At long last I was on my way home – in wheelchairs and planesJ.

Joseph, Allen and I did not get to say our good-byes at the airport due to new security measures. I was in tears.

I flew to Addis Abeba where I waited comfortably seated in the business lounge for 6 hours until my flight to Ben Gurion.

Once in Israel, I was feeling quite desperate after 12½ hours of traveling. An airport employee came with a wheelchair and took me through the usual arrival procedures and then together we tried to locate my husband in the large arrival hall. It seemed like my husband wasn’t there. Finally, after 30 minutes of checking in every direction with me, my aide had to leave as he was needed elsewhere. He brought me over to a row of seats and lo and behold, my husband appeared.

“I won’t forgive you for this! I won’t forgive you for this!” I blurted out in exasperation although not really meaning it. He had been there all along, looking for me walking out, but hadn’t recognized me in a wheelchair. I thought about this later. 

I thought of when Yeshua warned His disciples to be watchful for His coming since it would happen when they least expected it³⁶. Though my husband saw a woman in a wheelchair he did not recognize me, his own wife, because of how he expected me to arrive. Now, what about us? Will we likewise fail to recognize Yeshua when He comes? Might our preconceived ideas cause us to miss Him? May we not be like the religious leaders of Yeshua’s day who were as blind to recognize Yeshua being the promised Messiah as my husband was to recognize the woman in a wheelchair being his wife. 

I was immensely relieved to be back home in Beer-Sheva and lost no time in seeing my doctor. He ordered me to go to the hospital emergency immediately but with the memory of my recent experience in the E.R. still fresh in my mind, I decided not to go. Instead, I went to the surgeon at our insurance clinic, “Kupat Cholim”, and made yet another BIG mistake!

Not knowing exactly what to do, this surgeon consulted a colleague who, after inspecting me, immediately turned on his heels and walked out. I was left at the mercy of the first surgeon. He began by pouring a full bottle of iodine into the wound and then filled it with gauze using metal tweezers. My screams were heard even in the parking lot, my husband reported to me later.

The doctor said I was to return every morning and repeat this procedure at the nurses’ station. Never, I thought! Not ever again!

Not surprisingly, my underarm worsened considerably by next morning. I had no choice but to go back to the clinic. My daughter Ruhamma assisted me into a taxi and off to the clinic we went. The nurse, frightened by the severity of my condition, refused to touch me. We set out at once to see my family physician.

That particular day, my family doctor was not supposed to be in his office; however, there he was, having just walked in before us.

“I’m not seeing you today,” he immediately exclaimed. “I am not really here!”

“Oh yes you are, because HaShem sent you,” I replied. “It is G-d Who made you come because I need you urgently.”

He tried to resist me but eventually consented, and after inspecting again my wound he conceded, “I agree with you, this was indeed G-d Who had me come into the office just now. .You must go to the Emergency immediately as I said in the first place.”

We obtained the required forms and rushed to the Sorokka hospital. The girl at admissions directed me to a doctor M. Beans. I later realized how unusual this was as one normally saw whichever doctor was on duty.

“Where do I find this doctor?” I wondered aloud to my daughter upon entering the Emergency room.

“Who are you looking for?” someone asked from the other side of the room.

“Dr. M. Beans,” I replied.

“You found him,” he chuckled.

“Oh glory, baruch HaShem!” I couldn’t help but exclaim.

After the usual delay, Dr Beans checked me and said rather nonchalantly, “This requires immediate surgery.”

A male nurse affixed the IV rather torturously. At long last we were brought to the 4th floor where I sat in my wheelchair in the middle of the corridor, again waiting. Finally I was assigned a bed to await prep for surgery. But no one came, nothing happened, while my discomfort and pain grew to agony. 

It just so happened that immediately prior to my being scheduled for surgery, 6 critical cases were rushed into Sorokka for surgery. They had been in a terrible accident at the multi-lane entrance into Beer-Sheva. As the 4th floor E.R. has only two operating rooms, 15 hours were required to attend to all 6 victims. I had to wait from 12 noon to 3 A.M. to be exact, in ever worsening suffering.

