As I reflect on how God has moved to shift me to getting involved with this the World Race, God has revealed to me a powerful testimony that I’m so excited to share! Inspired by this testimony I have written a fictional short story, since writing is my other love! Therefore I would love to share it with you, my faithful supporters, and then share part of the “back story” testimony.
This testimony revolves around a little boy I meet in Romania on a short term trip ten months ago. I can’t give you his real name for privacy reasons, but in the short story you will see he is represented with the name Jeremiah.
It’s Not Fair by Katrina Lambert
“It’s not fair,” I thought brokenly as I stood at his crib.
My fingers grazed the soft prickles of his espresso brown almost black hair, and my tears poured like a river as I studied this wee boy.
Jeremiah; a boy who would never learn to dance. He would never run carefree through a field of wildflowers. He would never make a basket in basketball or a touchdown in football. Jeremiah would never be a public speaker and share all his creative ideas with the world. Being bed-ridden and in need of constant care for even mundane daily activities, his life would not amount to much.
A tiny frail helpless hand groped for mine drawing me back to the present. Jeremiah tightened under the wave of another attack of his body, but somehow he knew enough to reach out to me. Gripping that delicate hand as tightly as I dare, I sobbed once more witnessing the battle overtaking Jeremiah. An innocent mind fighting a physically incapable body left Jeremiah constantly at war with himself.
His chocolate brown eyes turned upward to lock with mine as if to silently plead, “Help me…”
I choked over fresh tears as the only words I could mutter were, “Oh, Lord, why…?”
I stood by his side offering whatever reassurance I could to a boy trapped in his own body.
“It’s not fair!” I muttered once more as I docilely unlocked his fingers from mine. His face scrunched up as if to express his sadness as I took one step away, but not a sound escaped his rosy pink lips.
Seeing his silent distress, everything in me wanted to return to him. I longed to hold him, love him, and fight his battle for him, but I knew I had to go.
“I’m sorry, Jeremiah,” I blubbered through my salty tears, “Oh, Lord, please hold him.”
Wondering down the blank desolate white hallway, Jeremiah’s sweet, albeit painful, face weighed heavily on my heart. Wiping away a few tears on the base of my shirt, I attempted to regain my composure enough to whisper a prayer, “Lord, I don’t understand. Why does he have to be that way? He doesn’t deserve it.”
That night I lay in bed and I pondered, reflected, and I prayed. Jeremiah’s face remained so clear I could almost reach out and stroke my fingers down his cheek, and, for just a moment, bring him peace.
Feeling restless and heavy laden I fell into a deep sleep……the faint sound of a child’s laughter grasped my attention. An angelic looking little boy ran to me and all but jumped into my arms. Balancing his weight on my hip I noted the familiar slant of his brilliant blue eyes implied Down Syndrome.
“Hey, buddy,” I whispered happily as I tickled his side and he erupted into a fit of giggles.
Suddenly a *thump* on the back of my calves caused me to turn around to see a little girl about 5 or 6 in a wheelchair. She was gently but persistently nudging her heavy metal chair against me.
“Hey! I’ll get you back!” I warned playfully as I lunged at her.
She squealed in delight and rolled away from me.
One by one darling faces appeared and I found myself cherishing a rambunctious game of tag in a sea of small faces.
The laughter faded as I jolted awake resting comfortably in my own cozy bed. I replayed the dream in my mind and couldn’t help but grin!
Getting up and around, it wasn’t long until I found myself at Jeremiah’s side once more. What was I doing? I wondered. It’s not like I truly knew this boy, and he was of no relation to me. Jeremiah was just a disabled boy in a group home abandoned by the parents who should have been the ones holding his hand.
Yet here I was again stroking his dark hair and whispering what little comfort I could offer. I felt my eyes brim with a fresh layer of tears as he wrestled once more with the demons that held him captive.
Suddenly, the familiar soft voice of God that came in the silent moments of questioning whispered, “It is for such of these that I came, and for that same reason, you must go.”
With that realization I knew exactly why I was there with Jeremiah. That sweet boy was a tool in the Almighty’s plan. Little Jeremiah would inspire me to go into the world and love on as many precious innocent faces as I could!
