I’ve done a lot of amazing and adventurous things while on the race. I’ve repelled down waterfalls in Costa Rica. I’ve gone sledding at 70kph down the side of a volcano in Nicaragua. I’ve seen sunsets on the mountain tops of Honduras with 180 degree views of surrounding countries. I’ve ridden elephants and fed ostriches. I’ve watched the sunrise across the expanse of Thailand and Laos. I’ve been parasailing and jet skiing in the Indian Ocean off the coast of Penang Island. And I’ve hiked through miles and miles of God’s artwork.
But if you asked me what my favorite days of the race have been? It honestly wouldn’t include any of that.
It would include moments like the one on Friday, March 20th at the Gospel Music Festival when I met a sweet baby boy who I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since.
So here’s the story of the baby boy who broke my heart the moment I laid eyes on him…
I’m standing in a crowded room with at least 100 sick and injured people scattered from corner to corner. As I’m still trying to adjust to the atmosphere and take it all in, Kaitlin and I are immediately motioned to come outside. We’re standing by the doors when this mother and father begin walking towards us with this baby in their arms. Before we even saw the child, the woman who motioned us over was simply saying “His eyes. His eyes. Pray for his eyes.”
That’s when I look up at this sweet innocent baby, and nearly fall to the ground in tears. His eyes were blood shot and swollen. Both eyes are entirely distorted, and one is nearly popping out of his head.
No one told us how it happened. Was it a freak accident? Was he born with it?
I wanted answers, but there was no one around to give them to me. So Kaitlin and I began praying. After awhile, we motioned to another volunteer standing nearby to come over and pray with us. Together, with expectant hearts, we began praying for miraculous healing for this baby.
As I was praying the second time around, I distinctly remember just knowing down to my core that this baby didn’t suffer from some freak accident. This was a tumor. This was cancer. This was more than just the external appearance of his eyes. This went to the very core of this child’s brain.
I wanted to know for certain though. I wanted to be entirely sure that what I felt was from the Holy Spirit. So a few minutes later, we had a translator come over and we asked her how the child’s eyes got like this. What happened? And she said exactly what I didn’t want to hear, but exactly what I knew deep down. Yes, it was cancer. It was a tumor that was completely distorting the face of this innocent child.
And I was angry. What a blatant attack of the Enemy— dangling it in our face. Who does he think he is attacking a sweet innocent baby like that. So much anger welled up inside of me.
We decided to take the mother and her son inside to have more people join in praying. As we walked into the room, Megan, Sydney, and Ronny all come over, and again, together we continue praying with expectant hearts. Immediately, I felt a sudden rush of energy from deep within, every inch of my body was tingling, and I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit surrounding that child like I’ve never felt before. But still no healing.
After an hour in a half, the mother decides she needs to leave. Everyone is hungry, she says. Everyone is tired, she says.
No! Don’t leave. Please don’t leave. God, how can you let her leave without healing this child?
And just like that… they were gone.
Discouragement. That’s what I felt. Exhaustion. That’s what I felt. Disappointment. That’s what I felt.
Where is your goodness, God? Where is your power, God? Where are you, God?
The next morning, I woke up with the baby boy’s face in my mind. I worked out with the baby boy’s face in my mind. I ate breakfast with the baby boy’s face in my mind. I sat through team time with the baby boy’s face in my mind.
And I’ve woken up every morning since with the baby boy’s face in my mind.
I have to believe that God is going to heal that child. Maybe the next morning, or the next week, or a year from now. No, I didn’t see it. But I have to believe it’s going to happen. It doesn’t take away from the brokenness it left me in though. A brokenness I’ve never experienced before.
The Sunday after the event, I was sitting in church, and we began singing “How Great is our God.”
Something about the song left me in such a heaviness. Such a broken heart. Such a compassion. And uncontrollable tears began streaming down my face.
Suddenly images flashed through my mind like a highlight reel. Images of Kevin from Los Guido running into my arms as he comes into the feeding center. Images of Alexander from Nicaragua sitting in his chair with a broken femur and expressing his painful heart as his marriage falls apart. Images of Vivian, Ruth, Lilly and all the other girls in Honduras trying on dresses for Christmas, and all the children opening Christmas gifts for the first time. Images of singing karaoke with Ijah and playing ridiculous games at her house in Malaysia. Images of Coptar and Watsana in tears as they embrace Sharon at their graduation in Thailand. Images of me sitting on the couch in deep conversation with Mikky at Samakii.
And the last image was of that sweet baby boy nursing from his mother while she tenderly kisses his tiny feet showing her unending love for her son. And the father staring at me with desperate eyes as I’m praying for healing for their innocent child.
All these images started flashing through my mind, and then I see God going back through each image and wrapping his arms around every one of them.
Y’all…Poverty has a name. Brokenness has a name. Abuse has a name. Lost has a name. It’s all real, and it all has a name now.
But that morning in church, God reminded me that He can take care of all of them better than I ever could. He can comfort them, heal them, provide for them, love them better than anyone or anything.
I can’t change the abuse and the cancer and the poverty and the brokenness and the sickness. I can’t take that little baby boys tumor away or restore his vision. I can’t take Kevin out of an abusive home in the worst slums in Costa Rica. I can’t heal Alexander’s broken femur and fix his marriage. I can’t take it away from them, but I can tell them about someone who can.
As much as it hurts to think about, I don’t want my broken heart to go away. Because this is how Jesus feels for every single one of them on a daily basis. This pain and brokenness is the way He feels when His sons and daughters are suffering.
I want it to fuel my actions. I want it to fuel my desires and my passions. I want it to fuel the way I live my life.
And in the pain and brokenness, I never want to forget who the real Enemy is. God gets blamed for things He didn’t do. He gets the grunt end for everything. He doesn’t wish this suffering on any of His children. His desire is for everyone to live in the fullness of Christ. That doesn’t mean the pain and suffering is going to disappear, but it does mean He’s feeling the same pain and suffering you’re feeling.
And at the end of the day, I’ve got to remember and fully believe that God is good.
He is good all the time.
