish, I wish I could be the one to pick up my chair and put my back to the darkness. I wish you could see me stretching towards light, towards truth and grace. If only I was like those sun worshippers - their care and attention to make sure that sunlight reaches every part – that not a minute is wasted in the shade of a passing cloud. I wish my heart was so attentive. I wish it would shudder at the hint of darkness and find its place in the light. I wish.

And yet sometimes, I just sit staring at the darkness. For hours. Or days. I sit lifeless. I seem to feed on it. And funnily enough, I get weak. We don’t do so well without the light.

Sometimes a friend along the journey comes and shares some light and before you know it, you feel life seeping back again.

But sometimes there’s a humongous choice. Sometimes I have to actually get up, intentionally turn myself around and look for the light….

And then other times, light and life descend from nowhere.

The glistening twinkles of sunlight falling on the ocean blue, the crashing waves at 501, the chirping bird high above in a tree, the riches you find in so called poverty, the redemptive song that fills the Hospital corridors, the hope that literally shines through blood soaked bandages and casted legs or the thought that maybe, after nearly 2 years on this beautiful island, we did make a difference… sometimes light and life just seep back in.

917 Max Fac Surgeries
473 Women’s Health Surgeries
238 Plastic Surgeries
817 General Surgeries
162 Paediatric Orthopaedic Surgeries
Over 12,000 Dental patients

Light into darkness for 1000s of lives. 10s of 1000s of collective years of suffering. Ended.

Not to mention the 1000s trained and mentored in ways that will enhance their ability to provide safe surgical care to thousands more.

Or the surgical clinic that was renovated and filled with expertly trained Malagasy nurses who will go on to treat some of the 2,000 new cases of obstetric fistula that will form their ugly selves here in the coming year. Light sometimes looks like hope. Justice even.

Madagascar’s population is one of the poorest globally and there are approximately 15,000 children and adults disabled from clubfoot, with an estimated 1,000 children born here with the condition each year. The cost of treatment is often prohibitive for many families with an average income.  And so what a joy to be a part of Tamatave’s first ever clubfoot clinic born right here –  and with the support of International NGO, Miraclefeet, the work will go on for years to come. These beautiful feet will turn to the light. They will know what it is to walk and run and play… they will do the things they were created for. Light sometimes looks like redemption. Like new feet dancing in the rain.

What beauty He lets us hold.

And so, as we close our time here on this rich island of Madagascar, we are already in full swing with plans for Benin. The hope we promised in 2014 that got snatched by the scare of Ebola will be restored this coming August. We will deliver the package of light with care. It will be generous, it will be full of love and, I pray, will deposit oodles of light into 1000s of more lives.

May we turn to the light. Desperate.

And, until the day comes when we don’t need to stretch anymore, may you be found drenched in the restorative, hope filled power of light.

Love. KWW

This is me with my incredible Hospital Leadership Team

Check out these beautiful short videos if you want to see some more....

https://vimeo.com/157146540

https://vimeo.com/149663551

https://vimeo.com/164754519

New feet

new life

new freedom

Thanks for letting us share in your beauty, Madagascar xxx