Life and Death

I have written in a past post about visiting those that are in the Government hospital here in Gulu.  About how we are able to talk with, pray with and feed a lot of those we meet.  We have been invited to several of the villages by those we were able to bless.  We are able to go where the darkness of war, empty religion, and witchcraft has left a hole in people's lives and share with them the One that can fill that hole. 

It has taken me a few weeks to be able to write about this.   On the same day my dad was to have heart surgery in California, our group of volunteers met at the outside kitchen at the hospital, where we prepare food for those patients that have not eaten.  We  pray for God to show us who we should spend time with.  We also prayed for my dad.  Like always, we teamed up with our "buddy" for that day and headed out to the different "wards."

  
Samuel and I headed for the medical ward.  As we walked through I stopped and knelt down beside the bed of an older man,  with his wife by his side.  His wife said that he had been sick for months but that they were just able to afford transport to bring him to the hospital.  She said that he had not eaten for several days, in this case not because they didn't have food, but he would just not eat.  The wife spoke English, but he did not.  I asked her about her family and about where they were from.  After speaking with her for 15 minutes, she asked if I was going to stay with him for a while because she had not been able to eat that day and would like to go and prepare something for herself to eat.  I said I would be glad to stay.

 I sat with Arthur on his bed.  Held his left hand.  Placed my other hand on his thigh almost being able the touch my thumb and forefinger.   I began to pray for him even though he could not understand.   After a few minutes I also began to pray for my dad again.  Arthur's eyes had no white left in them.  Years of dust scratching them?  years of lost sleep?  I really don't know, I just remember they were completely bloodshot.  But I sat there and watch Arthur close them for them for the last time.  I felt his hand let go of mine. 

 
His wife returned only minutes after.  Who was I to tell her that her husband just died?  I met them less than an hour ago.   I had nothing.   She thanked me for being with him and told me she was happy he wasn't alone when he passed away.  Within a few minutes they came and put him in a metal container and prepared him for transport back to his village to be buried the next day.  Within the hour his bed was occupied by another. 

I spent the latter part of that day off and on the phone with my mom.  She kept me up to date on how my dad's surgery was going.  On a personal note, Mom, I hope this explains why I was such a basket case that day.  Dad is doing great and after only two weeks is home and up and around. 

In the past two weeks I have talked to my dad a half dozen times, loved hearing him laugh, hear him say those ism's all dads say.  Wishing I could just pop in and hang out with him for a while.  But, I can't help but think about those that were there when the truck that carried Arthur's body and his widow arrived.  The sons, daughters, brothers ,and sisters.  I have heard it said a thousand times that death is so raw here.  Coffins are sold at the carpenters shops at their road side stands right next to tables and chairs.  

The work here can be very rewarding.  Sometimes though, it's hard.