I am brokenhearted. Not the kind that just goes away with simple words of comfort, reasoning, or even small amount of time. I’ve experienced grief on the race before…but not like this. My stomach hurts, I get a little out of breath—like I’ve gotten the wind knocked out of me when I think about it. I want to preface this blog with a warning: this is not a blog that has a solution, it probably isn’t going to leave you with the warm fuzzies; my hope is that it is honest, convicting, sheds light on a story that needs to be told, and conveys God’s prevailing goodness.
Our ministry this month is primarily at what they call ‘the baby’s home’ which consists of children from only several months old to about 9-years-old; it is essentially an orphanage—there is such a really big orphan spirit here in Zim. There are so many children that are not claimed that don’t belong to anyone on earth, so many families that have been ripped apart by sickness and death. Almost every Zimbabwean that I have talked to has lost one or more members of their family prematurely. Nevertheless, the first day that we went to the baby’s home, I was instantly drawn to one little boy.
Let me introduce you to Jack. He is the sweetest little 6-year-old Zimbabwean boy; his laugh is super high pitched—incredibly contagious of course. He is super ticklish, loves to chase the soccer ball that is about his size and fall over it as he tries to kick it, while laughing hysterically. He LOVES to be held. He has a brilliant imagination—I spent a good hour the first day I met him sitting in a broken cardboard box pretending we were in an airplane. He loves to repeat things that I say, so lately we’ve been singing Hakuna Matata together. He is pretty small for his age, and he wears the cutest hipster skinny jeans and sweaters. He tells me every time I leave, “Auntie, I want to come home with you.” And in my head I think, “me too.” His bright smile shines out against his dark brown skin each time I see him for the first time every morning.
We all know the world is a broken place. Unfortunately, when it comes to just how broken it is; it is not real until it has a face. I learned about HIV/AIDS in 5th grade—it terrified me…But like other such terrors of the world, it was a just a super high statistic, an overwhelming fatal diagnosis, and worlds away from me.
HIV was not real to me until I heard that this little African boy, Jack, that I am in love with, who is sitting in my lap, touching my face, waking up my heart, making my belly shake laughing—has it. I am also incredibly glad that I got to spend time with him and get to know him before I knew this about him. I am thankful that I get to know him as Jack who has HIV, and not this kid who has HIV named Jack.
I realize that this is a bold statement to make, and trust me that I do not at all take this lightly. But I had this moment today, when we were playing with a deflated soccer ball, by Jack’s energy and glee you would have thought it was the world cup, where I thought—if there was one kid that I have met in the entire world that I were to adopt…it would be Jack. I had never written off adoption, but it was never something that I have been very passionate about or even considered seriously. I adore this little boy.
After the initial shock of finding out, through 3 of the kids including Jack having to go to the clinic for their medication, I was scared. How selfish and ugly that my first thought was for my own safety. Rethinking all the moments that I have been around him, envisioning my caution in the future. Soon I moved on and was fearful that I might treat him differently unconsciously, either avoid him or overcompensate attention to him out of pity. Those were the two quickest stages of my emotions.
I am not going to lie to you, now I am angry, very angry. My heart is in my throat. Our team has talked about the 3 kids a few times and I have started to chime in slightly and then have felt myself shrink away from the conversation because there is too much to say, but too few words to do it justice.
God talks to me through scripture, so I opened Lamentations, to try to hear Him in this. To lament: the state of being truly broken over our sin, or the sins of others.
“I have cried until the tears no longer come; my heart is broken. My spirit is poured out in agony as I see the desperate plight of my people. Little children and tiny babies are dying in the streets.” –Lamentations 2 :11
God is supposed to be the perfect balance of justice and mercy—but all I see is a little boy in front of me who is having to suffer because of the sin of someone else (his parents), who doesn’t get the same shot at life, at being a kid for that matter because of something invisible but deadly, or even that some of us were born in a genetic lottery who got a shot at everything in life and live in the first world, while sweet Jack might never make it to my age. IT IS NOT FAIR. WHY.
But a very wise man once told me, “no good comes with asking why—only what.” What can I do? What does God feel? Even though there don’t seem to be words, what can I say to bring a little light to a very, very dark situation?
“For no one is abandoned by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he also brings compassion because of the greatness of his unfailing love. For he does not enjoy hurting his people or causing them sorrow.” –Lamentations 3: 31-33
If I am angry for Jack, I bet God is angrier…if I love Jack, I bet God loves him infinitely more…if love can move mountains, than that’s what I’ll do. Our God is a God of mystery, and I may never understand such things this side of heaven. I can’t speak for God and what He will do…I will pray for Jack to be completely healed, to have a beautiful shot at life, for this disease to remain HIV and not become AIDS. But I can speak on behalf of Jack and share his story.
I guess only those who truly believe in eternity, not just reading what scriputers say about it—but truly believing it, that the next life is better than this one…can be comforted by the fact that this sweet boy will one day live in a perfect heavenly body, experience paradise without having to walk the line between life and death, and will encounter that same glow in his heavenly body that he has in his earthly soul. So for now I find comfort in that, in God’s unfailing love, and I will have to have faith in not understanding the rest.
“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death, or crying, or sorrow, or pain.” –Revelation 21:4
