Today an eight year old boy named Marvin died. I never actually talked
to him, I don’t really know much about him, but I don’t think I’ll
ever forget him.
When I first saw Marvin four days ago, he was
lying limp and half naked in a hospital bed that smelled like a mixture
of sweat and urine. His mother sat by his side, holding his tongue down
with a padded depressor while his body shook with fever. We visited him
with his pastor, having been told he had a UTI, but I knew that it must
be more complicated than that. I saw the anguished look in his father’s
eyes as he fought back tears, and I was moved to tears as well. We
didn’t stay long, but even later as we drove home I could barely think
about Marvin without wanting to cry. We’ve heard a lot of sad stories,
met a lot of hurting and needy people, but for some reason this boy got
to me in a way that no one else had.
The
next evening we heard that Marvin’s condition had worsened, and he was
transferred to a hospital here in Bacolod. Yesterday morning our team
decided we would help pay for Marvin’s hospital expenses, since we knew
his family didn’t have much money. A few hours later we were told that
Marvin had died, and my heart broke. It turned out to be a
miscommunication, Marvin was alive, but the doctors told the parents he
had little chance of survival. He was not receiving the medications he
needed because the family could not afford them. We agreed to buy them,
and I was elected to go while my team left for our ministry. I
accompanied two ICM staff workers to the hospital a short walk away. I
wasn’t sure what my purpose that afternoon would be, so I just told God
that I was available, and prayed for His direction.
