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Emotional memory packs a punch. It lasts long after an experience has soaked into who I am. I remember so many emotional experiences from my years with Mercy Ships. Now I don’t use the word emotional to refer to grand mountain top experiences. I am talking about the diverse range of people and places that nudged my understanding of the world outward. Mercy Ships has taken me to eighteen countries, nine of them in Africa. Another country is just a shaded shape on a map until you step foot on the gritty dirt and walk with the people who live in a very different culture. Being on the ship for my DTS partly prepared me for this. I started in Reception.

In Reception I dealt with European, North American, Asian and of course African people. Everyone had a different accent, different words, even different ways of writing the alphabet and on a deeper level different ways of thinking about the world. For a week, I volunteered with the village medical team.  Initially I tried doing triage where I was quite confounded when each person seemed to have “body aches.”  We were always trying to ensure that things didn’t get lost in translation. This would take time and patience and of course a little mercy; mercy on ourselves and on others.

One of the first countries we visited was Ghana. Ghana is a tropical West African nation with a reputation for friendly people. I found myself walking through open air markets that sold food that was new to me. In the absence of refrigeration they sold a chocolate that had something in it to stop it from melting. Unfortunately that made it taste a little like candle wax. Yum. Another food was fufu which is a paste made from cassava, a root crop. I thought it tasted like wallpaper glue. Of course when I think about it people from other countries often found the taste of Aussie Vegemite disgusting.

At that time the ship was not air conditioned so it felt like living in a hot tin can. Getting my feet on the ground and looking around the ports of Tema and Takoradi on the weekends was something I enjoyed. We did have a few air conditioned vehicles that could be lifted by crane off the ship. They were used when a team from the ship had to venture further afield. I made several trips with those teams to lend a hand and I mean that literally as I with the puppet team. Kneeling in the dirt on a hot steamy day making my puppet dance to a song that a translator had introduced, well it was surprisingly rewarding. Hearing laughter and seeing smiling faces needed no translation.

Behind the smiles there was something that took time to see. I knew that living standards were different but that difference was in what I did not see rather that what was visible. Many of the houses were made of concrete blocks and had corrugated iron roofs. In the country they were often mud brick houses with thatched roofs. The thing that was often missing was running water. I had running water on the ship. Many people did not have the basics that I took for granted. That is of course the whole reason for Mercy Ships, to provide health care where it is either insufficient or nonexistent.   Seeing the reality of this need packed an emotional punch for me. I don’t remember all of the details about my time with Mercy Ships but I do know that I now have my own hard-to-define body ache.  It sounds like a cliché to say you feel someone else’s pain but it is the beginning of mercy – after all I did not choose to be born into a wealthy country. I hope my meaning is not lost in translation. Have a little mercy on yourself and others for we are all the same under the skin.

Looking back on my ten years with Mercy Ships I see a kaleidoscope of recollections. Places and faces come in and out of focus. In writing my story I have no wish to look back through rose-coloured glasses, nor do I want to over emphasise the things that were difficult for me. I remember my first sight of people coming on, then later filing off the ship healed. In time I would get to know some of them and then they would be gone again. Memory has its limits and from this distance of time I do remember much but the order of events and the specific details are sometimes hazy. At the heart of this story though I clearly remember how a little bit of mercy can transform lives.

As I write this I can hear the sound of the surf and the wind through the trees. I am at Rainbow Beach in South East Queensland. I have Mercy Ship pictures on my lap top and the glow of colour from them lights my face in the fading light after sunset. When I framed those pictures all those years ago I did not realize how valuable they would become. When you photograph a scene you are choosing what’s worth remembering. Today I value every opportunity to capture the essence of the moment as tomorrow it will become part of a story worth remembering.

 I framed some pictures yesterday at Poona Lake, a beautiful freshwater lake in the middle of a rainforest that somehow manages to grow on sand. The foot prints that I left behind will wash away but the memory of floating in the cool water watching little yabbies (tiny lobsters) dart around will stay with me for a long time. I switch off the lap top and in the darkness am amazed at the massive contrast between my life in Australia and my previous life on the Anastasis.

The Anastasis is now gone, broken up and gone. The memories associated with it have not gone; they live on in so many people. Yesterday I stood beside the propeller of a ship that for a while was well know in this part of the world. The propeller is one small part of the Cherry Venture, a ship which ran aground here and became a tourist attraction. As the sea rusted the wreck into memory, people would souvenir parts of it until it was no longer deemed to be a safe place to go. It was removed and now it’s just a story. But stories do matter; they are how we understand the world. If you have been on the Anastasis you would have collected something that was precious and evocative to you. Your memory may not be perfect but your stories are worth collection. As I look back and remember my time with Mercy Ships I realize that right now there are people still over there looking out on difficult circumstances. Can there ever be a time when there is no need for healing in this world? For a while I was part of a team that brought mercy to people who desperately needed it. Gorome was one of those people.

