In Sickness and in Health

A little over 10 months ago, Wyatt and I publicly made these vows to each other in the presence of our friends and family in Asheville, NC. Young, unsuspecting, googly-eyed kids. Yes, I did only say 10 months ago but there are days where it feels like 10 years. Little did we know that we would get to test almost each and every one of our vows to each other in a very real, very intense way as we chose to begin our marriage as Southeastern US gypsies and then as missionaries and development workers in a third world country.

I ______ take you ______ to be my ________ (aka boothang)
To have and to hold from this day forward (into the mysterious abyss)
For better or for worse (check and check)
For richer, for poorer (mostly the latter, but we ain’t complainin’ anymore. Simple life is good life and God provides our every need)
In sickness and in health (and in African intestinal issues, yep)
To love and to cherish (easier said than done, but grateful to learn this together)
From this day forward, until death do us part (aka AIN’T NO STOPPIN’ US NOW)

While we’ve gotten to exercise all of these right off the bat as being each other’s only friends for the very beginning of our marriage and living in the strange place called Zambia, there’s one of these vows in particular that has stretched us to the max.

In sickness and in health. Now I think we’ve had it pretty good with the days of health, but when we’ve got the sickness, we crash hard. Jesus has been so merciful and gracious in sparing one of us in these bouts of sickness so that we can care for each other, but it isn’t an easy task.

I can’t speak for Wyatt when I say this (mostly because I can’t ask him right now when he’s fighting off a Zambug), but it’s probably one of the hardest things of living here.

Within an hour, our bodies can turn all Jekyll and Hyde on us and transform us without our even knowing. Sweats. Body aches where we didn’t know we had body. Stomach flips. Unmentionable body actions and reactions. More sweats. Migraines. Not enough immodium for more issues. Down for the count.

These suckers come on so quickly, but don’t leave in the same manner. It could be from a dirty fork we ate off of at a restaurant, a virus/bacteria thing exchanged with a handshake greeting, bad chicken/pork, bad yogurt, bad anything (since there don’t seem to be too many food regulations), a sneeze, a cough, a parasite, a mosquito, or my usual (rational) thought process… CANCER OR EBOLA OR SOMETHING ELSE THAT ISN’T EASY TO CONTRACT HERE.

My mind gets wandering the worse symptoms get. Symptoms that would just mean rest and an excuse to watch 90s movies in the States, but symptoms that can mean really scary things as easily as they can mean 24-hour virus bugs.

I walk into the pharmacy where you can get anything you want without a prescription and I ask for anti-nausea meds or antibiotics for nasty bugs or whatever else I’ve been told to get by Zambug veterans. But when I speak the words “anti-nausea please” what I’m really saying is, “PLEASE SAVE MY HUSBAND. I’M STILL A NEW WIFE.”

When death is an all-too-real occurrence here, I guess I get scared. I am indeed a self-diagnosed hypochondriac who reads too much WebMD and Mayo Clinic, but all irrational diagnosis aside, sickness is scary here. Especially when it’s your spouse. Especially when it’s my boothang, my main man, my Wy (insert gushy emoji here).

I never knew I would get so many chances to trust God so fiercely this year as Wyatt has had some bad run-ins with these mystery bugs. Thankfully neither of us have had anything serious, but the mind wanders. The mind also can be silenced with Truth, and that’s the way I wanna go about it. I don’t want to keep worrying that I’ll become a widow at 24 years old when Wyatt has the runs (pardon my language). I want to love and serve him with some Zambian-made Gatorade knock-off that must be watered down to even be consumed. To make a Zam heating pad by microwaving a wet towel as long as I can before I think it’ll blow up. To offer him our priceless American imported Snyders pretzels to calm that stomach. To try to make him laugh only to find out that his back is killing him, therefore I am killing him. To make many, many mistakes in caring for this man I am still getting to know, but to do it with all the love I’ve got, knowing and trusting that it is Jesus who strengthens him, who comforts him, who heals him, who sustains him.

And another tidbit of new wife freedom that I can keep preaching to myself: I don’t have to know the answer. I can ask my family, I can ask our friends here who have had every Zambug known to this nation. I can take Wyatt to a clinic that is safe with clean needles and good doctors. I can lean on others as we’re meant to do. I may feel like I’ve gotta be Wonder Woman most days (and secretly pray for that sometimes, shh), but praise God that that’s not the truth, and that’s not the standard God set out for me when He made me Wyatt’s wife on that day just 10 months ago.

So to all you new brides, Africa-is-my-new-home ladies, mamas of little ones, and any other female who finds herself in strange circumstances of needing to care for herself or others like her life (or theirs) depends on it, let it go. Take off those flashy wristbands and that stellar leotard. We don’t gotta be Super Woman. We can just be us, and Jesus is here to help. Holler at that goodness.

Love,
Amy