Happy Father's Day!

I wanted to say Happy Father's day to my wonderful husband and my inspirational Dad. I will start with Cannon, I guess I can just basically say see 2 posts down and you'll get the skinny. I love my sweet man so much. He is such a great Daddy and he is so service oriented every day...not just for us but for everyone. I love you Can!

My Dad is great. He has always been so service oriented whether it was organizing a feed the homeless activity or just driving someone to church, he is always ready and willing to serve. I have learned so much from his example. We have not always seen eye to eye but he is always willing to forgive and forget...of course the forgetting is just his old age kicking in, but it has always worked in my favor...haaha

Anyway, his most recent act of service has been working in Sri Lanka with the victims of the Tsunami in SE Asia that happened in December 2004. He went as soon as he got a team together and they did what they could to help the people physically and emotionally. Check out his awesome blog www.srilankanhelp.org He has been back numerous times and always has the most amazing stories of the Lord's hand in the work he is doing. He just wrote up this story of an amazing experience that he had there a couple of years ago.

A PARABLE IN ACTION

Working in Sri Lanka, after the December, 2004 tsunami, has brought countless opportunities to serve and witness miracles. My most powerful and meaningful experience, however, was not tsunami related at all.

On a hot, dusty Sunday afternoon in January, 2006, while walking the streets of Colombo, the capitol of Sri Lanka, my wife Maria and I found a man lying beside the road. He had on nothing but a ragged shirt and clearly was in severe distress. A passerby had placed an old pair of pants across him to cover his nakedness. Locals said he had been beaten, robbed and had lain there for many days. Exhausted and parched, he was able to tell us only that his name was Milton. In his condition of severe dehydration, immediate attention was critical.

While Maria cradled his head and gave him small sips of water to drink, I went to the local police station to ask permission to take Milton to the hospital. The commanding officer seemed glad for our help and gave us full authority and an escort. Milton was in excruciating pain as we tried to lift him. I ran to a local shop and bought a tablecloth to use as an improvised stretcher. Even with this he cried out in pain, borne of dehydration and exposure, as we lifted him into our van. With the police escort we moved quickly through the crowded streets and arrived a short time later at the General Hospital. Attendants placed Milton on an unpadded, metal stretcher and rolled him across the rocky parking lot, as he moaned loudly at each jolt. Because he was accompanied by westerners, Milton was taken into the emergency room very quickly. Inside this typical third world public hospital, there were few nurses and fewer doctors but eventually Milton was seen and admitted for observation.

When we returned for a visit the next day, we found Milton in a ward with dozens of other patients. He was happy to see us but pleaded for water. When queried, the nurse said that Milton was scheduled for surgery and could have nothing to eat or drink although neither she nor anyone else knew what kind of surgery. Milton begged with his eyes and hands for relief from his thirst but the only comfort we could offer was to hold his hands, as we fought back our tears.

When we returned the following day, the staff surprised us with the news that Milton was better and had checked himself out! The discharge papers showed a scraggly line across the page which the staff assured us was his signature. Clearly, we reasoned, this man who could barely talk and certainly could not walk, did not check himself out. Frantically, we began searching the neighborhood streets. Within a few minutes we found Milton, on the sidewalk. He was naked and left to the elements once again, without even the cloth we had bought for him for protection. A dirty, dying, and homeless man had been removed from care to free up a bed.

Stunned by his wretched circumstances, we stood over Milton wondering what to do next. A policeman approached, watched the scene for a moment, and then walked away. A nurse from the hospital, in her crisp and starched uniform, cast a glance Milton’s way, and then walked quickly past on the other side of the street.

I felt hopeless. I spend most of my time working with tsunami victims on the other side of the country, and here in the capital I knew few people to help me aid this man. I knelt beside Milton and asked the Lord for guidance. Immediately, I was impressed to call the local Branch President, President Arun, whom I had met the previous Sunday. Upon hearing our story, he quickly left his work and came to our assistance. When President Arun suggested Apollo Hospital, a private facility where his friend is Director of Emergency Medicine, I knew we had an answer to our prayers.