Gorome was in her teens, but there was no giggling with friends at school about boys for her.  In fact, she did not go to school.  She tried when she was younger, but the cruel comments were too much. Gorome was born with one of the most common birth defects – a cleft lip.  Her upper lip had a split in it that extended up to her nostril and inside to include the roof of her mouth. The surgery that could have been performed while she was still a baby was not affordable or even available.  So she hid away from the world, looking after her younger siblings and helping with the housework.  She dreamed of an ordinary life where she can go out during daylight and not have to cover her face to avoid the ever-present stares of all who see her deformity.  But the skilled medical team on the Anastasis transformed her face and her life with a relatively simple two hour surgery.  This girl’s transformation reminds me of what is possible. I know so many times healing is not so obviously visible. That’s why we tell stories of hope. That’s why I will draw together ten years of experience into this series on my life with Mercy Ships. Hope heals.

With her permission, I am writing about my wife’s experiences with the Christian charity, Mercy Ships. This is part three.

I had mostly forgotten about the awkward self consciousness that happened when I first stood up to the public scrutiny of performing in front of people. I am back on the Canary Islands. After my first three months on the ship it was time to serve Mercy Ships on dry land. When I chose to be part of this outreach team I thought I would have been able to hide my face and speak through puppets to children. The reality in front of me was not the reality I envisaged in my head.  I am performing to Spanish speaking adults and I know that my face could be revealing my feelings and my body is probably looking dorky. But with Mercy ships when there is a job to do, we learn to forget about ourselves and just get it done. This challenge would seem trivial after I had spent ten years with Mercy Ships. But it is still 1994 and I am illustrating the gospel message wearing garishly bright baggy trousers and a white tee shirt while a handful of people and a startled dog watch us. I could treat the dog if necessary as I have been formally trained as a Veterinary Surgeon.  But I am operating on a different level today standing on this beach outside in the sun, outside of my comfort zone. The strange thing is that I am learning so much by doing the thing that was not my first choice. I came to serve on a ship but here I am back where it all started on the island where I first came on board the Anastasis.

The Canary Islands lie 100 km west of Morocco. This subtropical place is a collection of eight main islands that is geographically part of Africa but politically and economically connected to Spain. Before I left the ship to travel across these islands I had to decide what role I would play when I came onboard again. I gravitated to what I thought I knew. As well as choosing the ship drama team as one of my preferences, I also chose working in Reception. Some of the Reception duties would be similar to what I have done as a Vet. I can answer the phone, I can greet people, but would the reality in my head match the reality I would experience?  I enjoyed my time on the Canary Islands but I was also very keen to step back onboard the ship. We spent one uncomfortable night sleeping at an airport because we had arrived late in the day and our connecting trip to another island was very early the following morning. I could never know when I would step outside of my comfort zone. I did know that this new life was for me because after the fact it felt good to be a little stretched.

Stepping into a new life takes time and it was in this time and on these islands that I had to continue to take baby steps into forgetting myself and just acting confident. Feeling confident would come after acting confident. In drama there was a lot of acting. I remember almost stepping into the path of a car when crossing a road as they drove on the opposite side of the road to what I was used to in Australia. So yes I soon sensed the need to be cautious as I stepped into my new life on the ship. It could be exhilarating and challenging at the same time.

Reception would be my first job on the Anastasis. In Reception I would see so many people file on board the ship. Many had their faces deformed by life threatening illness and I could see in their faces fear and hope. Many had been shunned because of what they looked like and in some communities people believed that their illness was the result of demon possession. Just the act of stepping onboard a ship took bravery as many had never been in a large structure in their life. I would see many of these people file off the ship healed, their faces changed forever. I would be forever changed by my time aboard the ship. I would eventually run Reception myself but in 1994 I could not know that this would be just the start of a long journey that would take me to so many places. As I forgot about how I might be perceived by others, I gained the freedom to choose my next Mercy Ships adventure some days and on other days be ok when the adventure chose me.

With her permission, I am writing about my wife’s experiences with the Christian charity, Mercy Ships. You can read part one in my previous post.

For the last four years I have cocooned myself off from new experiences and have tried to make my life safe. My vain attempts to deal with the grief I felt from my mother’s death led me to hold people at a distance, and I had been gradually pushing God away also. I wasn’t really close to my mother but her early death changed me inside. Witnessing her suffering was very hard. The discipleship training that I was to experience on the ship would teach me many things, one of which would be the discipline of serving people in need and being with them in their suffering. A Mercy Ship is a hospital ship that provides essential medical care in areas of the world where there is little hope of healing.

In my first months of training on board the Anastasis I struggled as an introvert whose inner life had become walled up compartments of pain and loss. I would leave four years of grief behind and find ten years of richly rewarding life experience, but at the start I could have no way to knowing this. I would live on a floating hunk of metal that contained a melting pot of humanity confined on board a vessel just 159 metres long. It was a melting pot in every sense. People from all nations, walks of life and cultures rubbed sweaty shoulders together in the hot cramped confines of a former Italian cruise ship. I was here to move out into the wide world to meet the needs of others but I felt compressed in the narrow confines of the ship where my need for healing initially held me back. I was here to move forward into a new life but even on the steep staircases between levels I had to crab sideways to pass people going down or up.

