From a message I sent a friend this past Thursday:
Today, after spending another 5 hours digging out egg sacs from Nancy's feet and taking an intern to the airport, I came back to find Raymond, one of our 6-year-olds, running to me. "Adele, look!" He had burned his hand earlier this week, and I've been treating it every night, keeping the wounds clean and wrapped. But one of the blisters had popped and none of his Band-aids were on his fingers any more. I grabbed my first-aid kit (which was still in the car from my morning excursion), and with Raymond on the other hand, walked home to help my little friend. As I was trying to figure out what would work best, he asked me in all earnest, "Adele, do you want to be a nurse?"
I could honestly tell him no, I had absolutely no desire to be a nurse. I simply cared about them and the children around me. And we don't have nurses at Ilula, so I'm it.
In playing nurse, though, I get to experience a different side of life here, a precious side I've not had the joy of experiencing before. For example, as I was concentrating hard earlier in the morning on getting Nancy's heel cleaned up, I heard her softly singing. Finally, I could make out what she was singing, and I joined her. It's a song she must've picked up when she came to Sunday school last week: "I love you, Jesus, you are my Saviour..." Somehow, I think she's starting to understand the love of Jesus.