Way back in November, I was having a really bad day. Things weren’t going at all as planned. I threw the schedule out the window half way through the day, and I had a terrible attitude about serving in eastern DRC. One of the many changes to the day was an emergency medical evacuation that came up at the last minute, and I happened to be in the area. The weather was terrible, I was tired, and I really didn’t want one more thing added to an already very long and tiring day.
I transported a mother and her 9-month-old baby boy from Nebobongo to the mission hospital in Nyankunde a little over an hour away; he needed emergency brain surgery. I mumbled and grumbled while I dodged thunderstorms, but as I landed, the gravity of the situation hit me when the hospital team came running to meet the plane. The mother was crying and pleading with God as they whisked her little boy away for immediate surgery. His head was the size of a basketball, nothing registered in his eyes, his body was limp . . . that was almost six months ago.
Today, I made an extra stop in Nyankunde for a mother and her baby to be transported to Nebobongo, but I didn’t think much of it until I landed and saw the little boy. My heart was rejoicing as he laughed and clapped his hands, and even cried as the airplane roared and bounced down the airstrip. We were met in Nebobongo with cheers, hugs, and singing—a true testimony to the Great Physician’s healing hands. What else can you do but praise God?