Why me? she wondered morosely, looking at the medical chart. If my own professors—those who trained me as a doctor in the first place—cannot help this poor woman, why send her to me?
Esperance Mukuyabisabo was a general practitioner in her home country of Burundi before she and her family fled due to the war. After arriving in neighboring Namibia, she became certified in obstetrics and gynecology and began a new practice there. However, she did not feel either qualified or inclined to take on the challenge of a patient who had been infertile for almost ten years. Nor was infertility her only issue; the woman had a long-term vaginal discharge, a serious infection which was resistant to treatment.
Esperance put the chart back down on her desk and sighed deeply. It was almost time to open the clinic, and she expected that the patient was already there in the waiting room.
Pushing her chair back, Esperance did what she did every day, as a doctor and as a follower of Jesus. Kneeling on the floor of her office, she prayed, “God, bring me only the patients that you have chosen for me, the ones destined to be touched by Jesus, the Great Physician.”
As she knelt, it occurred to her: Perhaps this was why the specialists and professors had sent the woman to her in the first place. Her colleagues knew about her faith in Jesus, and the high value she placed on prayer. Perhaps, she thought, it is the Lord’s plan for me to play a role in her healing. Perhaps prayer is the one treatment that has yet to be offered.
Getting up off the floor and dusting off her knees, she felt more confident. She opened the door to her waiting room and immediately saw a woman look up, raw hope etched into her face. “Come,” Esperance said, ushering the woman into her examining room. “My name is Esperance, and I am going to take care of you.”
“Please,” the woman pleaded, looking into her eyes. “No one else could help us. Can you? I have heard many testimonies of divine healing from your patients, even from your colleagues. Can you help us to have a baby?”
“Listen to me,” Esperance said, looking deeply into the woman’s eyes. “You have a bad infection, but that can be dealt with. But a baby? For that, we must ask God. We must trust in Jesus—the Way, the Truth and the Life. Nothing is impossible for him.”
“No one else could help us. Can you? I have heard many testimonies of divine healing from your patients, even from your colleagues.”
At this, Esperance saw a small smile begin to form on the woman’s lips. Good, she thought. There is faith here.
After a thorough examination, the woman allowed Esperance to pray for her. But when the woman got up to leave the clinic, asking for a prescription for the infection, Esperance shook her head emphatically. “No!” she said. “I am going to admit you, and you must agree to stay here for three days. Every day, we will pray, and I will monitor you. Are you willing to do that?” Taken aback, the woman nodded.
Realizing that she would need to justify to the medical authorities a three-day stay for her patient, but also sensing that God intended to heal this woman without medical intervention, Esperance decided to write out a treatment plan that included three days of prescription medication for a generic painkiller, Paracetamol. However, the woman was bewildered when Esperance said, “You can take the medication, but in truth, only God can heal you.”
On the second day, the discharge and pain were gone. The woman got up and got dressed, preparing to leave. Esperance came in and stopped her. “We have not prayed enough,” she said. “Get back into bed!”
Meekly, the woman obeyed. After three days of prayer, Esperance did a final test, saw that the infection was gone, and sent her home. Within six weeks, the woman was back, pregnant.
The two women praised God together for this miracle, and scheduled subsequent appointments so that the pregnancy could be carefully monitored.
However, almost six months passed and the woman did not reappear at the clinic. Until one day, Esperance opened the clinic door after her morning prayers and saw the woman in her waiting room again. Right away, she could see that something was wrong.
“I have not felt the baby move for one week,” the woman confessed, weeping. “There is blood, and the infection is back.”
Esperance closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steeling herself for the worst. It was almost certain that the baby was dead. Still, reaching out to the Lord silently, she felt that she was not to give up easily. “Come,” she said, helping the distraught woman to her feet, “we have many tests to do.”
Praying silently and fervently, Esperance completed a lengthy physical examination and listened intently for a fetal heartbeat. She heard nothing, and she felt her spirit sinking. Composing her face, she instructed the woman to prepare for an ultrasound. She moved slowly, praying all the while, pretending to fuss with blood samples and urine sample, labeling random bottles. An hour later, she finally turned on the machine, angling the screen so that only she could see the images. Not only was there no movement, and no heartbeat, but Esperance could see the beginnings of fetal tissue decay: overlapping skull bones, distorted anatomy, soft tissue edema, a gas shadow in the fetal heart.
The baby was dead. She could tell it had been dead for weeks.
“Is something wrong?” the woman asked, panicked by the doctor’s silence. “Should we pray more?”
Oh Jesus, Esperance thought desperately. What do I tell her? I know you can raise the dead! But should I raise her hopes? Even as she pasted a false smile on her face, Esperance could feel the sweat pouring down her body. “Don’t worry,” she assured the woman, her voice cracking. “I just need to do a few more tests, a few more measurements.”
As the minutes ticked by, Esperance prayed as she had never prayed before. Nothing changed on the screen. For over an hour, Esperance pretended to take measurements, pleading with God in silence. Lord, you brought her to me to be healed. This is your responsibility, not mine. You are the resurrection and the life!
Then, suddenly, a movement. At first, it was barely discernible. Then a faint palpitation of the fetal heart. A moment later, it repeated. Then a tiny foot twitched, and a regular pulse began. Esperance watched, hardly breathing, as the shadow over the heart disappeared. Hands shaking, she turned the screen around to the mother. “Your baby is fine,” she announced, her voice husky with emotion, “but you were right. It was dead when you came here.”
Shocked, the woman listened to the account of what had just transpired. In deep conviction, she asked God to forgive her for not having continued to pray, and committed herself to being faithful in following Jesus. As Esperance ushered her back out of the clinic, the woman turned to say, “Wait! What about the infection?”
Esperance nearly laughed out loud. If God could bring a baby back to life, there was little reason to worry about an infection! But she would need to justify the lengthy examination. Grabbing a pad of paper, Esperance scribbled a hasty note, for another prescription of Paracetamol, saying, “Keep praying, and come back for more tests in three days.”
A few months later, a healthy baby was born.
GIVE
Consider providing financial support for the Sub-Saharan Africa Team, which oversees church-planting efforts in several countries, including Namibia. Esperance currently serves with this multi-gifted, multi-visional, and multi-locational team.
To learn more, go to multiply.net/project/subsaharan-africa-team
