As I reflect on my recent time in Malawi, I’m overwhelmed by God’s kindness to His children! I was terrified of being beaten down with discouragement after a devastatingly heavy trip to Haiti in 2023, and while there were many sober moments in Malawi, joy and hope overshadowed the sorrow. We partnered with Good Samaritan Ministries which has a network of over 500 churches in Malawi, a bible training school, and a children’s home. I was blown away to see firsthand such an expansive and thriving network of churches serving as the hands and feet of Jesus in Malawi through the children’s home and other ministries like children’s bible clubs. Our first full day in Malawi, we had clinic at the main campus of Good Samaritan Ministries—it was a slower paced day, which allowed us to move at a comfortable, more relational pace. My interpreter, Ben, is a teacher at the bible college and has also planted a church in Malawi. When asked about what prepared him to plant a church, he humbly and confidently gave God all the credit for calling him to serve and providing a way through education and finances with the caveat that “you need money, but money is easy for God”.
Clinic Day #1—an incredible view out the church window! On Sunday, I experienced an African church service for the first time—truly a taste of heaven! I think my brothers and sister in Christ could have sung and danced all day long if we weren’t hosting an afternoon clinic. Although I couldn’t understand their Chichewa language, their passionate worship was convicting. One of the most humbling parts of their service was seeing so many sacrificially give their money. I was challenged to think about the widow in Luke 21 who gave her two mites which was more precious in Jesus’ eyes than the wealthy giving out of their abundance. It truly is a beautiful paradox that while my African brothers and sisters may be poor from an earthly perspective, they are eternally rich in the Lord!
Team photo after church on Sunday before starting clinic day #2.
As the day wrapped up after a few hours of clinic, I reconnected with a girl living at the children’s home, who I’d met the night before. She’d previously told me that she loves to sing and dance, so I was overjoyed when she agreed to teach me one of her favorite songs. I assumed it’d be a silly children’s song, but she proceeded to confidently sing the simple but profound truth that Jesus never fails. “Jesus never fails. Jesus never fails. The men of this world let me down, but Jesus never fails.” {Cue the tears}. After a good night of sleep, we loaded up the bus and van to commute to a remote village in the Mulanje district. I was uncertain of what to expect, but very excited. We drove for about an hour on paved roads and then another thirty minutes on a dirt road until we came to a school campus filled with women and children waiting for us. Upon our arrival, pastors and believers from the church in the village were already on site boldly preaching Christ to individuals under the shade of the trees and buildings!
I was immediately struck by a few observations as we arrived at clinic: many people were not wearing shoes, the children seemed to roam freely without adult supervision, and people were unhurried, spending their entire day at the clinic as if they had nowhere else to be. Initially some of the children were apprehensive, but quickly warmed up as we shared stickers and bubbles with them. We had a warm and busy day caring for many patients, mostly farmers and children. From a healthcare standpoint, I was challenged to sensitively make lifestyle recommendations to individuals and consider unique solutions to ailments that often have easy answers in the United States where medications, therapies, and other resources are so abundant. As the day wound down, I sorted through hundreds of patient forms each representing someone who had heard the gospel. My soul simultaneously rejoiced knowing the good news of Jesus was proclaimed while feeling grieved that we couldn’t provide fuller, more long term healing to so many who were suffering physically. As we drove away, many children ran after the bus with joy, laughter, and shouting—a bittersweet “thank you.”
Clinic Day #3—in the remote Mulanje district
The next day, our team traveled about two and a half hours to the Chikwawa district for clinic. We were warmly welcomed by a choir of ladies singing and dancing as the bus drove into the compound. Onsite we found one of the simplest yet strikingly profound church buildings I’ve experienced—brick walls, a tin roof, and mud benches. My American mindset immediately saw the seating arrangement as uncomfortable and assumed the service would probably last way too long, but witnessing the joy of the church members welcoming us in song with warm hugs and seeing the church leaders passionately share the good news of Jesus seemed to shout through a whisper that the building and material things aren’t the point! Our team was challenged as we set up clinic in the open air, under the shade of some trees. The logistics and patient flow were less than ideal, but the opportunity to love and serve seemed to make the inconvenience seem negligible. Plus, we were in a mountainous area, so I was overjoyed to be outside in creation’s beauty feeling every little breeze that came across the field we gathered in. The needs and desperation we saw mirrored the needs of the Mulanje district. I hope to never forget a sweet little patient, an infant presenting with wheezing—our pharmacy did not have albuterol nebulizer treatments or other medication to alleviate her symptoms. I was reassured by her well-appearance, but as a “fixer” I felt powerless knowing there wasn’t anything I could do to help her physically in the moment. So, I just held her tight for a couple minutes and silently pleaded with God to protect her body and to grant me the grace to surrender her wellbeing to Him. The long but breathtakingly beautiful bus ride back to Blantyre was a wonderful time to reflect and pray.
