On my way in to the office yesterday morning I shut off my A/C, rolled down the windows (it was actually more comfortable this way), and cried. (The D.R. is incredibly hot and humid with rolling blackouts courtesy of the Dominican government. A/C becomes a luxury that is so unreliable you make do and adapt to the otherwise unfavorable climate.) The immense joy of serving our Dominican and Haitian brothers and sisters overwhelmed me. As I looked out on the road in front of me I realized I was back in my life again--familiar streets, neighborhoods, traffic, restaurants, etc. My mind drifted back to the downtown area of Bani and its dilapidated feeling. I imagined the scores of people waiting for us, hoping for one more chance to be seen and experience the awesome power and freedom from an Upper Cervical Specific adjustment. It finally rested on a solitary figure sitting in a rusted out, urine-stained wheelchair. His smile and his new found hope gripped my soul.
He was pushed into town Friday morning, July 9th, and sat slouched, head hanging. A Spanish-fluent colleague explained to me how this husband and father had broken his spine a year ago after falling from a tree. I slid my hand down his back and felt the gnarled, broken vertebrae. What could I do? I'm not a surgeon. He was paralyzed below the break rendering his legs and feet useless; his bladder leaked uncontrollably. In these moments you simply act. Be it out of love, duty, and by whatever knowledge or skills you may have acquired. I hoisted him from his seat--his urine running over my arms--and laid him on the ground in a position to receive an upper cervical specific adjustment. This is what I know how to do. All of my training, studies, and knowledge confirmed that this was one thing he needed. I delivered the adjustment, lifted him back off of the ground, and sat him in his wheelchair.
The next day I joined a group of doctors in a small Haitian village about 45 minutes from downtown Bani. A number of my colleagues returned that day in my stead and continued to check and adjust people there. This same man came back, this time with his family. He no longer slouched, wore a bright smile, and had not soiled himself. His body had already begun the healing process. That night I listened to my friends recount this miraculous change and wondered if I would ever see him again. Three days later this picture was taken.
That day he shared how he was now able to slowly and with great effort move his feet. The tears fell.
It hit me so hard yesterday morning--the reality that these people were also waking up to a Thursday morning...a new Thursday morning...a different Thursday morning. No more sickness and disease winning the battle for their bodies. The choice to move forward and live out a full life becoming a reality. Another day to spend with their children and spouses.
This is a good thing. This is a God thing.
