Earlier in the day yesterday we met as a WBC team to pray, share our experiences from the night before and focus on the evening ahead. We spent some time looking at the story when Jesus called his first disciples in Luke 5. We used the images from this passage to help us pray for our work here in Ibiza; particularly the idea of being fishers of men and women.
I prayed that as we cast our fishing rods on the streets of San Antonio, God would determine where the line lands and help us to be ready for whatever we found on the end of the hook - whether that be a conversation, a prayer, or physical assistance.
I hit the streets at 1am after spending an hour praying.
Becky and I made it no more than 5 minutes before we came across a chap who was staggering around and making a bit of a scene. On (slightly) closer inspection we saw that he was bleeding from his lip and had blood all down his top. There was a bit of a commotion but we managed to encourage Jim (not his real name) to walk with us to the medical centre. He was pretty drunk, difficult to understand (not least that he was from the North East) and not particularly co-operative. However, he was a little happier when he relieved himself on the street (joy).
Around 45 minutes later after a slow, two steps forward one step back, walk we arrived at the main medical centre. Then began the process of persuading Jim to get some stitches for his top lip which was gaping wide open.
I didn't realise how difficult it would be.
First, he didn't think he needed treatment. Then once we got beyond that he couldn't find his E111 medical card so would have to pay. He had no money. However, his friend offered to pay the 186 Euros to sort his face out. Result! Ah, no. He was not happy with that.
Becky and I used all sorts of tactics to get him in the operating theatre - could someone from home take a photo of the E111 card and email it? What would your sister say to you if she were here? Would she tell you to get the stitches? Mate, if you want to make the rest of your holiday let's just get this done.
On and on it went.
Finally, I took him into theatre and held his hand while he was patched up. Despite his less than cooperative behaviour the doctor did a cracking job!
Done......or so I thought.
Jim decided that he was not going to let his mate pay, blamed us for bringing him here and insisted that we should sort the bill. It was the first time I felt threatened and thought that I might be on the end of a punch!
He was one stubborn chap and to defuse the situation the medical staff decided to let him go without paying.
It was now 3:15am. We walked back to the 24/7 centre and finished the night in prayer for Jim, his friend and others who were helped that night.
On reflection, it didn't surprise me that Jim was so hard. He was a serving soldier recently returned from Afghanistan. I am not making excuses for him but I can see how he thought his injury was not worth bothering with after he had seen his colleague's arm blown off in combat. I can sort of understand his tendency to get into physical confrontations when he is trained to kill.
I wonder how difficult it is to go from the theatre of war to a medical theatre on the holiday island of Ibiza.
One thing did make me smile and confirmed to me that God used me to specifically help Jim. The vivid image of casting my fishing rod and catching people whilst walking around the streets was a helpful picture for me in preparation for the night' work.
It was like God was winking at me when I saw the shape of the needle that stitched up Jim's lip.
God is a genius.
Perhaps you'd better choose an image other than fish hooks in future. Maybe nets would be a safer and less painful option. :)
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