Under general anesthesia they made a large cut in the “left axilla”, going so deep that the little lymph nodes could be seen. They cut another hole further down and extracted a huge volume of pus from my left side. Dr. Beans jokingly said that had there been any more, it would have “come out the other side.” Hahaha!

They inserted a medicated, wide rubber band to draw out the remaining pus and I had to rinse the wound regularly and soak in the tub. The post-operative pain was so intense that they prescribed morphine. Beginning with my stay in the Nairobi Hospital, I had taken antibiotics and strong pain killers for 21 days.

Unhappily, there were so few nurses on our floor they only rushed in and out, overworked and unfriendly, not answering the bell. My daughter proved a true comfort to me at this time.

On his rounds, Dr. Beans brought a team of 7 visiting medical students from abroad who took a special interest in me. They also came during my follow-up visits. I certainly was a most unusual case. 

At home, my husband revealed a hidden side of himself when he nursed me with tender love and affection. He enjoyed my being entirely dependant on him and acted disappointed when I began to do a few things again by myself.

I had much time to pray and meditate. I became painfully aware of my utter failure of faith in the doctor’s office in Nairobi. Moreover, I had undoubtedly offended the Lord by not trusting Him for His provision. Nevertheless, it became evident that had G-d not intervened on my behalf in Kenya, I might not be alive today.

Although He never promised that we would be free of troubles in this world, He DID solemnly say that “When we pass through the waters He will be with us; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm us; when we walk through fire we shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume us.”³⁷

However, the suffering I endured was entirely my own doing. I brought it upon myself, and in the end had to be hospitalized anyway. My suffering was beyond what G-d ever intended for me.

It was He Who kept me safe from the Nazis, and from the snake bite; it was He Who brought the car to a halt downhill, when my neighbor boy called me to the other side of the street just then so I would get run over. It was He Who saved me from the bus and truck, and from going down in the icy water when I broke through the ice with my heavy skates on. It was He Who prevented me from jumping from the speeding train, Who dried up the fountain of blood spouting from my slashed wrist, Who kept me from breaking my neck when tumbling down unconscious a long marble staircase, and Who had me found in time to get my stomach pumped of 78 prescription sleeping pills. It was He who changed a rapist’s mind and protected me from a gun-toting fugitive charging into my room to hide from his pursuers.

Yes, it was He Who called me and formed me in my mother’s womb, Who had been my Shield and my Buckler even when I did not know Him. In fact, it would appear that the devil knew more about me than I or any of my friends did. For why would he have tried all my life to eliminate me?

Here is what Bishop Bera wrote me in his last e-mail letter (02/03/2007): “People are ever asking about you, how they were so much blessed by you. You touched their hearts so much, You are a person that God has ordained for Africa and I believe that is why the devil fought you so much when you were here.”

Had I stayed in Webuye, I probably would not be writing this diary now. But G-d provided me with 2 Pastor friends, 3 days in Nairobi, my Israeli Embassy contact, the top Kenyan doctor and the best Kenyan hospital for me to get well enough to make it home and have the life-saving surgery here.

I will never again be the same as I was before I went on this mission. My focus of what really matters has changed. Many of the little annoyances of daily life which used to vex me no longer do. They are like water off a duck’s back.

I live for G-d to fulfill His purpose in me that I may walk in the works He has prepared in advance for me. I live because of love, faith and hope, none of which will disappoint. I live to do His will on earth as it is done in heaven. I have become that sharpened arrow of Isaiah 49, utterly focused, wholly aimed, my face set like a flint. Men come and go, nations come and go, fortunes come and go, but what is done in Yeshua, in the power of the Holy Spirit, for the Kingdom of G-d in love, faith and hope, will endure forever. To know and understand Him is all that matters³⁸. 

Yes, Satan meant this Kenya trip to become my last one. G-d used it to polish and sharpen me and set me firmly on His bow, aiming me in the direction of the target. This I know, if G-d be for me who can be against me? 

Perhaps my story will touch your heart and perhaps the Lord will ask you to be one of His
sources of blessing and provision. Your love gifts to me, a Jewish Israeli believer in Yeshua,
and/or to my ministry of Or Tzion, Inc. (named "Light of Zion" because the Lord is the Light
to shine forth from Zion), are tax deductible in the United States of America.

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Annelore Rasco
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Israel

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