Captain's Log #44
February, 2005

Naked?
The doctor is indistinguishable from the other people in his shorts and open shirt and flip flops.. but then so am I.  In time the heat of these islands takes care of formalities such as any clothing that is at all beyond the minimum that one deems necessary as perspiration moves inexorably to join the rivulets running down one's back. And what one deems necessary for clothing seems to be changing with time in this heat - and that thought makes me wonder what I'll not be wearing in another 10 years or so.  I follow the doctor walking down the single concrete corridor of the 'hospital' on my private guided tour as he talks and points and then somewhere in there, I smell the disinfectant 'Dettol' and my mind flashes instantly back to the mission hospitals around which I grew up in the Transvaal of Southern Africa. This 'hospital' is much the same, but smaller, and a world away, and hotter. However, the same picture of hurting people is here.

To Mumble
Suddenly in the ward, I recognize one of the patients - an old man - and as he slowly turns and sees me, his clouded eyes light up and he starts jabbering way faster than I can make head or tail out of it, but I smile and nod and mumble the sounds that make old men think you understand them.  I know this man from one of the villages, a long ways from this place  where God has given us the privilege over these last years to work. God wants so desperately to help these who are hurting... and I think God's not really about theory - He does or does not do it through each of us, responding to His lead.

Prime Minister?
I watch the doctor and his charge. Overcrowded, understaffed, not enough supplies and equipment and wherewithal to deal with the 79 villages and 10,500 islanders that turn to this man and his 19 beds for their last chance of any kind of medical hope as they face sickness and death. I'm being treated like royalty today and all I did was the easier part, I think. The doctor ushers me into a 'tea room' where his staff and anyone of importance has gathered. As the speech starts, I look around to see if the Prime Minister or someone like that has entered... but no... all of it is for my benefit. It begins with apologies for the lack of an elaborate 'lovo' feast and I feel guilty as I listen to these people trying to let me know what difference I've personally made in their lives and in their little hospital this day. All I can think is.. "no, it's really not me. I'm just one piece of the puzzle". I try to tell them it's about what God can or can't do through His children as we each one decide if we're going to respond to Him.  Wow - what He does, none of us could ever personally by ourselves accomplish... but as by faith we follow His lead and together do what He says and go where He points... there's no limit!

God's Hospital Worker Heart
I pray for these people and tell them I think God has a heart like their heart, a heart of a hospital worker who desperately wants to help hurting people. I wish I could record their speech for me today and send it to those in faraway miserably cold places like Idaho and Missouri who've all done a huge amount of the work behind today. I just get to take the credit way out here. I realize that today -  out here in this remote place - is possible only because of a 40 foot container that actually made its way all the way from Nampa, Idaho to the Fiji main island of Viti Levu in a combined effort involving 'Hands of Hope' and 'Nazarene Compassionate Ministries' and others who together have all worked hard to make it all happen in the name of Jesus. On this end, Nazarene Maritime Ministries has now been able to pick up and move forward and outward with this compassionate arm of our Lord's work. Lives are deeply affected.

Tied and Strapped
Amazingly, yesterday we had managed to load 1.6 metric tons of hospital supplies into and onto the motor vessel 'GALILEAN II'. The weight wasn't a problem - the boat can easily handle that - the amazing thing was space. Whoever packed that container did one fantastic job. That which was designated for this outer island hospital had been sorted out and loaded onto the boat. Early this morning when we had gotten ready to leave... I discover that getting up to the wheelhouse of the boat where the helm is, is now quite challenging.  It involves squeezing sideways past and over all sorts of beds, IV stands, tables and boxes that are carefully labeled orthopedic, cardiac, pediatric, respiratory, or other 'ic', 'ac' and 'ory' things I couldn't ever identify - all of which has now been carefully wrapped in waterproof tarps and tied and strapped down for the ocean voyage. I've learned a long time ago on the ocean that the time to tie and strap things down is not after you discover that you need to have tied and strapped things down.

Sleeping Squeezed
In the darkness of our pre-dawn departure, I reach behind me down into the narrow space and pick up Quinton, my 9 year old, responding to his hug I lift him up and wedge him between the vessel's roof and the top of half a dozen mattresses that are already wedged on top of other stuff. "Thanks Dad... this will work," he grins and it's the last he says as he rolls over and snuggles down, glued now in place like a gecko, born to this, another tossing day on the South Pacific. He's been talking non-stop in the truck since he and I left home over an hour ago at 3:00 this morning and like usual he's sound asleep before we clear the breakwater reef at Suva harbor entrance and move outward into the darkness on a 205 degree heading. Somewhere along in there is where I begin my normal Eastward vigilance, waiting for  that searing flaming ball of fire that will usher in this new day and whatever it holds. Do you know that when you're at sea out here in the South Pacific, in the early morning - from the darkness before you see the sun... until after the sun has complete freed itself from the grip of land and starts floating skywards... is less than a count of 100... incredible!

Sinking Fireball
Before this same fireball sinks today below the opposite watery horizon, we'll have traveled a fair distance long gone from the sight of land, we'll have moved quite an amount of medical cargo, we'll have seen a small remote island hospital really get excited and seriously helped... its doctor just shaking his head. Before the fireball sinks and is gone again, we won't make it back because we've got to go further around this specific group of a couple dozen islands so that we can pick up one of our pastors at dawn before we start heading homeward. But before that brilliant orb disappears today, we'll make sure our anchor is set firm and holding well inside the outer reefs and that we're ready for the night... all before that ball drops... because when she goes, it's like someone flips a switch... instant, inky-blackness. Then after a little bit, the heavens just open wide up with a million diamonds of light as far as you can see and it's time to get the coffee going and slow down and sit down and start watching for the Southern Cross as I talk this day through with Him who ushered it in and just smile and say to Him... "Thanks, Dad, this will work". Our God Reigns, Harmon

Our God Reigns,
Harmon

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