Don Stephens, a Colorado farm boy, is certainly an unlikely hero. And turning a decrepit ocean liner into a floating hospital seems improbable at best. And yet that is exactly what happened twenty-five years ago. Because of the efforts of Stephens, his fleet of ships, and his "navy" of volunteers, thousands around the world have experienced healing of body and spirit. Specializing in fixing facial deformities, Mercy Ships International embodies the great commission and demonstrates what God can do with a few willing hands and determined spirits. In Ships of Mercy, readers will realize the overwhelming need for this type of service and be inspired to lend a hand to make a difference.

Ships of Mercy

Nelson Books

Contents

Foreword: Prime Minister John Major..........................................viiPreface: Ship of Hope........................................................1Introduction: A Tale to Tell.................................................5Chapter 1 The Birth of a Dream...............................................13Chapter 2 The Perfect Ship...................................................25Chapter 3 Stranded in Greece.................................................35Chapter 4 Launched!..........................................................49Chapter 5 On Trial in Greece.................................................59Chapter 6 A True Hospital Ship...............................................73Chapter 7 Finally to Africa..................................................83Chapter 8 Bringing Hope and Healing..........................................99Chapter 9 Heart of Africa....................................................113Chapter 10 To the Ends of the Earth..........................................133Chapter 11 Headlines Tell the Story..........................................149Chapter 12 Mercy Ships on Land and Sea.......................................167Afterword: As Wide As the Sea................................................193AppendicesI. About Mercy Ships International...........................................199II. Mercy Ships Vision/Accountability/Governance/Mission.....................207III. What World Leaders Say About Mercy Ships................................211IV. Mercy Ships Specifications...............................................213About the Authors............................................................221

Chapter One

The most pathetic person in the world is someone who has sight but has no vision.-Helen Keller

I could say it all started with a hurricane, or reading a book about the famous SS Hope. I could say it started with meeting Mother Teresa, or with the birth of our special-needs son, John Paul. Or I could say it began with my parents' simple way with grace and mercy and dignity with their small-town helping hand. I could say all those things about the very beginning of the idea that became Mercy Ships, and they'd all be true.

Certain ideas and opportunities fall into place in providential ways in almost every life. As I look back at my own, I can see the patterns of things happening when they did, and why, and I find myself shaking my head at the wonder, the sheer improbability, of it all.

I had been imagining the idea of a hospital ship since I was nineteen, and considering I grew up in landlocked Colorado, that was rather odd, to say the least. Growing up in the fifties and sixties, I was part of a generation who wanted to change the world and believed it was possible. President Kennedy's Peace Corps was a popular and inspiring organization. By the time I left home, I was already primed to think in terms of spending a life in some sort of humanitarian effort, just through watching my no-nonsense parents. My mother and father were the perfect blend for the western Colorado farming and ranching town of Olathe where I grew up.

With my mother, it was care and compassion; with my father, practicality and integrity. My mother believed the best of everyone, and my father could spot a phony a hundred yards away. My mother had a remarkable heart for helping needy families in our town, and a talent for treating them with dignity and respect that I quickly noticed as a child. "You never know when I might be in that situation and you can help me," was one of the phrases she used to put everyone at ease.

My father, on the other hand, a farmer, rancher, and a grocery-store owner, was a pure, plainspoken Western man. What you saw was what you got. You never had to worry about what my dad thought, because he would tell you. And he told us a lot. "Words come too easily for some people," he'd say. "I am far more interested in what you do, the deeds of your life, than any words you will ever say."

That came home to me in a big way at his funeral. After the service, one of my parents' longtime friends asked if I knew why so many Mexican Americans were there. Many of those attending the memorial service were Hispanic, some people I'd never met.

"They were migrant workers," she said. "They tried to stay through the entire year, after harvest, and their families were in challenging circumstances. Your father extended them credit when no other store owner would." What was not being said was the obvious fact that they were people of integrity who paid him back, and, something better, they had passed on the story of his actions through their family life, honoring his good deed by making it part of their family lore. When you offer something life affirming to someone who has nothing, the purest way that person can honor the deed is to pass the story from one generation to the next. That fact echoed through my heart and soul years later when I heard how Mercy Ship stories became family legends too.

So in 1964, at nineteen, I was raring to change the world, like so many others in my generation. I tagged along on a trip to the Caribbean, organized by a group that has been described as a faith-based Peace Corps-an organization called Youth With A Mission (YWAM) that corralled a lot of us teenagers to be part of a program called SOS, a Summer of Service. What we didn't know was that we were walking right into a hurricane.

Back then there was no way to know when a hurricane was brewing-no warning, and no way to call anyone. All phones lines were down. Before I knew it, I was huddled with others in an aircraft hangar, riding out the worst of Hurricane Cleo as it roared around us. In the streets of Nassau, palm trees were being blown down, roofs blown off, and streets flooded. We were gathered in different venues for safety.

I was with a group in an old British World War II aircraft hangar that had withstood several storms. I remember cracking open those big hangar doors and staring at the sight. As you might imagine, we were all praying and praying hard. We were worried about ourselves and about our worried parents, and as the wind rattled and shook that hangar until it almost blew away itself, we couldn't help but think about the Bahamians losing their houses and livelihoods and some their very lives. During that long day, I remember hearing about something a girl had said that day: Wouldn't it be wonderful if there was a ship with doctors and nurses that could come in after such a disaster?

The idea stuck; I have no idea why. I remember how logical it had sounded to me. But I was as landlocked as a Colorado mountain boy could get. Young and all but clueless, I just stowed it away with all the other ideas that can fill a nineteen-year-old's head.

Soon afterward, I recall hearing about the SS Hope, the world's first peacetime floating hospital. During the 1960s, the logical idea had come to life-and it captivated the world. A doctor named William Walsh was appalled by the poor health conditions he saw during his South Pacific World War II service. Dr. Walsh persuaded President Eisenhower to donate a U.S. Navy hospital ship that he transformed with the help of donations into the SS HOPE ("Health Opportunities for...