I want to flash back to a few weeks ago
when we were finishing up our time in Guatemala. We were in Antigua waiting for the all-clear
to pass through Honduras and had time to help at a local hospital in a
children’s ward. While it was the
children’s section, the kids ranged anywhere from infants up to adults. Most of the patients had physical and mental
disabilities. Many were bedridden with
no hope of getting better. The first day
we went to help we walked through the hospital and I will never forget the
feeling I had during that short amount of time.
The hospital representative wanted to walk
us through everything so we could see the kids and the hospital
facilities. The children were split up
into different rooms based on their ages and as we walked through the rooms I
felt like we were in a zoo. The children
seemed to be on display for us in what more resembled cribs and cages than a
bed. We were told not to touch or play
with them until we had washed our hands.
I could see their faces as we walked by and it broke my heart to think
of them wishing we would stop starring at them.
I felt out of place knowing that groups of foreigners had done this
exact thing…they had come before us and paraded around these halls. It was a sinking feeling in the pit of your
stomach where you have no idea what you are supposed to do, wanting to run from
this hopeless place, while at the same time wanting to fix, comfort, and see
everyone of the sicknesses healed.
When we walked into one of the two older
kid’s rooms, the hospital attendant said that most people who come to visit do
not spend time with this group but tend to stay with the younger kids. As soon as she said these words I heard God
say in my heart, “This is where I want you.”
Part of me said, “Great! I want
to work and serve where others don’t want to and won’t.” But another part of me said, “Are you sure
God? I’d rather spend time with the
smaller children. I think that would be
less awkward for me.” And I felt God answer,
“This isn’t about how you feel.”
So I spent our time there with a couple
others in that room. All of the children
there were bedridden and couldn’t communicate with words. We were there right at dinner time and were
able to help feed most of them. I stood
over one of the girl’s bed and poured small cupfuls of purified food into her
mouth and she would spit most of it back out and smile at me. As I stood there and stroked her head, I
became angry with God. I was angry he could
let one of his daughters be in this condition.
I was angry that her body didn’t work the way it was designed to. I didn’t understand why God hadn’t healed
her. I was angry because I couldn’t
understand the point of a life that couldn’t comprehend and be in communion
with its creator. Why would a loving God
let this happen?
As I continued to feed her, I felt God
speaking to my heart once again. “Why do
you think that she can’t comprehend me?
Why do you think that she isn’t in communion with me? Just because she can’t speak to you doesn’t
mean she can’t speak with me.” In fact,
I got an overwhelming sense that this girl, although she couldn’t speak or do
simple physical tasks, knew Christ a lot better than I did.
To be honest, this isn’t an excuse I feel
like I have to make to cover for God.
This is one of those times where I believe that God is bigger than
me…that God knows more than me…that whatever he is doing I should trust. It was a chance for me to have faith in
God. Not a faith that just blindly
follows or doesn’t question hard things, but a faith that refuses to try and
contain an almighty God to what my brain can comprehend. A faith that refuses to put God into some box
I’ve made to try and understand and wrap my head around who he is. I’m trying to let God out of the box more and
more in my life, and as I do I realize just how confined I’ve tried to keep him
over the years. It’s not the easiest
thing to remove all of these boundaries and limitations…but until I do, I’m
still the one in the driver’s seat…the one telling God to stay within the lines
I’ve created, to mind the restrictions I’ve placed on him.
