Yesu, Ninakuamini is Swahili for: Jesus, I trust in him.

At bustling Nazareth Hospital the patients lie on pastel printed sheets in maternity wards with ten beds, and some of them hold babies. A few do not. In a small grace today, a young mother whose baby died in a complicated delivery lay in the corner bed of an empty ward. Catherine escaped with her own life, but her uterus had been removed. In Kenya, Africa, this is a complete ravishment. Yet she already has a four-year-old child, so although barren, she will still be a mother. I could hardy believe that God had placed me by her side to tell her about life with just one child. More importantly, a pastoral counselor leaned on the bed next to her, hands folded casually, bestowing a compassionate gaze, and discussed the hard truth with her. “I’m O.K.,” she said, though tearful, and then she asked for prayer.

Three pastoral counselors are funded by Tree of Lives, and George Nderere has worked since the program’s inception, five years ago, despite the obvious sadness that comes with facing suffering at close range, as on a razor’s edge. I felt like time stood still in those moments. Yet he more than anyone, perhaps, knows when it is time to joke and to laugh and to take a rest – later in his day. To face the morning rounds again and meet new problems, he said he tries to think about how Christ is following him, even revealing his very face, as he enters into the emotional world of a patient.

So I spent much of the day with one tough cookie, but we both knew where real strength comes from.

by Ann Burrows, member of First Presbyterian Church in Norfolk, Virginia.