eyjafjallajokull

My boss refers to it as the formerly unknown and utterly unpronounceable volcano, and when it first started to erupt, none of us paid it much mind. After all, we're in Africa. It's in Iceland. You can't do much better if you're going for polar opposites.

Our first indication that this was going to be more than just a one-night headline came when the Saturday flight was canceled. You see, we live in Togo, a country small enough that flights happen only once every couple days. They'd grounded the Thursday flight, but we didn't realize right away that this far-away, mythical volcano was going to have so much to do with us. Until we realized that every single flight coming into Togo from developed countries runs through France. And if no one was allowed to leave France, there was no way anyone was going to be allowed to land there either.

I don't know how many crew are currently stranded on board the ship, but the number is growing. And as each day passes, so is the number of crew who can't get here. Even flights from South Africa go way up north to connect through Charles de Gaulle, and so our plastic surgeon, Dr. Tertius, is among those who are waiting at airports.

I met a little girl in the hallway today. Her name is Dani, although it's hard to understand the words that come through lips twisted by scars. She was supposed to see Dr. Tertius at screening today, along with about a hundred other patients. They were all supposed to see him, and we were supposed to fill up the five-week block of surgery, and suddenly this volcano takes on a whole new meaning.

The cloud of ash covering Europe means that instead of five weeks of plastic surgery, we will only get to do four at best. If you figure between four and five patients a day, that's over twenty people who will be denied the chance to live out their lives as members of society, twenty people who will continue to suffer from limbs locked in scar tissue and eyes frozen open and so much pain.

I look on the news and read about people so frustrated at the delays, the economic impact on the stock market, the financial hit the airlines are taking, and all I can see are those twenty-some people who have never even heard of Iceland, but whose futures have just been blotted out in a huge cloud of smoke and ash.

The orthopedic surgeon who's been stranded here has decided that, even if the air clears and he gets a seat on a plane, he won't leave before Thursday. There are a few more kids in Togo who will get to walk on straight legs and strong feet, and I have to believe that God knew all of this. I have to believe that He'll bring the right patients to us when Dr. Tertius finally does arrive, just the ones we need to fill the remaining four weeks. So please pray for God to intervene, that the ash would disperse so our surgeons and nurses can get to the ship. Pray for the people who will have to be told no once we are finally able to screen them. Pray for all those stuck here on board who should have gone home days ago.

I've never prayed about a volcano before. I guess there's a first time for everything.