when you don't get to see the happy ending.

It's boggling my mind, but I have been back in the USA for 3 weeks now, having traveled a bit in South Africa after leaving the ship on March 19th. During that time, I've had minimal internet and little patience for things like computers... especially since my laptop screen developed some lovely cracks in the journey back from Madagascar.

But I'm back, cracked screen and all, and there are words in my fingers and conflict in my heart.

I was planning to write about someone else today, but I realized something in a skype with my dear friend Naomi this week, and those are the words that are the most pressing at the moment.

I wonder what percentage of movies have what is considered a "happy ending"? I'm willing to stake a bet on 80%, at the very least. I'll even wager further that it is a higher percentage among the blockbuster films. I'm not much of a movie buff... in fact, I can hardly sit through any movie longer than 120 minutes, but still I'm confidently backing myself on these fabricated statistics. :) I think it is human nature to desire a happy ending... and when we feel like we can't control that in actual life, we are most certainly going to look for a happy ending in the movies we've created. More on this later...

When I left the Congo after serving with Mercy Ships for 6 months in 2013, I struggled profoundly. So, I returned this time prepared for that beast... or as well-prepared as one can be. This "re-entry" has thus far been easier than the last, but still tough. Difficult for different reasons than the last time I transitioned back home, but one thing that is consistent is this: It is not easy to be very much a part of something and then suddenly not be anymore. 

I slept down the hall from my patients. I could stop by the ward in the morning or late at night during my off hours. I lived with my co-workers so it was nearly impossible not to hear updates on how our friends on Deck 3 (the hospital deck) were doing each day. When I'd go off for a weekend away I found my mind wandering to certain patients and wondering how they were faring as I traveled back to the ship. I still wonder that, but now I'm not traveling back to the ship. I am 9,053 miles away (14,567 km for you non-Americans but that sounds insanely far, so I went with miles). In fact, it's highly likely that I don't know any of the patients on the wards now. The majority do not stay on the wards for more than a month post-operatively. But a few do. And one in particular is a little girl I was well-acquainted with on the ward, though not in the way you would think.

We were NOT friends. I desperately wanted to be her friend, but she would have none of it. She refused to color with me. No amount of stickers would win her over. Sometimes I pretended we were high-fiving, but let's call a spade a spade... She was just hitting me. She wouldn't hold my gaze, wouldn't sing along with the few Malagasy songs I learned, wouldn't read stories with me nor play nurse with a teddy bear. All of my pediatric nurse tricks were futile with this feisty lady. I don't know if I got her to take a single pill over the course of the weeks that I cared for her, despite our many creative efforts. Crushed pills hidden in food were no match for this one. She did not trust me and it was VERY clear. Meet Mioty.

Her distrust was warranted. Every 3 to 4 hours for weeks on end, I, or another nurse had to pin her down and force a plastic tube attached to a suction machine down her nose to keep the nasal passages clear. Her nasal passages were protected by larger plastic tubes that stayed in the nares of the nose that Dr. Gary created for her out of a flap of skin from her forehead (this is real life, guys!!). I won't go into the details of her surgeries in this post, but you can read more of her story HERE.

Or, check out this graphic made by my friend Mark, who is using his design skills in the coolest of ways... (this was actually designed to further explain Mamisy's surgery, one of my patients whom I wrote about in February!)

1-2.  A patch of skin on the scalp is selected to create the future nose.
3.  A flap of skin containing this patch is loosened on one side from the scalp and brought down to create the nose. The other side stays connected to the scalp in order to preserve blood supply.
4-5.  After three weeks, once blood supply to the nose is formed, the skin flap is disconnected and re-attached to the scalp.
6.  The boy who had no nose, now has a nose created from skin sourced from his own body.

Okay, so back to Miss Mioty. I finished a stretch of four night shifts helping care for her and left feeling so defeated. Even in the night, we had to wake her every four hours to suction and perform nasal care as described above. This meant waking everyone else up in the ward, too. She seemed to fight harder almost every time. Just when I thought I could sneak in without waking her up, she opened her eyes, eyes that widened with terror at the sight of me. She clung to her mom, shrieking and doing all within her tiny self to ensure it would not be easy for me to reach her nose. There have been few times in my 5-year career as a pediatric nurse that I have felt so cruel and SO at a loss for what to do.

I vividly remember my last interaction with her.

I passed her in the hall with her mama. I had just said goodbye to everyone on the ward, my last night before I left the ship at 6am the following day. I held my breath and said a little prayer that just maybe, possibly she would give me a hug or a smile as I said goodbye. That we could part as friends. That she could know how much I cared for her, how often I prayed for her. I spoke to her mom through one of our translators, thanking her and encouraging her in what I knew had been a difficult battle for her, a battle that was still far from over. Mioty kept her head turned from me, buried in her mama's shoulder. Then I touched Mioty's back and before I could get out any words, her scrawny arm reached out and forcefully hit me, pushing my hand away. She would not look at me; she started flailing and crying as I tried to tell her that I was leaving, that I would miss her, that she was SO brave, that it would get better. Her mom, trying to contain Mioty's thrashing, gave me a tired smile... I think her eyes were saying thank you but I'm not even sure about that. And so I left.

