To our readers, please pray for our friend Kent Brantley, a physician living and working in Liberia amidst the Ebola virus outbreak.  He has contracted this deadly virus.  He is a husband and father.

These are stories of tragedies.

Joseph was a young man of 28, a husband and father as well.  He suffered a motorcycle accident and a fractured femur (long bone in your thigh), an everyday story here.  His leg got infected, and when we first saw him, he was hanging on to life by a thin thread.

"There is a stat consult from ortho" I heard walking through the ICU on a Thursday morning.  And then he lost his pulse.  We coded him intermittently for about four hours, buffering in boluses the overwhelming death that was coming.  This young man was a fighter, and despite the failure of almost all his organs, he pulled through the day.

Like clockwork, the organs that failed him returned: he awoke (brain) started breathing on his own (lungs) maintaining his blood pressure (heart) making urine (kidneys) and blood cells (bone marrow).  It was a marvel of the created human body, like a re-do Garden of Eden.  We took this picture to illustrate this moment.

Because we knew he would never walk, the femur was gone, we found this wheelchair, complete with the hand crank, and the tires to handle the African village life.  We put it together in anticipation.

But this isn't the Garden and I warned you that these are stories of tragedies.  After four weeks in the ICU, Joseph was unable to get enough nutrition to rebuild his strength.  Over the course of about a week he wasted away, the will was gone, or was it his strength?  He died on my weekend off.






This is a man named Richard, and his children (all 7 of them).  The setting for this story is about 2 hours' drive off the paved road, a road I got to take because of the work that Katie does with a women's group called Tabitha Ministry.  The backstory is one that I'm all-too-familiar-with from Tenwek.  His wife suffered complications in pregnancy and died giving birth to these twins 2 years ago.  He is a widower, and with his community and with his mother-in-law he cares for these children.




We got invited to a ceremony to dedicate a house given to him by some donors from the US.  Mud and sticks and tin roof and all.  That's me (the white guy) in a somewhat-ridiculous African shirt that the Tabitha ladies gave to me.

The weight of tragedy that we see in everyday life at the hospital is the greatest challenge of living here.  Often I wonder, "what's going to happen to these people?" and without an answer I move on to the next patient in line.  Here's a community, a church, that has joined together to support this man in his tragedy.  We have a great deal to learn about community, about suffering, and endurance, and about hoping in the resurrection.  And these are our teachers.




And so, when we don't know what to do, or what to say, we speak the Good News, that God rescues sinners from death.  We treat the sick with compassion and thus fight an insurrection against the powers of this world: sickness and suffering,  and we plant a little bit of that news in this African soil.