Week Four — Where Brokenness and Hope Meet

Week Four. A week where something shifted quietly inside me. Not a dramatic moment, not a big event, but a slow realization: I am finding my place on the Mercy Ship.

I’m no longer the new guy trying to understand how everything works. I’m part of the rhythm now — the greetings in the hallway, the laughter in the dining room, the familiar faces on deck. And with that sense of belonging comes something bittersweet: every week I make new friends, and every week I say goodbye to others. That’s ship life — beautiful, painful, and real. You learn to open your heart quickly, and you learn to let go just as fast.

What We Do on the Mercy Ship

Before I share the heavier moments of this week, I want to pause and remember the heart of why we are here: to bring safe, free surgical care to people who would otherwise never receive it.

On board, our medical team focuses on several key surgical specialties that are desperately needed in Sierra Leone:

Maxillofacial Surgery

We treat conditions that are often life‑threatening here:

• large facial tumors
• cleft lip and palate
• severe infections and deformities

These are conditions that, in many countries, would be treated early. Here, they grow for years because there is no access to specialized care. Restoring a face often means restoring a life.

Pediatric Surgery

Children come to us with conditions that affect their growth, breathing, eating, or mobility. Many of these surgeries are routine in the Western world, but life‑changing here.

General Surgery — including Hernias

Hernias are incredibly common in Sierra Leone, often growing to dangerous sizes because people cannot afford surgery. On the ship, we repair them safely and freely — giving people back their strength, their ability to work, and their hope.

Women’s Health, Eye Surgery, and Reconstructive Care

We also provide surgeries for women suffering from childbirth injuries, cataract operations that restore sight, and reconstructive procedures for burns or trauma.

Every patient receives world‑class care — from surgery to recovery — completely free of charge. And beyond the surgeries, Mercy Ships trains local healthcare workers, helping strengthen the medical system long after the ship sails away.

A Visit That Broke Me and Filled Me at the Same Time

This week we visited a prison — an experience that shook me in ways I still struggle to describe.

The youngest boy sitting in front of me was maybe fifteen years old. A child. He wore a red T‑shirt, torn and faded, but I could see he had washed it. Someone told me they try to wash their clothes before church service. But with what water? There is no running water there. The smell alone tells you that. The dirt on the floor, the stains on the walls, the broken clothes, the broken hearts — everything speaks of survival, not comfort.

And yet… in the middle of all that, something happened that I haven’t seen in years.

Pure excitement for Jesus.

No instruments. No worship leader. No sound system. Just hands clapping, feet moving, voices rising. They danced like David danced — with a freedom their bodies didn’t have, but their spirits claimed anyway. It felt like they were stepping into the future they longed for, even if only for a moment.

Their prayers were simple, honest, and painfully real:

“God, forgive my sins. Help me to get out of prison as a better person. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

No fancy words. No theology. Just truth.

And then something struck me deeply: they didn’t pray for freedom from prison. Not because they didn’t want it — of course they did — but because they accepted responsibility for what they had done. And yet, since meeting Jesus, hope had become their daily prayer. Hope for a better future. Hope for a changed heart. Hope that God would guide their steps when the gates finally opened.

That is faith. Not the comfortable kind we practice when life is easy. But the kind that grows in darkness, in uncertainty, in shame — and still believes.

I’ve been in prison before, back in the Netherlands, even if only for one short night after breaking a window. My cell back then… compared to theirs, it was a four‑star hotel. And even that “hotel room” felt uncomfortable to me. So how do they feel? Where do they sleep? How do they survive?

I can’t describe their circumstances in words. Even the homeless people living under bridges in Western cities have better conditions than what I saw there.

And yet, in that place of suffering, I saw a church more alive than many churches in the modern world. They had a chaplaincy, yes — but honestly, they were all pastors to each other. All worship leaders. All caregivers. That is church. That is community. That is the Gospel lived out in its rawest form.

At the end of the service, one of the women prayed something so small, so humble, it broke me:

“God, please let them bring curry powder next time, so we can cook our jelly dish.”

Not freedom. Not money. Not a miracle. Just curry powder.

Such a small wish. Such a simple desire. And yet, it carried the weight of dignity — the desire to cook something meaningful, something familiar, something that reminded them of home.

And in that moment, something shifted inside me. It was small, almost unnoticeable, yet unmistakably real — like a whisper you don’t fully hear but somehow understand. Her prayer didn’t fall to the ground; it lingered in the air, waiting for someone to catch it. If you had been there, hearing her voice, seeing her eyes — I wonder what it would have stirred in you.

Carrying Hope for My Day Crew

Between my work, the hellos, and the goodbyes, I spent hours this week trying to help one of my day crew find a job for after the ship leaves. He is hardworking, humble, faithful — the kind of man any employer would be blessed to have.

But searching for a job here is nothing like searching back home.

There is hardly anything online. No job boards. No listings. No clear pathways. Just silence.

It struck me how far behind this country is in almost everything — technology, infrastructure, opportunity. It’s heartbreaking. And it scares me that I might not be able to find him anything before I leave at the end of April. Suddenly time feels short. Too short.

I keep encouraging them not to give up. I tell them to keep hoping, keep trying, keep believing. But honestly… I’m the one struggling not to give up. Not because of them — but because of the limitations of this place. The lack of resources. The lack of opportunity. The lack of systems that could help them stand on their own feet.

I just pray that when I leave Sierra Leone, someone else will come alongside them. Someone who will pick up where I left off. Someone who will keep believing in them the way I do.

Because they deserve a future. They deserve a chance. They deserve hope that lasts longer than my time here.

Love Across 5000 Kilometers

This week was also my sweetheart’s 40th birthday. Her big milestone — and I was more than 5000 km away.

It hurt not to be there. Not to see her smile. Not to celebrate with her and the boys. But distance also pushed me to do something I never thought I’d dare: I sketched her face.

Just to make something special. Something personal. Something that carried my heart across the ocean. It wasn’t perfect, but it was brave — and it was hers.

A Burst of Color in Freetown

We also visited the fabric market in Freetown — and what an explosion of life that was.

Colors everywhere. Patterns I’ve never seen before. People carrying their entire shops on their heads, weaving through noisy streets with a balance and grace that felt almost artistic. It looked chaotic at first, but the longer I watched, the more I saw the truth: there is an order in the midst of their chaos.

It’s their rhythm. Their way. Their survival.

And somehow, it’s beautiful.

Closing Thoughts

Week Four was full. Full of emotions, full of contrasts, full of moments that stretched me. I’m finding my place here — slowly, honestly, sometimes painfully — but I’m finding it.

And through it all, I keep learning this simple truth: when you open your heart, even the hardest weeks can become holy ground.