Something is Awesome in the State of Denmark

As is increasingly the case with modern day friendships, my first interactions with Vickie were through Facebook. I had no idea who this person posting fabulous pictures of the kids at BDI was, but I sure wanted to know. We messaged back and forth, and inevitably “friended” each other.

I had a handful of facts about her. She was from Denmark, she was deaf, she had mad camera skills, and she loved the kids at BDI. That was all I needed to know in order to click “confirm” on her friend request. I had no idea what she would come to mean to me. Despite the fact that our ideological and geographical positions are polar opposites, she would become a significant part of my everyday life. 

I had a chance to meet Vickie IRL (I just figured out what that meant the other day. That and YOLO. I am hip. HIP, I TELL YOU!) during my first visit to Uganda. I remember being intimidated by her. She seemed so comfortable and at home there. I love Uganda, but I was still trying to find my footing and dealing with the culture shock. We would ride together in the van on the way to and from school. The roads in Uganda are INSANE, so most of the ride was spent holding on for dear life. This made communicating with a deaf person rather difficult.

I first started seeing glimpses of who Vickie was during a debate the older kids were having at school one Wednesday. The topic of the debate was beatings, or caning, in schools is good. I was stunned to see that they had written “Beatings in school is very good” on the blackboard. And even more dumbfounded to discover that the lion’s share of the kids were adamant that “beatings” in school (more like what we in the west would consider corporal punishment) was a positive thing. Not Vickie. Her fingers flew as she passionately made her case against caning, drawing sign language applause from the few kids on the anti-beating side. Right then I knew that I liked and respected this cool Danish chick.

After I returned home Vickie and I began to correspond on a very regular basis. I was shocked to find out that she considered herself an atheist. Sure, I've met my share of agnostics and wishy-washy spiritual types who weren't sure what they believed, but not many true atheists. Especially ones who volunteered long term at decidedly Christian organizations in third world countries.

Oh, the conversations we had, though! The questions she would ask! Vickie is an extremely intelligent person, and although she has always been respectful, she doesn't pull any punches and asks the hard questions. I began to realize that as a Christian, I wasn't on my game. I didn't have the answers. She’s made me dig deep and explain things without Christianeze, which has been a really good thing. In Denmark, there are practically no Christians. I mean, I’m sure that they are there somewhere, but they are few and far between. Vickie certainly didn't know any. The pat Sunday school answers that we throw around to life’s difficult questions were not going to fly with her. And I loved that. Over time, we began to trust and open up to each, and she told me her story.

When Vickie was 20 years old, she began to experience some hearing issues. An MRI was ordered to try to pin down the source of the trouble. Expecting some annoying but curable malady, instead Vickie was stunned when the doctors diagnosed her with Neurofibromatosis Type II. NF II is a rare genetic disease that causes tumors of the central nervous system, particularly the acoustic nerve, causing deafness as well as a whole host of other symptoms.

Vickie learned that she had tumors on the both hearing nerves and impinging on her brain stem. The doctors likened the tumors to ticking time bombs. She would need surgery right away. This surgery would sever her auditory nerves, resulting in deafness and possible facial paralysis.

Up until this point, music had been a huge part of Vickie’s life. Her world was full of music and it was in the forefront of background of practically every moment of her life. In fact, she had just purchased a piano. “Music is in my blood,” she told me. “I always had music in my ears.”

Vickie’s description of the night before her surgery struck me in such a powerful way. Lying alone in her hospital bed, eyes squeezed shut, begging her soon-to-be-severed auditory nerves to soak in her favorite music. I try to imagine what that would feel like. I wonder if it was anything like being surrounded by cool, clean water the day before you were to head out to the desert. And you couldn't take a drop of it with you. So you’d drink deeply and savor every swallow, knowing that you’ll be parched for the rest of your life.

Young, suddenly deaf, and diagnosed with an extremely serious disease, most of us would try to take it easy, live cautiously and feel like we were gypped. Not Vickie. Only two months after her last major surgery on 12/12/12, she headed to Uganda to work with deaf children. Her life was forever changed. Vickie says:

“If it wasn't for my disease, I wouldn't have had surgery. And without the surgery, I wouldn't have paused my studies. And without the pause, I wouldn't have traveled to Uganda. And without Uganda, I wouldn't have met all of this love and beauty, and all of these wonderful kids and BDI people. And I wouldn't have met you. That’s what I love about life. How something awful turns out to be the best thing that has ever happened to you.”

I don’t know about you, but she just blows me away. What unparalleled strength and optimism! (Yes Vickie, I said optimism. I know you claim to be a cynic, but you’re not. Lol) I know that without Christ, I would never have been able to overcome as she has.

Over time, I began to notice a change in the tone of Vickie’s messages. Occasionally, when I was discouraged, she would tell me that she would pray for me. Odd, coming from someone who described herself as an atheist. We continued to have the most amazing conversations about spiritual issues. One day, she was shocked to admit that she was starting to believe in God, and was learning to trust him bit by bit. She wants to do a Bible study together via Facebook. I am in the process of highlighting and littering a Bible I picked up for her with post-its and notes. Her heart is so open and ready for God to be in her life. It is one of the most beautiful things that I have been a part of. And yes, I am cognizant of the fact I sound sappy. Or as Vickie would say, I am a cornball. But when you walk through an intercontinental friendship with an atheist who decides that she wants to study the Bible with you, I think that some level of sentiment is acceptable.

Many of the children at BDI come from strict Muslim families. And yet, they go to a school where Christ is preached.  They learn grace and mercy and the forgiveness that only God can grant. Are their Muslim families happy about it?  Ummmm… No. But, there are no Muslim schools for deaf kids in the area, and they desperately want their child to have an education. So these kids are praying to and worshiping Christ with all of their hearts. A privilege they would never have been granted had they been born hearing.

I don’t claim to have all the answers and don’t even understand most of the questions when it comes to the tough theological stuff. But I have seen the reality of Isaiah 61:3.  He trades beauty for ashes, gladness for mourning and praise for despair.

I don’t know what God’s plan is for my friend Vickie, but what a joy to know her and be able to cheer her on. I am incredibly thankful that God caused our paths to cross. We have much to learn from each other. One thing I do know. There is most definitely someone awesome in the state of Denmark.

Vickie after her surgery on 12/12/12.

One of the only pictures I have with Vickie and I in it. She is defending her position that beatings in schools is not very good. J

My favorite picture of Vickie. This one is worth a thousand words.