Enough.

The weeks before our vacation were all consuming – 5 calls in 14 days, preparation for our assessment by Serge in September, the arrival 4 new families in Kijabe, each or which have specific ties to our time here, the absence of friends that have become my safe place.  The girls home from school and hungry for time with their mom. A crisis of faith and time for David. Exhaustion. A pouring out.

The joy and weight of being needed.

The certainty that my strength was not enough.

The first week I was the only long term pediatrician in Kijabe, I walked through my call on Sunday with slight trepidation. I depend greatly on my amazing colleagues and, in their absence, I felt like I was flying without a net. Monday morning after a code of one of our patients on 3 hours of sleep,  I looked up and realized I hadn’t seen any of the 4 interns on pediatrics or our wonderful clinical officer.

I started calling them, one by one they were unable to be there. Caught in traffic. Slept in. Sick and at outpatient clinic. Home with a sick child. The impossible had happened, and 5 of the 6 people I was depending on to carry the workload were not there.

Exasperation. Impossibility.

A quiet voice.

You are right. You are not enough – but I am.

So many days, I carry the burden of our life here on my shoulders and step forward – usually competent, with real deep seated joy and, I hope, kindness.

Too often, I sink under its weight. Aware of the imperfection of my path. That morning, standing on the ward, I felt grace wash over me that settled deep in my heart.

You are not in control. I am. And that is good.

I love our life in Kijabe. The medicine is challenging, heartbreaking, and soul-building. My girls bound in and out of the house with grace, contentment, and a challenge to think of bigger things. My husband is searching, adapting, coming more alive. We are living, standing, in the place where we are supposed to be.

4 days ago, on my last call, I kept walking home, only to be called back minutes later-

a post op child with trouble breathing

a baby with a fever and desperate need for oxygen

a family who had driven across Kenya because the infant was born with intestines and liver outside his body

a septic child with a fitting cry.

a healthy baby born by an emergent c-section at 3am.

I was weary. At my end.

And then, at the exact right moment, we went here:

We had planned this vacation to the Elephant Sanctuary for months, never knowing how necessary it would be.  For the last few days I have dined with friends, sat hand in hand with my husband on the edge of Africa , become giddy with excitement at beautiful sunsets, read book after book, hiked through jungle to sandy waterfalls, and reveled in my daughters’ laughter.

I have sat in the certainty

that He will continually work, even in my weariness –

that my God is big enough for the constant need that surrounds me –

and that He loves me – with our life at the hospital ensconced with  painted skies and steady arms and uncontrollable laughter –

that impossible moments are His specialty, and He will continue to invite me into them again and again,

and of the promise that He will always meet me there with compassionate, consuming strength.

Enough.

Always.