I tend not to cry often. And I will say that I have shed relatively few teardrops on the race, thanks to Spotify, Candy Crush, and The Office, my go-to for distraction from tears.
But this month I cried. A real, heavy, ugly, sobbing cry, alone on the concrete floor of a very tiny bathroom in Sara’s Covenant Homes.
I had just met Faith, a 13 year old girl with severe autism. She is one of eight girls that lives in the orange room at Grace House. We were assigned to the Orange girls at the beginning of the month and we were told that they are the most difficult girls at Grace. They aren’t adorable babies, they aren’t small and cute and learning how to walk. They are teenage girls who don’t get much attention. They are rambunctious and overwhelming. They are girls who want to be seen and loved.
We walked into the room for the first time and chaos ensued: excited screams, hands flying, grabbing, pulling, pushing, dragging you into a corner of the room so that they can sit on your lap, take your arms and wrap themselves up in your embrace. You have no choice in the matter. It just happens.
Faith was sitting with me for most of the morning and I struggled at every moment with how to handle her. Usually she hits herself when stimming, or when new friends are present she sometimes hits, head-buts, scratches, or bites them. To combat her combative movements I would squeeze her tight in hopes of calming her down. That worked for about 45 seconds and she was up again and hitting or pushing anyone in her path. I walked over to her with intentions to contain the constant flailing arms and hands and unfortunately I became her target. I turned to ask the caretaker a question and I heard the slap and felt the resonating thud her hand on my chest. I felt the sting of her handprint immediately. She had hit me with all her might and I was now faced with the difficult task of breathing after all the air in my lungs had been forced out.
I looked at her and rage welled up inside of me. I had to make a conscious effort not to give in to my mind’s response to fight, to hit back. I turned my back to her and walked quickly out of the room with warm tears welling up in my eyes. I ran across the hall into an empty apartment and walked straight to the bathroom. I shut and locked the door behind me, fell to the ground, and cried.
And cried.
And cried.
I was furious with myself for even having the thought to hit her back.
I was overwhelmed with the daunting task of spending every day for the next month with her.
I was scared that the same situation would someday replay itself.
I was pissed off that I was crying alone, in a bathroom in India, because a 13 year old girl hit me.
I sat there and asked Jesus why? Why this ministry? Why me? Why should I go back in there?
He let me cry for a while and then responded,
Megan, you will go back in there and you will love her, even after she’s hurt you, because that is how I love you.
I don’t stop and neither will you.
Since that day God has inundated my heart with love for the Orange girls. They pee on the floor, themselves, and our laps constantly. I am drooled on and hit and scratched on a daily basis. I give more hugs than I have ever given in my whole life. I constantly have a child in my lap wanting to be entertained, hugged, or rocked back and forth. I get water for the ones that are thirsty and I help them drink it when they cannot. I play dump things out on the floor and then put them back in the bucket for 45 minutes. I give high-fives and chase after toys that have been thrown too far. It is physically, mentally, emotional, and spiritually draining, but the worst part of it all is saying goodbye to them at the end of each day.
God has taught me this month his desire for the Kingdom to fight for the ones who cannot fight for themselves. His heart is for the widow, the orphan, the mute, the blind, the deaf, the lame, the enslaved, the poor, the needy, the people who are unseen and forgotten by the world. They are not forgotten in his Kingdom and they are not forgotten by the citizens in his Kingdom. They are royals. We see them and treat them thusly.
And so in aligning our hearts with the Father’s, we begin fighting for the ones who are unable to fight their own battles, and we speak up for the ones who cannot speak for themselves. That is these girls. They are at the mercy of the ones who choose to invest in them and fight for them.
So Church, be the ones who fight for them.
They cannot ask for what they need but I will. It costs SCH $200 every month to take care of each girl and boy.This is complete care including food, school, therapists, diapers, medicines, and everything else kids need. My team is trying to get our sister Faith fully funded by the time we leave India. You can give monthly in increments of 40, 100, or 200 dollars. Prayerfully consider supporting this ministry, these girls and boys, and Faith. Consider investing your money in something that is so dear to the heart of our Father. Consider fighting to make certain that the Kingdom of Heaven isn’t something that we are looking forward to, but a real kingdom that we live in today, where girls like Faith have people that fight for her and make her existence known to the world.
If you want to hear more stories of Faith check out my teammates blogs.
And if you are interested in supporting our friend Faith, please email me directly so that we can update the Sarah’s Covenant Homes website accordingly.
Click here to read Faith’s story and learn more about her.
