You know the stories you hear about poverty, disease, and death in distant parts of the world? The kind that make your stomach turn into knots and your heart break? The kind that fuel your desire to make a difference and see changes happen? Jesus allowed me to be a part of one. It was one of the hardest experiences I’ve ever had, but I couldn’t be more grateful. I was taught about the love, joy, and patience that He has for us while I was caring for another. Everyday for two hours my team and I would go to the hospital in downtown Manzini, Swaziland and we would visit the children’s ward. This hospital made American hospitals look luxurious. The ward was a big open room with about 50 young ones, ranging from newborns to 12 year olds. There was no air conditioning, and you could always smell sweat, urine, and the occasional food cart that traveled through the ward selling food. The mothers of the children are required to stay with them 24/7 and they aren’t given beds, just a simple cardboard mat to sleep on under their child’s crib. During the two months we were there I didn’t see any doctors, nurses, or staff members come to check on any of the kids. Most of them suffer from HIV/AIDS, tuberculosis, major sores, worms, extreme malnutrition, and some don’t even have a diagnosis. The babies relying on oxygen tanks to help them breathe aren’t expected to live much longer. One baby that we had come to know in the ward passed away shortly after being put on oxygen. Some of them have been there for weeks and some have been there for months.
At first I hated it, it was emotionally overwhelming and I didn’t want any part of it. I had gone from eight hours of ministry a day in the Philippines to two hours a day at a hospital. I asked God what was going to happen in two hours? I didn’t think it was enough time to make a difference. I remember Him saying, “be a faithful steward. “And I obeyed, still dragging my feet and failing to see God’s plan for our time here. But then I found out why.
During our time there my teammate Taryl and I spent most of our time in the malnutrition unit where we would talk with the mothers and pray with them. Most of them spoke English fairly well. There was one little girl in particular that God had drawn both of us to. She was one and a half years old and weighed maybe six pounds. She was very weak and hardly ate. Her eyes were filled with fear, no light, and no hope. She cried whenever she saw us. Her mother explained that she hardly ate anything for six months, whenever she would try to feed her she spit it right back up. After about a week she started crying less but she still didn’t want anything to do with us, so we started singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow, Hakunah Matata, and other joyful songs. Then something started to change. I swear I saw a twinkle in her eyes and her mouth started to curve into a small smile. Everyone in the unit was in awe. Before we started singing, Thulile, her mother was explaining that she never smiled nor laughed, but we didn’t let that stop us, we were going to let Jesus do the work. The mothers were taking out their phones trying to capture this rare moment. Thulile sat Nonsondiso up and as she did you could see the pain in her face and also her frail body that was skin and bones and her bloated stomach from malnutrition. We started singing again and she started smiling more. We ended up singing for the rest of the time that day. Over the next couple of weeks we saw Jesus’ hands at work in both Nonsondiso and Thulie. Nonsondiso started smiling, laughing, sitting up on her own, and gaining weight little by little. She embraced our love and affection, she reached for us whenever she saw us. She was yearning for a love much deeper than what we could offer and knew we were different. That’s because we bring the joy and the unconditional love of the Heavenly Father’s heart. Thulile learned what it meant to love her child, that she needs to be held when she cries or someone to make her laugh when she’s sad.She learned how to love as the Father loves us. Our love grew for them everyday as did theirs for us. We spent everyday with them laughing, telling jokes, learning about each other, our different cultures, and sharing the love of Jesus with them. As more time went on Nonsondiso discovered drawing. She gained enough strength to grip my pen and tried her best to create her masterpiece of scribbles in my notebook.Everyday she reached for me to pick her up and put her on my lap and then pointed to my purse which she knew contained my notebook and pen. She then discovered a game known as “how many times can I drop this pen on the ground and Kaitlyn pick it up?” She loved it. She would get lost in giggles everytime the pen hit the floor. She found joy.
Then the day came, the day that sweet Nonsondiso and Thulile got to go home. Nonsondiso had gained enough weight. I remember walking in and Thulile was gone and her stuff was packed up and Nonsondiso was sleeping. The ladies in the unit explained to us that they were going home today. I went over to Nonsondiso’s crib and was just looking at her. I swear I did not wake her up. But, she did. She tried pushing herself up, so I helped her and picked her up and held her close knowing it was going to be the last time I was going to hold her. My heart broke into pieces. I have to admit I was being selfish, I wanted to stay with her, keep her healthy, make her laugh, smile, and to give her the love and attention she needs, and which wasn’t guaranteed at home for her. I wanted to make sure Thulile knew how to give her those things. But I knew it was better for her to go home rather than be in a crowded hospital surrounded by sickness. I had to let go and trust that we had done all that we could and trust that God was going to take care of the rest. We said our goodbyes and walked them to get a Kumbi (taxi) and sent them off.Sometimes it stinks not knowing the result or being able to check in on them to see how they’re doing. All we can do is pray and trust that God has a greater plan in store than anything we could put together.
