As we walked the dark halls back to the ward, I prayed hard. God help me! I don’t know what to do. At least I didn’t hear Jenny screaming. After washing our hands I spotted an American looking woman.
“Do you speak English?”
“Yes, I am English.”
Her name was Leslie. I explained our surprise arrival, our ignorance and made a plea for direction. She picked up a child, hugged him tightly, laughed, and kissed him. “Oh it is simple. Look for a child who grabs your heart. Actually, they’ll probably pick you.” I scanned the corral of wheelchairs. There were so many. They all looked in different directions – up and down. One looked right at me. Leslie saw it too. “Yep, he chose you. That’s Roberto.”
I went over and took Roberto’s hand. He broke into a beautiful smile. My voice was light, slightly high pitched as I began a conversation with one who didn’t talk back but smiled and squeezed my hand. We arm-wrestled. “Muy fuerte!” He laughed and opened his mouth wide in a smile. When he started pointing and touching the leather strap that held him in his chair, Leslie came to translate. She unbuckled him. “Go sit somewhere steady. He wants to be held tightly. Now, he’s heavy, so get ready.” Two seconds later, I cradled a 12-year-old, carefully supporting his head so it wouldn’t flop. My arm was asleep before long. And my lap felt wet. A nurse came to change him. (I had a towel on my lap.)
For two hours we played with the children. We learned bits of information from the English speakers (Scottish and English) who were volunteering. Only 20% of the children had families. Even if they had families they weren’t visited. It was too far, too expensive to come. The rest of the kids had been abandoned.
One little boy was strapped into a contraption that he could actually stand and “walk” in. He tap-danced down the halls, eyes twinkling. Elmer could actually crawl. He came up behind me, grabbed me tightly and started climbing. I took him for a horsey ride around the courtyard, he laughed all the way.
Leslie challenged me: Your job today is to make three children laugh. Done.
All Byron wanted to do was be pushed around the courtyard. He giggled with glee up and down the ramps. I hummed Indiana Jones.
As we passed the children lining the hallway and congregated in clusters in the courtyard, I tried to make eye contact, smile, call out “Hola chica!,” tug at a toe, pat a head, put a finger to a cheek. Diego has a beautiful smile. Each time I passed by, he broke into a broad grin and gave a giggle, a bit of drool escaping at the corner of his lip.
Byron and I cruised past children who just sat, who couldn’t make eye contact, who gnawed at their fingers. I shuddered at the nubs, stomach churning. God, why? Why did you let this happen? Why did you say yes to such quality of life?
Maybe they are here for us – all of us. For others to learn. For others to take a step back from their self-centered, perfection driven, “all is fine” lives. To learn how to die to self. To return to what is important in life.
And even as I write this, I wonder, but what is the point of life? It isn’t about comfort. Or having things perfect – just to put on a good appearance. It isn’t about having the perfect family. God cares more about our character than our comfort. His ways are higher than our ways. He sees what I cannot see. And His love is so much bigger than my love.
I know I need a Savior. I know I need a God who sees what I can’t see. Who, when my loves stops short, His love flows over-the-brim.
I don’t know why God said yes. But I trust that He loves each of them, each of us. He knows each of them by name – and He has a plan for their lives. A good and perfect plan. It might not be the American dream, but it is God’s Dream, His will, His purpose, His plan. I trust Him.
The question isn’t why – it is what. What does God want me to learn from this? What does God want me to do? It is to play with little boys and girls, to love them and not turn away from what my human eyes deem as horrid. Join me in prayer – to bring hope, healing, peace and joy to the lives of the children and nurses in the ward at Hermano San Pedro hospital.
(We will work at the hospital Tuesday and Thursday mornings. These two blog entries are from our first visit this past Tuesday. I didn’t see Jenny again on Tuesday – but we have a month of ministry here. Pray that we press in, not away – that we love her with Christ’s love.)