Ours was not a happy ending.

While traveling through South Africa I thought of Mioty often, as I did with many other patients. Upon returning home to internet access, I saw several friends had written posts about her. It was hard, getting updates on a little girl who once was my patient through a blog... the same way the rest of the world gets to hear about her. But it was even harder hearing that she was doing SO well. Sometime shortly after I left the ship, she turned a corner. I read how she started to color pictures and sing songs and read stories in nurses' laps. I saw photos of her covered in stickers, riding a bike, with a smile in her eyes that I had only seen reflect anger and fear. And I started crying. First, I thought it was just because I was so happy to hear of her transformation... and I genuinely was... but then, after some self-reflection, I realized I cried because I didn't get to be part of her happy ending. How selfish is that??

It is an ugly thing to admit, but it's true. I fought in the throes of the battle with her, but I didn't get to witness the victory firsthand. And that was a hard pill for me to swallow. In true Mioty fashion, I wanted to spit out that pill. I wanted to say, "God, this is not fair". In the midst of my pill-spitting (or spattin' for you true Southerners), I had one of those light bulb moments where it feels like God literally shines a light on a neglected, ugly part of my heart.

A (my?) voice in my head asked...

Where does real strength and true servanthood lie? Aren't they found in giving, expecting nothing in return... in serving diligently and selflessly, knowing you may never reap the reward or even see a minuscule glimpse of your impact?

Jesus tells us that some sow the seed, others reap the harvest (John 4:37). Sometimes we get to do both, but that is never guaranteed. He goes on to say that sowing the seed is hard work (John 4:38). Tilling tough soil and pulling stubborn weeds and fighting a scared, angry little girl to give basic medical care are all hard work.

When we plant seeds, of course we should desire to see the seed grow and flourish, but we ought to be motivated by more than just our own experience of and satisfaction with the end result. Often in life we do not get to see the happy ending. My friend Naomi worked hard behind the scenes to try to get a Malagasy woman to the ship for surgery, a woman she met while screening for patients in a city on the opposite side of Madagascar from where the m/v Africa Mercy is docked. This woman has a large tumor growing from the back of her mouth, and, as the tumor slowly suffocates her, she has multiple children to care for and no option for treatment (as far as we know) other than the ship. The woman has no phone number to be contacted at, and attempts to reach her via radio broadcast were unsuccessful. She didn't arrive on the last bus traveling from her region to the ship. Naomi shared with me how broken-hearted she was by that. She prayed and pleaded for this woman to be found and brought to the ship, but right now it seems Naomi will not see this story's happy ending. Naomi's place is not an easy one to be in. It is a place that requires trust and surrender and an acceptance that Someone else is calling the shots... and He does it His way with intention, not arbitrarily.

In all this, we must remember our oh so limited perspective. What we determine is a "happy ending" is often not a happy ending... maybe there is an even happier ending that our current perspective couldn't see or imagine. Also, in light of the timeline of eternity, our time here on earth is literally just a dot. A teeny, tiny, basically microscopic dot. I'm embarrassed by how often I completely forget that. Let's choose to concern ourselves with the happy ending of the MUCH bigger picture.

Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all that we ask or imagine, according to His power that works within us, to Him be the glory... [Ephesians 3:20]

To Miss Mioty: I am so sorry my joy for your progress was overshadowed by my own selfishness and sadness in 'missing out'. And I am so glad you turned that corner. My heart now wells with joy thinking of you singing and coloring and making mischief as I'm sure you are doing wherever you are right now. I know you will face more struggles in life. You will be teased because you are missing an eye, because your new nose doesn't quite look like everyone else's. But I am praying you don't forget your time on the ship. The way you were loved even when you fought us. That's the way Jesus loves you.

To Naomi's missing lady: Please know that you are not forgotten. I am praying for a miracle that you still make it to the ship before it leaves in about a month, OR that your tumor growth slows and you will be able to make it to the ship when it returns in August. But, maybe your "happy ending" doesn't include the ship. If that's the case, I am praying for trust in a God who has not abandoned you.... that your "end" may truly just be the beginning of a life more beautiful than you could ever imagine.

To YOU: Are you bitter or disappointed or just feeling exhausted in the pursuit of a "happy ending"? Let go. Evaluate how you are currently defining a happy ending. Will that really make you happy, or only bring satisfaction for just a little while? Are you seeking circumstantial happiness or true contentment despite circumstance? Be honest with yourself... and gracious with yourself. God has so much grace for you it is ridiculous and actually makes zero sense except that He just loves you that much. He has a plan for you, and it involves immeasurably more than you could ask for. I'm right there with you if it sounds easier to stick with your own plan, but I know that isn't better. It also isn't possible, I've tried it. Step out. Ask for a greater faith, for God to help you. He loves to hear that and to come to your rescue. He is the author of every end and every beginning.

You call me out upon the waters, the great unknown, where feet may fail. And there I find you in the mystery. In oceans deep, my faith will stand. I will call upon Your name, and keep my eyes above the waves. When oceans rise my soul will rest in Your embrace. I am Yours, and You are mine.

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders, let me walk upon the waters WHEREVER You will call me. Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander, and my faith will be made stronger in the presence of my Savior.