Once again, we bought a tablecloth, lifted Milton in the van, and I held him in my arms as we drove. Filthy, unable to speak and clearly without means, Milton would never have been admitted to this facility without Arun’s influence since, as I learned later, it was the best hospital in the country. As Milton lay in the comfort of a clean bed, I gave him a priesthood blessing, even though he could not understand my words.

A few days after Milton was admitted, we left for our work in the south and east of the country. Before doing so, I met with the Little Sisters of the Poor who run an Elder Home in Colombo. It is a wonderful facility that rivals the best we have in the US. The facility only cares for the elderly poor and the sisters raise money for their care through begging. They agreed to take Milton, which meant that he would spend his remaining years loved and well cared for.

Only a few days later, however, the hospital called with the news that Milton had tuberculosis and bladder cancer. In addition, they reported that Milton had become belligerent. The doctor said they could not keep a patient with so contagious a disease as TB. Milton would have to leave. When we came to get him, we found him in an isolation room with his hands tied to the bed rails. It was a pitiful sight as he tried to bring his hands together in the traditional show of respect as soon as he saw Maria. Next to his bed were several dishes of untouched food.

Upon investigation, I determined that Milton’s belligerence and subsequent restraint were because the nurses did not speak his language. They frequently tried to give him shots or make him swallow pills without explanation. In his state of dehydration even a gentle touch could be excruciating. Seeing that feeding him was going to be too much trouble, they left the food at his side. Even in the best hospital, he was considered a third class patient.

Once again, Milton was sent back to the streets, homeless. The Little Sisters of the Poor could not take him while his TB was active. Another group, The Sisters of Charity (Mother Theresa), had no housing as they only help those on the streets. They did, however, recommend Velisara Hospital which was about a half-hour north of Colombo.

Built long ago during the days of the British Empire, it had the feel of a country estate, but was in reality a public hospital filled to capacity. They were willing to take Milton because they had numerous other TB patients so he would not be shunned because of his contagion.

Milton was placed in a large ward with dozens of other patients. With open windows, flies and mosquitoes were a constant annoyance. It was not what we had hoped for, but at least he was not on the street and would receive some medical attention. Maria and I were leaving that night for the US, so we said our last farewells to Milton and prepared to leave.

We were soon stopped by the ward attendant who informed me that I must find a full-time aide for Milton. This one man was in charge of a ward of over 50 patients and could not feed and care for Milton. I told him that we were on our way to the airport that very evening and had no options left. What could we do? He thoughtfully considered our dilemma and then said, “I can see how much you care for this man. I will take care of him for you.” I was so grateful and pulled him aside privately to thank him. I gave him money and told him to buy Milton whatever he needed. If he spent more, I told him not to worry, as I would re-pay him when I returned in a few months. Then we left the hospital.

During these days the similarities to the parable of the Good Samaritan had not escaped me, of course. Because of this, I thought it a good opportunity to teach my Sri Lankan assistant a bit about the gospel, so I read him Luke 10:30-37 to him. As I read verse 35…

“And on the morrow, when he departed, he took out two pence and gave them to the host and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee.”

…my knees buckled and I began to cry. What a magnificent experience, to be acting out one of the Lord’s parables in real life!

Sri Lanka is a country where life is hard and victories are few. Three weeks after our departure, we learned that Milton died. He had at last found a permanent home. So that he would not be nameless and faceless in death as he had been in life we had him buried in a proper cemetery and a headstone built with the inscription,” Milton Lyanage, friend of Jack and Maria”

We so often hear about “Entertaining angels unaware.” Maria and I always felt we could see the Savior in Milton’s eyes and when I think of him now, the last verse of A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief comes to mind.

“And in a moment to my view, the stranger started from disguise. The tokens in his hand I knew, the Savior stood before mine eyes.”