Reports of recent Trips and Work by Godspeed Missionary Care

Mozambique, March 2000

This is a personal (BMD) reflective report an aspect of a recent trip to Mozambique; this is the second trip to that troubled country this year (see prior Report from the Field). Much was seen and done that is not chronicled in this piece, which is more about what God was doing at the time than it is about what we were doing.

"...Then the king said to me, 'What would you request'? So I prayed to the God of heaven. And I said to the king, 'If it please the king, and if your servant has found favor before you, send me to Judah...that I may rebuild it.'" Nehemiah 2:4,5 NASB

Sometimes the need is so obvious...why would one even need to pray about it? There I was, a physician (alright, a psychiatrist, but still with M.D. behind my name, and the only doctor available), complete with stethoscope, otoscope, ophthalmoscope, tongue blades, penlight, and the conviction that I was there to be of service. "There", in this case, was a refugee camp in south central Mozambique, where more than three thousand men, women, and children from the surrounding villages had been brought when the recent cyclones had caused flooding which devastated that country. Malaria, already endemic in Mozambique, was now of epidemic proportions, and as I survey the several hundred people standing before the table where we were setting up our supplies, I note a number shivering in the 90 degree heat, probably in the midst of a malarial attack. A soiled bandage of undetermined age still clings to a swollen foot. Two men carry in an older woman, whom they deposit on the floor before us; she is breathing but otherwise not moving. Another has a deep cough and appears wasted. Skin lesions everywhere, on every body, many the result of prolonged immersion in the contaminated waters of the Limpopo river. Karen and I had already planned to come to Mozambique at this time, a scheduled trip to meet with one of the missionary teams we are blessed to be able to know. The flooding had been so massive that it attracted the world's attention to this small country, and relief organizations were mobilizing to try to bring food and medical attention to the hundreds of thousands of natives who had lost what little that had. We were already planning to come, and a mission agency had agreed to purchase a large amount of medical supplies if we could bring them in with us. We had prayed earnestly that we would be able to deliver those supplies, and those prayers were answered (story to follow). I was the right person, at the right time, in the right place.

I should have read Nehemiah. Again. You know the story... Nehemiah was in a position of access to the very ear of the king of Babylon. He has heard of the distress of the remnant of Jews still in Jerusalem, and of the state of total disrepair of the wall around the city. He feels called to go and direct the rebuilding of the walls, and he prays that God will touch the heart of the king to allow Nehemiah to go (Neh 1:11). I, too, had prayed that God would make preparations for our trip to Mozambique successful. Nehemiah, his face obviously saddened with the concern for the desolation of his home city, brings wine to the king, who inquires why he is upset. As Nehemiah tells him, the king then asks "...what would you request?". At this point, I would have immediately jumped to the obvious answer, "I want to go! I am the man to do it!" The need was clear and understood. The call was right. The time was right. I was right. But, read what Nehemiah did, at that moment, right between the king's offer and Nehemiah's request: "So I prayed to the God of heaven". God had already answered his first prayer to make the king attentive to the need. It would have been easy for Nehemiah to think that he could handle the rest from this point on. But, even in the obvious, he turned again to God, to assure that He was in charge of each step.

As we were setting up our table, with the antibiotics, and the antimalarials, and the antiseptics, a governmental official appeared. Although now a democracy, Mozambique is a post-communist country, and bureaucracy of stultifying proportions can confound even the most simple of efforts. He looks us over, and announces (in Portuguese, the official language of the country) that we cannot proceed because we have not "registered". At first, I thought he was looking for a "cash incentive", but as he called his own superiors who then arrived, it was evident that the government had just instituted a policy that all those who were offering health care to refugees needed to register. Not a bad idea, when one thinks about it, as it would allow them to avoid duplication of effort and direct care to where it was most needed. But, the "registration" could only be done at one place (inaccessible except by helicopter or boat) at one time (late in the afternoon), neither of which would be possible for us to accomplish. I indicated that I would only be able to be there for a day or two, and would be gone before registration could be accomplished; he was adamant. I asked if we could at least examine the most obviously ill and change some bandages; still the answer was "no". All this time, the refugees were standing, quietly, within three feet of us, hundreds of them, watching and waiting. Most spoke only the local tribal dialect, so did not understand the conversation between the officials and our nurse-translator. We conferred, and thought about just waiting for the officials to leave, and treating those we could in spite of it all, but before the authorities left, they took pictures of all of us. Even though Karen and I would soon be gone, the rest of the missionary staff would return; if we had rebelled, they might at the least be restricted from being allowed to "register", or at worst be jailed. So, we began to pack up our supplies, as one of the village leaders who spoke both languages tried to explain to the people what was happening, and why. They did not move, but continued to just stand and watch us, intently. The leader, who had argued with the officials, had said that several would die today, and had plead for us to be allowed to work, tried again to explain. Slowly, some began to drift away, but many, mostly women and children (along with those who couldn't walk) stayed. I wanted to walk away, but it began to rain, heavily, and the lean-to building were in became shelter for even more. When the rain finally stopped, I was able to walk around the camp, but evidence of need was no less evident anywhere, and the reality that I could not make a difference haunted me the rest of the day, until the helicopter returned to pick us up,

