I was in a government clinic in the Dominican Republic seeing patients. The director of the clinic had lent the space to our group for an open medical clinic for the community. Outside of my examination room were so many patients. There were at least 100 men, women, and children waiting to be seen for their medical ailments.

The pressure of examining patients as quickly possible was evident. I found myself in a mental mode I often enter in the Emergency Department when the waiting room is full and the ambulances keep coming. I began taking histories, doing exams, and offering diagnoses and treatments as fast as possible. Each patient needed so much help, but there simply wasn’t enough time! I couldn’t let up. I couldn’t slow down. Or so I thought…

My translator, Heidy, was Dominican. This was the first time I had worked with her, but we had become close friends. She had attended medical school in the Dominican and was working on the next step in her career. She loved Jesus and missions and wanted to be a part of the work we were doing in the country.

Heidy, our translator

Late in the morning between patients, she leaned over to me and said,

“You have to slow down.”

At first, I was taken aback.

“Slow down??” I thought to myself, “There’s a 100 people out there waiting to be seen! If anything, I need to speed up!”

As I processed her telling me to slow down, I realized that mixed with the pressure of having to see so many patients was also the reality that many of them had problems I couldn’t fully address.

I needed more medicine. I needed more tests. I needed more equipment.

Perhaps she saw it in my face. Perhaps she sensed in my speech. Perhaps she was just the messenger God was using to speak to me.

She went on to explain, “Most of these people know you can’t fix them. They know your resources are limited and some of their problems are bigger than what you can address.”

“They just want to be heard. They want you to listen to their stories and their struggles. They came here today not so you could fix them, but so you could hear them. Love them. Empathize with them.”

“So, you have to slow down and just talk to them. Spend time with them. Ask them questions.  Find ways to relate to them. And pray for them. You are here to share Jesus with them, aren’t you? Isn’t that what He would do?”

I was speechless. I was overcome with a wave of different emotions. For one, it is not the cultural norm for a translator to call an American out it this way. I have thanked God often that He gave Heidy had the boldness to do so.

Secondly, I felt such guilt. I had not been doing what I was truly there to do. I was representing American medicine more than I was representing Jesus.

Amidst all these emotions, I also felt a huge weight lifted off me. I didn’t have to be their savior.  I just needed to tell them about one. I will meet the needs I can, knowing that my abilities are woefully inadequate, but His are not.

For the rest of that day and that week, we did things Heidy’s way. Slower.

Let me share one example of how it was a much, much better way.

A young girl in her early 20s came to the clinic. When I asked how I could help, she began as many patients did. Headache, backache, stomach ache, not eating well, weak, dizzy. It really is hard as a clinician to not try to fit all her symptoms into a nice little package we call a diagnosis and give her a treatment plan to make it all better. Often, we can’t.  This time was no exception.

So, this time, I slowed down and asked another question, “How are YOU?”

Perhaps it was the look in my eye or the inflection of my voice. Perhaps it is how Heidy phrased the question in her translation. The girls eyed welled up. Tears began to stream down her face. I gave her a moment and then asked, “What’s wrong?”

She began to share with us all that had been going on at home. Less than a month ago, her mother had died unexpectedly. She and her brother had been devastated by the loss. She was full on sobbing now. It was taking some time for her to get her thoughts out. She continued to tell us that, having been so deeply wounded by the loss of his mother, her brother had just committed suicide.

This girl in front of me who came with physical complaints of headache and abdominal pain had spiritual and emotional problems so much greater. She was dying inside, yet wore a facade.  She later shared with us she was also contemplating suicide.

She didn’t want me to give her medicine. She wanted me to ask the question. She needed someone to share her burden with her, because it was crushing her. She needed someone to care not for her, but about her.

I didn’t see another patient for almost an hour. We talked with her and listened intensely. We prayed with her. We hugged her. We cried with her. We found people from the local church that could stay in contact with her and love her long after we were gone.

We encounter people every day that are dying inside. Your barista, your hairdresser, the woman in front of you in the grocery line, the waiter that just brought the wrong order to your table. I encourage you to slow down, and ask the question.

Their legacy matters.  And your legacy can be even greater by slowing down and recognizing them.