A few days ago there was a fire just a few houses down from where our cook, Reagan, lives. By the time I talked to him in the early afternoon, he had been up for hours helping deal with that. He asked if we had some first aid stuff at the house because he had scraped his foot in a few spots. He had helped a woman get away from the fire, but had to kick down a tin fence, cutting his foot in the process. The houses are so close together, and there are no fire-alarms, extinguishers, or even access by fire trucks, so the people had to work together to help put out the fire. The main house was completely destroyed and burnt to the ground. This is what poverty does. It makes a possibly bearable situation tragically difficult or overpowering.
Last night I got a call from one of the other staff girls here–Connie. She told me that she had just received a call from Monica and one of the children from the preschool had passed away. He had gone home Thursday with a bad fever, and the family was not able to afford to take him to the hospital. My heart sank. Another child dies at the hands of poverty. I have been to the preschool only a handful of times, and from that have only learned the names of a few of the children, so I assumed I wouldn’t know who he was. Even still, I asked the name so that I could tell the team–maybe they would know him. Connie said that is was Teddy and I immediately got sick to my stomach.
“Pastor Teddy?” I asked her, hoping she would say no.
Please be praying for the team as they process through this loss. I’m sure it will be difficult to minister at the preschool now, knowing he is gone. His grace is sufficient, though.