So, what did I learn? It dawned on me, as I examined my frustration with the situation, that I was more upset that I wasn't getting to do what I thought I should, than I was about what was not getting done. As I was fuming, the nurses were mixing kool-aid to give to some of the children. Karen was interacting with a group of women who were fascinated by her red hair. There were plentiful opportunities to interact, particularly with swarms of children who were playing soccer (about seventy-five kids, one ball) and frisbee (ditto, one frisbee). But at that time, my focus was more on what I couldn't do rather on what I could do. Even though his next step seemed so obvious to Nehemiah, he took the time to surrender it to the Lord, and I had not done that. Would the official have permitted us to treat patients had I thought to pray at each step of the process? I do not know, but I doubt it. What I do know is that the circumstance of each person in that camp was under the sovereign authority of God, and not dependent on whether I could or could not practice my limited medical skills. And I learned that I needed to be prepared to smile, to play, to share with other people, regardless of language, regardless of circumstance. I need to learn more ways to show that I care, and that He cares, than just through my identity as a doctor.

It is not as if God did not show up on our trip to Mozambique...quite the contrary. As I had mentioned, we had prayed that between our own orthopedic limitations and the vagaries of airline luggage process, God would get our seven pieces of luggage (400+ pounds of medications and medical supplies) through two airlines, three airplanes, and four countries. Many of you prayed with and for us about this, and I was grateful. I was also going to cover all the bases, so I e-mailed the senior official of a mission agency in South Africa, just before we left Baltimore, asking that he pull whatever strings he might have with South African Air personnel and customs in Johannesburg, where we anticipated the most problem with expense and logistics. About twenty hours later, as we exited passport control in Johannesburg, Karen and I anxiously waited by the luggage carousel to see how much if any of our baggage made it to London Gatwick, then to London Heathrow, then to Johannesburg. Praise the Lord, here it all came; I began to hoist the first box onto a cart, a young man with a badge identifying him as with the airport bypassed everyone else and came directly to me, asking "Are you going to Nelspruit? Are you the doctor?" He had to have known who we were, because there was no label, ticket, or tag that would have announced our interim stop in Nelspruit, where we were to meet the mission team who would then drive us to Mozambique. When I responded, he then said he was there to help us, and loaded all the boxes and bags, and motioned for us to follow. Each of us was pushing a loaded luggage cart as he approached the customs area; he spoke to the agent, in a tribal dialect, and the agent briefly looked at a few of my many documents and waved us through. Our man then bid us follow further as he led us from the international terminal to the large main terminal, full of hundreds of people waiting to check in for one of the many South African domestic flights. He never broke stride, going around everyone, directly to the lone booth marked "For Gold Card Travelers Only". (that would not be us). He again spoke to the young lady behind the desk, who smiled and said that she could help us. She indicated that we were "overweight" (not Karen, maybe me, certainly our baggage). I told her that we had hoped they would agree to waive the extra fees, or reduce them, as had British Air. She went to confer with her supervisor, who appeared and said that their intention was to allow all of our bags to be taken without charge. I tipped the designated helper, thanked the supervisor, and we boarded the plane. All the luggage was delivered intact to Nelspruit, and we contacted the mission agency official in Johannesburg who had done such a marvelous job of running interference. He, as you might have now guessed, was somewhat surprised, since he had been given the wrong flight time and dates, and due to some other family emergency, had never talked to anybody anywhere about our situation. He had arranged nothing. Everything had been arranged by a Higher Authority. God wanted us to deliver the medical supplies to Mozambique. He saw us through the rest of the trip, to get those supplies to those who would eventually be registered, and who would be able to use them, and develop ongoing relationships with those they cared for. He did not need me to play doctor.

So now, as Karen and I still recall the trip, I am grateful that He used us. I am even more grateful that He used the circumstances to teach me to trust that He knows what He is doing, and that I need to surrender to Him every aspect of any work He may put before us. The rest of our trip was rewarding, and while we were there in Africa, God was working in an equally exciting way through Glenn Kellenbenz and Leo Christian, who were meeting with missionaries and seminary students in Russia. God continued to provide for us as He took us to Philadelphia to meet with members of a large church there and to be part of their World Missions Conference. He provided the words we spoke at a marriage workshop we gave last week at the Finishers' Forum in Dallas, and brought us into contact with old friends from many different mission agencies, as well as new friends who gave much affirmation for the vision of Godspeed Missionary Care.

Godspeed,
Barney M. Davis, Jr., M.D.
Executive Director, Godspeed Missionary Care