Clinic day #4—in the remote Chikwawa district
Our final clinic day we set up at a school on the outskirts of Blantyre. At this point, I was starting to feel tired, but the team’s spirits were still high. I saw many patients with heartbreaking stories—an older woman recently diagnosed with colon cancer asking if we could treat her, a teen boy who’d been suffering from painful peeling of his palms and soles for 10+ years, and patients with difficulty walking from working for years on a farm.
Clinic day #5—on the outskirts of Blantyre
Up until this point, I had emotionally kept it together fairly well, but then I met one little patient who still brings tears to my eyes. The moment his young mom carried him into the small classroom where I was seeing patients, I could tell something was off. His fast and noisy breathing was audible from across the room, and upon closer observation I noticed him using extra muscles to breathe, his protruding tongue, poor coordination, stiff arms and legs, and other characteristics consistent with cerebral palsy. Mom’s simple request was, “Can you help his breathing?” My heart sank and my mind started racing. The simple answer was “No.” But everything within me pushed back—my brain was flooded with the plethora of interventions, medications, surgeries, therapies, and resources available in the United States. But that’s not where God sovereignly placed him. As best I could, I listened to mom, gathered information, examined him, and tried to provide honest but encouraging health education and advice. I can still vividly see mom’s smile and the gratitude in her eyes. I helped them to the pharmacy waiting area and gave mom a big hug.
As I walked away, tears began to well up in my eyes and eventually they gushed like a dang burst. It didn’t seem fair to me, and my heart entered a wrestling match with the Lord. Like the disciples in John 9 who asked Jesus, “Who sinned that this man was born blind?”, I accusatorially asked God, “Why was he given these disabilities?”. I wasn’t given an answer, but the burden was released from my shoulders and laid at the feet of Jesus. I didn’t understand then, and I still don’t understand now. But I surrendered my demand to understand and continue to choose to trust that God’s ways are higher than mine and His thought are higher than my thoughts. After a few moments, I composed myself and continued to see patients. We ended our final clinic day back at the children’s home for a send-off service. There was singing, praying, and testimonies of God’s goodness. As the service ended, we were told we were going to form a circle to sing a song of blessing for our team before we finished the trip. As the children and staff started moving to perimeter for the building, one of the girls living at the children’s home told me, “You have to sit in the middle of the room. We going to bless YOU.” So, our team sat in the front center pews of the building, and the children and staff filled the room with strikingly beautiful harmonies. While I wish I understood the Chichewa words they sang, the sweet melody alone moved me to tears yet again, only this time they were tears of overwhelming joy and amazement that the Lord would allow me to experience such authentic Christ-like love and faith. When the song finished, all the children and staff turned toward the wall, got down on their hands and knees, and simultaneously prayed aloud for our team! I doubt I’ll ever have words to adequately describe the emotion of that moment, but I hope I never forget both the nearness and the magnificence of God that rushed over me. I saw Him as God over Africa and America and the entire universe; and I felt Him holding me and comforting me at the same time. The beautiful transcendence and intimacy of God simultaneously on display.
After being home for a few weeks now, I find myself frequently longing to be back. I’m so thankful the Lord has provided running water, reliable WiFi, air conditioning, a car, steady income, and so much more, but sometimes it feels like it’s robbing me of a more full human experience—a life where the discomforts of this world make me long for the world to come, where God’s provision is obvious rather than disguised by my hustle, where the isolation and individuality melts away because living in community is necessary for survival, and where childlike faith frees me from the false sense of responsibility I often place on myself. And while I don’t know if I’ll ever return to Malawi during my one short life, I’m filled with confidence that someday all wrongs will be made right, all tears will be wiped away, and people from every nation and tongue will gather together. What a joyful reunion that will be!