Feeling impassioned with my newfound call, I gave Jeremiah’s frail hand one last squeeze and strode jubilantly to my car. It wasn’t until I slipped into the driver’s seat that the truth came toppling down on me like a ton of bricks.
God gave me this wonderful revelation, but it didn’t change Jeremiah’s circumstance at all!
Feeling overwhelmed, I sobbed aloud as I beat my fist on the steering wheel and declared, “It’s not fair! It’s not fair, Lord! I make this discovery yet Jeremiah still suffers! He remains just as trapped!”
Feeling my initial outburst die down I pictured Jeremiah’s face and forlornly whispered, “It’s just not right, Lord.”
Over the next few weeks, I obediently began to make plans to fulfill this call that God had inspired me to. However, I made regular visits to be present to hold Jeremiah’s hand as often as I could.
One Wednesday morning, I entered the home first thing in the morning, and began the familiar trek towards Jeremiah’s room. Upon entering the simple all that greeted me was an empty crib.
Where was Jeremiah? I knew he was rather incapacitated and rarely taken from the confines of his crib let alone his room. A caretaker walked by. She was a little woman barely five feet tall, but handled the children with the wisdom and confidence of a well seasoned grandma.
Seeing me standing curiously by the abandoned crib, she gently rubbed my forearm and whispered, “He gone.”
“Gone?” I returned feeling my heart sink to my stomach like lead.
She simply nodded but the sadness in her eyes affirmed the unbelievable truth. Jeremiah was gone; a young life taken too soon!
The realization crushed me as I reached into his crib and stroked the pillow much the way I used to stroke his hair where he lay. Folding it in my hands, I sunk to the floor and pressed the pillow against my chest as I cried.
“It’s not fair,” I muttered through my tears, “He was so little. He never even lived.”
As of spoken by another person, my words struck me mid-sob and gave me pause. Jeremiah had never lived on earth. He had never played games with others boys and girls. He’d never slid down the slide on the playground, and he hadn’t even learned his ABC’s.
However, Jeremiah was in heaven now where his battle between body and mind was over, and he had come out victorious!
In heaven Jeremiah could run, dance, and sing with the angels! Jeremiah was free and living in eternity! His too short life had served to be such an inspiration to me and now he was receiving his reward. God was blessings him with ultimate joy and freedom!
One day I would have the treasure of witnessing Jeremiah running down the streets of heaven! That promise brought the sweetest smile to my face.
Gathering up my courage and wiping away the last of my tears, I rose to my feet. After giving it one last caress, I placed the pillow back in Jeremiah’s crib and exited his room.
Back outside I approached the yellow cab waiting for me. Picking up my suitcase, I placed it in the trunk, and turned my gaze one last time to the group home.
“Goodbye, Jeremiah,” I whispered, “Thank you for inspiring me to fulfill my purpose!” I blew a little kiss upward to heaven and climbed in the taxi that took off toward the airport.
The testimony behind the story is a rather lengthy one, but I will sum up to share part of it. Meeting this little guy in Romania turned out to be simultaneously the most meaningful and heart-breaking experience I’ve had in mission work. I don’t know for sure what condition ales his body, but he is rather crippled and nonfunctional. The part that broke my heart the most, however, was the internal battle between his mind that was present even as his body could not operate.
Leading up into meeting this little fella, I had an interest in missions (obviously, since I was on a trip when I met him), but meeting him gave me much more purpose in pursing missions. It was as if God whispered to me, “It’s for ones like these that I am calling you to go.” This greatly expanded my passion for missions and grew my heart to love those with physical disabilities.
Upon receiving this revelation my biggest wrestle was, “It’s not fair! Why would you give this amazing revelation to me, when it doesn’t change this little boy’s situation at all?” Deep down all I really wanted was to see this boy saved from his struggle and for his battle to be over. At the time, God didn’t really give me an answer to that question.
It wasn’t until a few weeks ago, through a seemingly random vision and a conversation with a friend that God answered it. His answer summed up was simple, “Some are called to go, and others are called to be found.” This little boy would never really live a life on earth, but imagine how much more powerful heaven will be to someone like that! His life, although unfair and painful, serves as an inspiration for others, and his reward will be the greatest freedom in heaven someday! And I can hardly wait to witness that!
