As many of you may know, we have been caring for a baby for
the past couple of weeks. We found him in the arms of his dying mother (she has
TB and AIDS). Her breasts were dry and her baby hadn’t eaten in two days. He
was no longer crying for food and weighed a meager four pounds. He was so
small.
We named him Moses and nursed him back to health. He became
a part of us. We took turns caring for him, feeding him, bathing him, holding
him, giving him medicine, the works.
Moses’ health wavered and picked back up and wavered again.
We admitted him to the hospital here in Manzini and the doctors said he should
be there for three weeks. We had high hopes for the child. Some of us thought
he might lead this dying nation into life.
The first night in the hospital, two days ago, Moses passed
away. That was the craziest day of many of our lives. It was a nightmare trying
to convince the hospital that we were the baby’s guardians. We set up the
funeral and eventually everything came thru at the last minute.
It was 5:30 when we woke up the next day. These early
mornings and late nights were felt as I dragged myself to the road
where we’d meet the van.
“Seth, you’ll speak at the funeral. Is that alright?”
“Heck no!” I said. “I’m not the right person. Surely someone
else has something better to say.” I wasn’t the one to watch the baby or take
the initiative in bringing him here anyhow. Still everyone insisted I speak. I
sat down and prayed.
“God what do you want me to tell these people?”
“Tell them I love them,” he said.
“Will you give me a scripture to help?”
“Ephesians 6:19,” he said. It reads, Pray also for me, that whenever I open my mouth, words may be given me
so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel. God wanted me
to tell them that his will is a mystery to us.
An hour later I stood under a makeshift tent in front of those
congregated for the funeral to speak about the infant. The mother, Pelile, sat
in the dark house whimpering with the mourners. I told them God was watching
them now and mourning with them. He loves them and knows their pain. “It’s all
a great mystery that we’re a part of,” I said. “Who knows why things like this
happen, but they do and God’s name be praised.”
They sang some praise songs to the Lord as we began our long
walk to the community cemetery. Pelile has tuberculosis and AIDS. She walked
frailly, bracing herself between two women. We stopped to look at the coffin
and cry periodically. Eventually Pelile stopped completely, physically unable
to continue. I asked if it were acceptable to carry her on. She dropped into my
arms as I bent to pick her up. She put her head on my chest and whimpered
gently, almost as if she didn’t have the strength to cry. The mourners
continued singing.
It wasn’t long before
I couldn’t carry her anymore. There were no more men, so one of the women put
Pelile on her back and we continued walking.
The men of the community were digging a hole that we sat
around. They asked me to say something more so I told them about the stories
being read about this baby around the world. I told them people like you would
do something to help them. Don’t let me down.
Pelile has four other children and she looks as if she won’t
live much longer. We are a part of a great mystery and it is a glorious thing.
Who knows why things happen? I won’t waste my time trying to figure it out. I
will grieve with my team the loss of Moses and praise the Lord. I invite you to
be a part of this. Pray and ask the Lord how he would like for you to help.