I sought to spend as much time as possible up on deck away from the claustrophobia of narrow halls and small rooms. It was a cooler, quieter space. On the ship I thought my window on the world would be opened up to me straight away but the little round port holes did not reveal much of the outside world. Navigating the low ceilings I quickly learned to protect my head from injury and my feet from various trip hazards. Navigating so many new relationships on board the ship would be an essential skill if I was to chart a course between the personal space I needed and the public space where I could serve the needs of others with Mercy Ships.

 A joke comes to mind, a Polish doctor, an American, a Swiss lady and an Australian walk into a small cabin; yes, that was my first cabin on board and no, I wasn’t sure what punch line would be at the end of the joke. It was not always clear if I should laugh or cry as life just came at me with a loud vibrancy which was exhilarating yet also confronting. I had a love/ hate relationship with the noisy dining room where everyone ate in shifts because of the limited space, but up on deck the sight of the sea and the sky invoked in me a sense of peace. In the open space I was reconnecting with the faith I sought to revive. But these times would be limited as ship board tasks had to be done; an ageing vessel needs ongoing maintenance. We had to clean everything, to help in so many ways that there was always something to do.

My first port of call was Senegal and my first three months went from November to January so that meant for me a Christmas like no other. I was welcomed into the cabin of a Canadian family and I felt at home with their kindness and generosity. At the Christmas dinner I chose to be part of the team that served the meal and as I enjoyed this simple task I felt the walls within me crumble a little more. In time I would move from carrying dinner plates to cleaning the bilge plates in the noisy engine room. There I was, a former veterinary surgeon working with a Japanese anaesthetist in the bowels of a ship. Over the next ten years I would get to do so many things from scuba diving under the ship to handling customs issues. At the end of my first three months I had made the transition to ship life and I was beginning to hope that Mercy Ships would be the life for me.

With her permission, I am writing about my wife’s experiences with the Christian charity, Mercy Ships. Come aboard the Anastasis, a ship gone to history but doubtless not forgotten by the many dedicated people who served onboard. What was it like to have this experience?  Let’s find out…

There is another life for me across the sea, beyond the horizon. It is beyond my comprehension. I can see it just a little in people who have been there and come back different, changed, better. I am looking across the horizon now and I am focusing on a ship as it gradually approaches Brisbane.  It is a container ship pregnant with maybe cars or other consumer goods. I wonder what life will be like contained within the metal walls of a ship. I will be heading out to sea myself but first I have to say goodbye. My father, a quiet and deliberative man is not given to strong manifestations of emotion. My brother is also a restrained presence. I know that they will miss me and that I will miss them. They are good people but it is time to say goodbye. I have done this before. I have been here before, saying goodbye and wondering what will come next.

I said goodbye years before when I began my epic journey in my little car to an exotic location across the horizon. Brisbane to Adelaide seems like a small journey compared to what I am about to embark on but at the time it was all new to me. I would work as a vet for many years before I decided to say goodbye to that life. I said goodbye to my mother when she left this life too early. That goodbye was protracted and painful. That was four years ago now. It is 1993. It is time to go. I think that I will be away for a few months. I think that those months will change me. They will, but months will turn to years and the years will take me so far away that from where I am now that today will seem like a dream that happened to someone else.  Across the sea another life beckons. My new home will be a ship but my new life will not be contained within its metal walls. That lies beyond my comprehension at the moment. So let me tell you what I thought I knew then about my new home, the Anastasis.

The Anastasis was the hospital ship used by the Christian humanitarian organisation, Mercy Ships. Anastasis is the Greek word for resurrection. I would come to life serving on this ship but that is all ahead of me now as I begin my long journey to meet her. She started life as an Italian Ocean Liner in 1953. After extensive renovations she would become a specialist Hospital ship from 1978 to 2007. Sitting in Brisbane airport in 1993 I am about to fully leave behind my speciality. I still wonder what a burnt-out vet can offer the world. The extensive renovations within me are yet to occur so along with my bags I have a portion of old anxiety to carry with me. I won’t be renamed like the ship but I will constantly be repurposed on board. None of this is visible to me as I sit in the airport. Airports would become familiar territory over the next few years.

I fly Brisbane to Singapore, Singapore to Madrid, Madrid to Teneriffe.  I sleep the last portion of the journey and wake on the plane as we descend to Tenerife.  The sight of a snow covered volcano outside the rounded window makes me doubt that I am on the right aircraft. Later that day I would doubt if I am the right person for this new life when I can’t open the doors on an elevator. All elevators open automatically all over the world don’t they?  I sleep walk into a city that is an eclectic mixture of old and new. I can’t speak the language and I have three days before I can enter the ship which is already docked in port. I will just be a student on the ship. My initial tenure is five months.  I haven’t set foot on the ship but I am already adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces and customs. I seek the familiar and eat at MacDonald’s. The comfort food sustains me. I haven’t yet understood how much the unfamiliar can nurture me. That lies ahead. Tomorrow I will step on board the Anastasis and the wider world of Mercy Ships.