Today, my heart was broken. And even now as I write this, I wonder how many more times I’ll have my heart broken in the coming months.
This morning, some of my teammates and I had the opportunity to accompany our ministry contact, Ilse, on some of her home visits. The purpose was to do an assessment on some potential wheelchair recipients, so we caught an early Chicken Bus to a town about 20 minutes away from Antigua. We got a ride to the first home in the back of a pickup, enjoying the sight of the near volcano spewing ash into the air.
None of us knew what to expect when we walked through the corrugated metal door. We found ourselves in a small compound, which we barely saw as we were welcomed into a clean, bare, one-room home. As the four of us crowded into the room, I caught sight of her.
She was wrapped tightly in a blanket and laying in the middle of one of the beds in the room. Even beneath the blanket, we could she that her body was deformed and her legs twisted. The bright light startled her and she began to cry like an infant. As Ilse and the mother began to chat in Spanish, the rest of us held back, unsure of what to do or what our role was in the situation. I caught snippets of conversation as I stood there.
“What’s her name?”
“Her name is Wendy.”
Wendy is thirteen years old and about the size of a six year old. She’s severely malnourished and can move only her head and arms in jerky, uncontrolled motions. Ilse asked us if we would like to pray and we moved to the bed to surround this little girl.
And God spoke to me about Wendy.
He told me that Wendy is precious to Him, that He sees her and knows her spirit. God told me that, although Wendy is in pain and her body is wracked with convulsions, her heart is pure and she is His beloved daughter. Her brokenness will not stop his fierce love and affection for her, just as my brokenness does not stop his fierce love and affection for me.
We prayed over this child that she would be free from pain. We prayed healing over her, as well as peace and joy. We prayed for comfort and love and freedom. We prayed for God to show up.
When we were finished praying, Ilse spoke to Wendy’s mom for a while longer. As they were talking, I sat at Wendy’s head and caressed her forehead. I continued to silently cry out to the Lord on Wendy’s behalf, and I was reminded of God’s heart for the broken. She reminded me that the physical doesn’t matter, whether we are bed-ridden, confined to a wheelchair, or a champion marathon runner. God knows the heart of us and sees that which is most precious to Him. The Lord promises to restore us, if not here on earth, then in heaven.
I’ve been thinking of the story of Peter Pan and how the lost boys called the Wendy in that story “Wendy Bird.” I had an image in my head of the Wendy lying in front of me and she was running and dancing through a field. She was whole and complete, not because she isn’t fearfully and wonderfully made now, but because she will be fully restored in the World to Come. Then, she won’t only run, she will FLY.
