Sweat was dripping down my forehead and new blisters had begun forming on my palms. I looked to my right and saw my dad and my step-mom waiting for their turn with the tools as we worked together to build a ditch and repair the road in the little Rwandan village called Busanza. On my left my mom was practicing her French with one of the locals while she took a break from shoveling. I smiled to myself as I soaked in the moment; my parents had flown across the globe to join me for a week on the World Race!
“Hey, Luke,” I heard. “Can you come check this out?”
I turned around to see my squadmate Gabbie standing there with gloved hands and concern in her eyes. I handed off my pickaxe and quickly followed her. About 20 yards down the road I found Lindsay holding a 2-year old boy named Jimy. On his arm I immediately noticed that he was black and charred from a severe burn. I put on some gloves and assessed his wound. It appeared to be a 2- or 3-day-old wound that covered his arm from elbow to fingertips. His little fingers were burned so badly that there were stuck together. I looked for signs of infection, and by the grace of God he had none. He winced and pulled away from me as I moved his arm to look closer. I looked up into his little brown eyes, and I could almost feel the pain with him.
Gabbie (an EMT back in the States) and I agreed that he needed immediate medical attention. In fact, he needed an operation to remove all of the charred tissue and let new skin grow there. We knew that if he did not get to hospital soon, the consequences could be dire.
We found our ministry host, and explained the situation to him. We located his mother and called a taxi. Within 30 minutes we were on our way to the hospital. I introduced myself to Jimy’s mom and quickly learned that something was not quite right. After a while (with the help of our friend and translator Elijah) we figured out that her name was Nshimi and that she was born deaf. She showed us some scars on her neck and spine and told us that when she was 10 years old she underwent an operation where a doctor cut her spine in order to help her hearing. I have never heard of an operation like this, and it honestly worried us. Could this have been the work of a witch doctor or some other type of satanic sorcery? Who knows? Whatever the case may be, she was able to speak some Kenyarwandan so that Elijah could communicate (although with considerable difficulty) with her.
We arrived at the first hospital around 9:30am with high hopes that he would soon receive the medical attention he needed. After about an hour and a half of waiting there, we were transferred to another facility that was supposedly more equipped to handle a severe injury such as the one that Jimy had. By that point, Gabbie and I had quickly grown to love Jimy. He warmed up to us as well. We found him a balloon and for a little while, I think he completely forgot about the pain in his little arm as he punched and kicked it around the waiting room.
We moved to the next hospital, and began the waiting game. Hours and hours passed, and we learned where the term “terrible twos” came from. Jimy’s arm began to hurt more and it started to look worse throughout the day. He got sleepy and very cranky. We each took turns holding him and distracting him. Around 5:00pm we finally spoke with the trauma doctor who would be able to help us.
His name was Dr. Leon and we quickly became friends as he learned that we were both medical professionals. We talked with him a while about Jimy’s injury, and he asked us if he was our child. We laughed and told him no, that we had actually just met him that morning. We told him about the World Race and our calling to serve and love people in 11 countries for these 11 months. Dr. Leon was amazed. He was blown away by our commitment to bring a stranger’s child to the hospital and offer to cover all of his medical expenses.
“You all are doing amazing work. If you keep doing good things like this, you will surely earn God’s love for the next life,” he said with a big grin.
“Thank you so much, but we believe that we already have God’s love through Jesus. He loves us, so we just get to love other people in return. I don’t have to do anything to earn God’s love just like Jimy didn’t do anything to earn ours,” I said quickly. I immediately recognized that those words did not come from me. I was so thankful for the Holy Spirit in that moment!
With that he was speechless. After a while he asked us the question that Gabbie and I had been secretly hoping for all day.
“Would you like to help us in the operation?”
UH, YEAH. How could we turn that down?!
We learned then that there were many patients ahead of Jimy, and that it would be several hours or even another day until he could have his debridement operation. We agreed to leave the hospital to go back to our hotel and spend some time with our parents while we could. Both of Jimy’s parents were there at that point, so we figured he was in good hands. We gave him a hug and told him we would see him soon. As we began to walk out the door, he started wailing. We asked Elijah what he was saying.
“Why are Papa and Mama leaving me?” he cried.
Gabbie and I felt like we had our hearts ripped out, but we knew we had to leave anyway.
A few hours later, at around 10:00pm, Dr. Leon called to tell me that Jimy had gone back into the operating room and they would soon begin the operation. Gabbie and I got ourselves ready and hurried to the hospital. We found our way to the operating room (apparently if you act like you know where you’re going, nobody will question you) and found Jimy and his parents there. We sat with them for a little while until I went up to the nurse’s station and asked them if we would be able to help with the operation.
“No, that is not allowed. It is against hospital protocol.”
Dr. Leon was not on duty that night, so we thought our chance had gone. I asked several more people if we could go back with him, but I got the same response every time. We knew it was getting late, so we decided we had better get back to the hotel. It was nearing midnight. Just then a little man walked through the door and said,
“Are you from the United States?”
“Yes,” we replied.
“My name is Paul. Are you nurses?” he asked.
We explained that I was a nurse and that Gabbie was an EMT.
“Well are we going together on this baby?”
“Yes, of course!”
Within a few minutes Dr. Paul had found us some sterile scrubs and escorted us to the operating room. They brought our little Jimy into the room and began the operation in no time at all. It only took about 30 minutes, but it seemed like hours to me. I wish I could say that I handled it very well and that my nurse training kicked in and that I handled it like a champ, but I barely made it out of that room still standing. It was much harder than I imagined seeing this baby I had fallen in love with undergo such a painful operation—even though he was completely knocked out under sedation.
We went with him to recovery and snapped a quick picture with our new friend Dr. Paul. He thanked us for our help, and told us that if we had not brought him in that Jimy would have most certainly lost his right arm. We emotionally and wearily made our way back to the guesthouse.
We kept calling and checking in on the family for the next few days, and we finally got word that it was time for him to be discharged. We went back up to the hospital to visit him and pay the bill so that they could go home. As we walked around the corner of the pediatric wing, I saw his little face and he lit up like the Fourth of July. I will never forget the smile I saw on his face. He ran as fast as his little toddler legs could take him and he threw himself into my arms. That moment will forever be one of my most treasured memories. I choked back tears and kissed his little forehead. He showed me his bandaged arm and he showed me how he was finally able to bend it again. He found his makeshift balloon made from a latex glove and we played for a little while.
I went with his father to the front office, paid the bill (which was very, very inexpensive compared to U.S. medical costs), and went back to see Jimy before we left. I picked him up and held him one last time as I soaked in every second of the tremendous love that we shared after only a few days.
The Lord did something incredible here. He showed me how much I am like Jimy. God the Father found me in my sin. I was lost, dirty, and wounded. There was nothing that I could do for myself. I needed an operation to remove the dead things from my life, but there was no way I could pay for it.
Enter Jesus.
Jesus picked me up and carried me to the Father. He dusted me off and held me tightly. He died on a cross and paid for my operation.
He made me clean.
He made me whole.
He made me new.
He made me His.
I will never forget Jimy. I will never forget the lessons that the Lord taught me through a human so small and fragile. So weak and helpless like me. But oh, so loved and valuable.
Maybe you feel like you are too lost or too dirty or too wounded. Maybe you have an old burn that just won’t seem to heal. Maybe you think there is nobody who loves you enough to help you.
Let me tell you something, my friend.
You are valuable.
You are worth dying for—Jesus proved that on the cross.
You are not defined by your past or your wounds.
You are defined by the God of the universe who created you in His image.
And He says you are worthy to be loved.
