November 16, 2010

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

First, and I think that this speaks volumes about what it is to be so far from all that is familiar, I had to look at Kathy’s entry date to be able to put the correct date for my own journal entry.

I have deferred my “turn” at the journaling for the past several days because I wanted an opportunity to reflect on all that I have experienced before putting pen to paper.  I now realize that for some of what I have seen and learned I will need much more than just a few days for reflection.  I suppose that this is rather the point for us to be called to any mission, God will continue to work through us and win us through all of our endeavors; overcoming all obstacles, most of which dwell within.

A few notes about today….. It was a lovely morning and we set off to Puente Azul, better rested and perhaps less nervous than we were on Monday.  Marco was pulled over by the Salvadoran Police and scolded about driving while talking on his cell phone.  Despite their intimidating appearance, they were actually quite benevolent in that no citations were given.

A word about Marco…I really don’t know how he does it.  Driving in this traffic, I mean.  Despite all the chaos around us I am at ease as he makes his way around hair-pin turns, faces down aggressive bus drivers and dodges an unimaginable collection of pedestrians, dogs, ox carts, street vendors, etc.

Marco, if you read this, and I doubt you will, thank you for taking such good care of us.  It means more than you’ll ever know.

We arrived at Puente Azul unscathed.  The morning “business” was rather slow at first.  This gave me time to chat with Pastor Luis, who truly is a gentle and unassuming man.

The patients came into the clinic in an ebb and flow pattern much like the Saturday morning clinic at work so in some ways I felt completely at home. 

How to describe the patients…Of course, it’s hard to speak with any authority, based on such brief interactions but I will jot down a few impressions.

House in Puente Azul

First, and I think this is important for those who imagine this to be a place of abject poverty, bereft of hope, there is hope here.  Despite hardships that I and many contemporaries would find daunting to the point of desolation, there is hope here.  Without exception, the patients that I saw had donned their “nice” clothes before coming to be seen.  Dressing up to be seen in a clinic, for us, that’s not such a big deal.  But only think what that means to these folks.  There is no electricity, so clean clothes mean that someone, usually the girls or women, had the back-breaking work of washing by hand, either in the creek or sink, the family’s clothes.  Since there’s no electricity, there’s no running water or indoor plumbing, so if there’s not a creek or river readily available, the water also has to be carried by hand.  Wet laundry has to be carried home and hung to dry and so on… the point being that slipping on your “church clothes” for a trip to the clinic (on foot, of course),is not a trivial endeavor.  And yet, that is exactly what they did.  What is that, if not hope?

The children come into the “exam room” shyly.  Smiling but quiet and subdued.  They mirrored the faces of their mothers, also very shy, especially at first. 

The second thing I would like to convey is that there is dignity in the sense that most associate with that word.  There isn’t dignity in living in such deplorable economic straits, but there is an innate dignity in how they comport themselves.  They are a well spoken, intelligent, if not well-educated, people.  The mothers are justifiably very proud of their babies.  Their hair is combed, they’re in nice clothes.  The babies are, it goes without saying, quite beautiful.

 If we can eschew our modern definition of productivity which measures tangible market value, then I think that today was one of the most productive days I’ve had as a clinician.  There were no ground-breaking medical advances to publish, no really 

Bill, Erin, Kenny, Lance

big diagnostic dilemmas, but it still felt productive.  I felt a kinship with the mission team and those that we served.  Bill Reinger pointed out to me today that in Spanish the words for “hope” and “waiting” are the same.  Like our brothers and sisters in Puente Azul Lord, we hope; we wait. Erin Whitehead