The STRIKE

(Please note that this is written for our friends and family. In choosing to share one of life's most painful experiences, I would appreciate your gracious, non-judgmental responses...)*** It's not a mission story most want to hear, but it's ours and it happened.***

Hudson saw me reach for my apron and ran excitedly into the kitchen. “Mommy, I want to help, what are you making for supper?” I grabbed the kid’s apron and threw it to him. He wrestled himself into it and waited for my reply. “We’re starting with bread dough Huddy.” I answered as I dusted the counter with flour. As Hudson was adding the water I heard the kitchen door open, and turned excited to see Ryan home a little early.  I drew my tacky hands behind my back and offered him my flour spattered face to kiss. His mood was somber as he pecked my cheek. Something was wrong.  Did he have a complicated surgery today? Was he tired from being up all night? Did a patient just die?

I wondered what might have caused this sullen disposition, and waited until we got the kids to bed, and things were quiet to inquire. Ryan handed me a paper of accusations against him and another Dr that claimed the Doctors were both racist and incompetent.  The paper was clear, Americans were not wanted at Malamulo and were being asked to leave Malawi.

We were just over 2 years into our contract with the GC. I battled with Ryan over even accepting a call to mission service as he completed his residency in 2010. “Let’s move nearer to family now, and enjoy raising kids close to cousins.” I begged on several occasions.  But the call on Ryan’s heart and life were stronger than my eagerness to be with family. I remembered our first date in 2000 when we spent more time at the net talking than actually playing tennis. Ryan boldly asserted, “Any woman who marries me must know I’m not going to be a Doctor that makes lots of money, I’m going to serve in Africa.” This sentiment was totally fine with me….until we had children.  After another fight about whether or not to accept a call to mission service, Ryan asked me “have you prayed about it?” I thought “of course not! I don’t want to hear what God has to say about this!” But when I relented, God said, “GO”.

(Snapped after our first 'date' in 2000)

“I’m not going to be a trailing spouse” I determined. Months were spent in preparing to leave the USA for Malawi. We lost our home in the economic downturn of the Detroit market, sold half our belongings on our front yard, packed a moving truck, attended IWM (Institute of World Missions), sobbed at farewells in MI, CA, and Australia, crammed suitcases with needed stuff, and headed out into the unknown.

As we descended into Blantyre, the red earth and sparse trees greeted us, along with mission staff from Malamulo Hospital. As they drove us to the mission, I fought to stay awake trying to soak in the newness, the raw beauty, the diversity, and the differences of where we had come from to where we were now.

An older man with a twig broom in his hand opened the gate to our new home. Entering in through the kitchen, the paint fumes assaulted my nostrils and I looked over to find the hospital maintenance department furiously splashing paint on my kitchen cupboards. I had a feeling no amount of paint could fix the rottenness underneath, or the rat and cockroach infested room. I told myself, “It will get better Shar…” We popped up the baby’s portable tent and placed it in the middle of the concrete slab in his room. He looked so alone there, no soft carpet, or décor. Someone rushed down with a mosquito net for our other son. His mattress was on the floor, and I could barely place him on it, seeing the stains and rips under the sheet. Tucking in his net I jumped when a rat ran across his room and darted into the closet. “Lord, keep our boy safe tonight.” I pleaded.

The beautiful view of the back garden was obscured through three layers of security bars, and someone informed us, “your house has more bars than most, since the missionaries 10 years ago had an armed robbery here. Goodnight, welcome to Malawi.”

During the first year in Malawi we adjusted to our new country, overcoming fears of cockroaches, rats, snakes and a dilapidated home. We began to enjoy the culture, the food, the people, the lack of consumerism, the slow pace, the quiet moments by candlelight when the power went out.

As the second year of service rolled around, we began to think of ways to help the mission with projects. Through donations from family and friends, we soon were able to coordinate many efforts on the campus to improve the surgical operating theatre, staff housing, and free life saving surgeries.  We were in awe of how God was bringing in money for His purposes. With every new donation we felt incredibly humbled, thankful and grateful to have this opportunity to serve the under-served people of Malawi.

Discussions began brewing about starting a surgical residency to train Malawian Doctors to be surgeons through the PAACS program. The balls were all rolling in various directions. The Hospital was progressing, villagers were receiving the care they needed, plans for the future of Malawian surgeons had begun. The sun was shining.

But that day when Ryan walked in the door with his solemn face, the sun stopped shining, the plans stopped brewing, the projects skidded to a halt.  In utter disbelief, choking back tears, Ryan tried to express to me how misunderstood he felt. How gut wrenching the hurtful words and accusations were as they simmered on the paper in front of him. The thing was, he didn’t have to say anything. I knew the sacrifices we had made to follow this call. I knew the life we chose to leave to be here. I knew the intentions of the man that was now accused and being asked to leave by a disgruntled mob of hospital employees. I knew them all, and I wept from my heart for my husband.

Sometimes Missionaries are needed but not wanted.  

(A 'mountain top' experience as we hiked Mt Mulanje in 2014)

It took over 2 months to settle the strike and for the administration to decide what validity the strikers had in their complaints. During this time we were alone. Only our friends and family called and supported us. The slander hung off us like a stench and we felt abandoned by the institution and Church we had worked so tirelessly for. I was reminded of Paul, walking in the fire of false accusations, defamation, and isolation - alone in Christ.  When the Doctors were told they found no faults in them to dismiss them, a heavy weight lifted from my chest! After 2 months of engaging in work side by side with the people who wrote those awful things, after 2 months of not sleeping for fear that the TV and radio announcement outlining the defamations of the strike may lead to an attack on our family, after 2 months of questioning God why we were in the fire when we came to be servants, we were told, ‘you can stay’. Most people thought we would bail. 

The verdict was out, and so were the people pouring out in support for us. Their silence during the strike was painful. The words sent like arrows against our characters were hard to heal.

Fortunately it was Ryan having to go to work during this time. His tender heart forgave immediately. His spirit was broken but giving. The hospital was back to usual business. Almost like nothing happened. Almost like the failed strike didn’t exist.

Yet the bitterness sat in my soul, a constant agitation for over a year after the strike. The list of injustices, defamations, character assaults, then the friendly gestures and assistance requests after the fact, was all too much for me to Christian up and bear. I fought for a forgiving spirit, but I was hollow with disgust, clutching my right to be angry, to be hurt and not forgive.

It’s been over two years since the strike that forever changed us. It’s been over two years since we learned about walking through the valley, being alone, and being totally dependent on God’s mercies.  How much He had taught us through the fire! How good He has been through the drought! How intimate he has been through our flood of tears! During a worship service one year after the strike, the Holy Spirit healed my heart, taking the injustice, anger, and pain away. Giving me gratitude for the opportunity to serve in Malawi, God has also blessed us with this trial, ever smoothing our rough edges, molding us, teaching us and above all, loving us.  

And so one thing remains, through the storm HE is Lord, Lord of ALL.

(PAACS (Pan-African-Academy for Christian Surgeons began at Malamulo in August 2014 after years of preparation and planning and praying - PRAISE GOD! Ryan is the program director with our new surgeon Dr Fekadu as the Associate Director. Together, along with support from our administration, PAACS, and LLU they are following the call to train more African Dr's to become surgeons. )

We move on...we press forward...we accept God's armor and HIS battles are worth fighting for, and so we choose to stay where He has led, and we will go where He makes a way...

ISAIAH 40:31 (Ryan's favorite verse)

"But those who wait on the Lord Shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles, They shall run and not be weary, They shall walk and not faint."