I pass the public hospital almost every day, on my way to anywhere, just about. This building is a constant reminder of all the need that it represents.

The first time I brought someone there, I cried and cried, trying to hide it, of course, but basically failing. I had plenty of time, even that first day, to observe things that I hadn’t even imagined, in my past life. People lined the corridors, sitting on the floor. Little family groups huddled together, cradling a sick family member in their arms. Amputees, elderly, children, and people quietly crying were all sensory overloads to my horrified self.

It was one of those times when I prayed without words. The prayer was a groan and a deep sense of longing for God to put things right. I spent five hours there, my first day, and I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything. I sat on the cement floor with everybody else and entered into the misery of waiting, with no power to change the outcome. I felt like I was reliving the scene in John 5, at the Pool of Bethesda, except where was The Lord? At one point I even looked down the corridor and imagined what it would be like to see Him walk around the corner and come to the rescue. I longed for that rescue.

I’ve been to that hospital so many times now, I’ve lost count. Each time I bring someone there, I’m reminded of that man at the pool. “Sir, I have no man,” he told The Lord. I look at all the people there and I wonder at God’s grace to the person I’m with. I’m reminded to tell them that God Himself has stepped in, has singled them out, and is showing them how much He loves them.

I’m heading to Aningas to take someone to that hospital today. It will be a long, mostly tedious day, and there is very little chance that anything will be resolved. Each case takes many months of visits. For me, this is a nightmare, and I really have to beg God to take over because I never go there with the right attitude. For God, every hour spent is an hour filled with opportunity to quietly and patiently live Christ and show Him to a dying world. I have a hard time with quietly and patiently, and I usually fail. And when I fail and give up my will and wants, He takes over and makes everything easy. It becomes easy to love, easy to wait and easier to spend the time talking about the Great Physician. When The Lord takes over, every single person waiting in those corridors has the chance to see Him and the opportunity to be rescued by His strong arm of Salvation. I’m hoping that I fail today and He succeeds. Please pray for this.
He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you but to do justly, and to love kindness and mercy, and to humble yourself and walk humbly with your God? (Micah 6:8 AMP)

I have this little daily calendar thingy, sitting on its plastic holder/easel, next to the sink. It has a verse on each page. There are many mornings when I read the verse and close my eyes–quite briefly so I don’t fall back asleep!–and revel in the assurance and comfort that God is giving me. Those are the good mornings.

Every day, though, I do this little inner bracing, before I read the verse, because I’m going to receive either divine comfort or a Scripture stabbing, and I really don’t want the stabbing.

This particular morning, I leaned over to read and saw:
Let all that you do be done in love.
(1 Corinthians 16:14 ESV)

The blade was quick and powerful, parried with a sleight of hand that was breathtaking. “Ugh,” I thought, “This is a grim missionary moment.” But, I’ve learned to take the hit and face it, because otherwise I’ll just keep being stabbed by the Word until I let God deal with the issue. So, I faced the incident that had occurred the day before…

Driving here is just horrendous. When Mark and I got our Brazilian driver’s licenses, the Motor Vehicle instructor asked me what I thought of the five quite rigorous written tests we had to take. I told her how I was amazed that all the people on the road had gone through such a demanding process. She laughed and answered that some 70% of drivers on the road do not have their license.

So, on this particular day, I left the Kilometer 6 favela, where I had brought medicine and ointment to a little girl and others, going door to door with hugs and much love and the Word. Then, I hit the road, like Sybil, with a personality change that happens every time I drive here. I stew in my aggravation and live off of my imaginary lectures to all the nearby drivers, getting more annoyed, and more unloving by the second. Apparently, I have compartmentalized this missionary life into, on and off duty moments.

Thus the verse.

I took the little 2″x3″ paper verse and folded the daisy out of sight. Then I put that verse right on my rear view mirror, all symbolism duly noted. If I don’t allow God’s love to commandeer me in the car, my days on the streets and in the favelas become cheapened somehow.

I’m a long way off from handling the chaotic driving here with love, but I want to do all things with love. I really do. Pray for this!

For the Word that God speaks is alive and full of power [making it active, operative, energizing, and effective]; it is sharper than any two-edged sword, penetrating…exposing and sifting and analyzing and judging the very thoughts and purposes of the heart.
(Hebrews 4:12 AMP)

Here I am. In the kitchen. There’s a big pot on the stove, bubbling away. I have my extra long wooden spoon and I’m poking things down into the boiling water, as they surface for air.

I wish I could tell you that it’s a delightful batch of my homemade ravioli that I’ve risen, like the Proverbs 31 woman, at dawn to prepare.

No. It’s my clothes that are in the big lobster pot Holly Ramsay gave me for a shower gift, back in ’88. I could never have imagined, at that pinnacle of naïveté, any items of mine gasping for air, in that very pot. (Actually, at that point, I don’t think I could have imagined these particular garments either.)

We have been plagued with ticks. It’s just the latest in many insect and wildlife plagues. I am no Moses–as I pointed out to God, just last week!–and I have been going crazy. We had an exterminator in, last Monday on our anniversary (so romantic!) and they promised a two part annihilation-bombing-thing. They came and we had to evacuate the house for several hours.

So, imagine my surprise, at five-thirty this morning, to find several offspring, alive and well, marching across one of my very favorite Target purchases; apparently there were survivors of the tick-apocalypse from last week.

That’s why I’m at the stove. Whining to the LORD about not having hot water in the taps here. Whining about the ticks. Just whining in general.

It occurs to me, once again, that it doesn’t matter what you’re going through; it matters how you handle it. I may have blithely sailed through the last two weeks, with all the violence on the streets. I may have calmly smiled at the Military Police while they pointed the huge automatic weapons in my face. But this? This seemed harder. This wasn’t a blaze of possible glory; this was a massive inconvenience, and something that really schifo-ed me.

The difference? I didn’t move a foot without praying, out there on the streets. And the results were apparent. I was calm, peaceful and very aware that God was right there.

Unfortunately, my prayer about these ticks included me telling God what He needed to do for me, accompanied by much complaining. I never asked for His Grace to deal with this plague. I never asked Him to take over my reactions, so that I could see Him in this, too. Once again, especially in the little things, He wants to teach me that His Grace is sufficient. And that my reliance on Him is very sweet to Him, as well as very necessary to me.