This week I held a boy stricken with tuberculosis of the bones, weak to the point he cannot support his own weight. The six-year-old, John Ry, sat in my lap without looking around, without talking. Molly, Aaron, and I had met him the day before while we did house visitations to the church members around the community of this small town. As he sat there quietly with his head down, I asked him a few questions. He didn’t understand and nodded his head in affirmation regardless of what I asked. Now and then he casually reached down to wipe away the substance dripping from an open sore on his thigh. It depressed me to see such a young child in this much pain. According to his mother, the sores started a year ago with the diagnosis of his TB. Tuberculosis at five?
Just a few minutes ago Aaron had been holding him while I talked with his mother. The ICM medical team comes to this community once a month to offer a free clinic. The pastor we were working with had asked us to counsel and pray with the families after they met with the doctor. John Ry’s mother teared up when she explained that the doctor had prescribed medications for him, but she would not be able to afford it. The income of the people in this area is often less than 15 cents a day. She and I both cried as I prayed for her continued strength, her trust in God’s provision, and a miraculous healing for John Ry. When the pastor relayed the information about the medicine to Aaron, he set John Ry on my lap and went out with the pastor to the local pharmacy. No promises were made, but the least he could do was see how much it would cost. Twenty minutes and a few dollars later, Aaron came back with a bag full of medicine to help heal John Ry’s frail body back to health. His mother’s eyes welled up with tears as she extended her arms to Aaron in a hug. Witnessing their embrace, listening to her eek out the words “Thank you,” and hearing Aaron’s shaky reply broke my heart, and I had to turn away as the tears streaked down my face, still holding John Ry on my lap.
Sitting here typing this story brings back the emotion, and I find it necessary to pause periodically to clear my vision. The thought of this woman wanting nothing more than her son’s health restored, yet not having any means to do it is mind blowing. In America, I cannot imagine a child like this being turned away from medical care regardless of his family’s financial state. John Ry has been diagnosed for a year but he has had no opportunity to receive medication because of the poverty his family lives in. Last week at the tuberculosis clinic we were told that this is a “poor man’s” disease. Poverty is what creates a breeding ground for it to begin with, and unfortunately, poverty is what takes the lives of those afflicted with it. Even after vaccinations and medications have been created to both prevent and treat it, this disease still holds lives in the balance across the globe.
In the same hour of this event, I held another six-year-old boy with meningitis, also diagnosed one year ago. I looked around and saw the house filled with the faces of children with fevers, a toddler with a severe cleft lip, infants with sores all over, a woman with a large lump in her breast (unable to afford a biopsy), women with goiters, and so many other sicknesses. I have never seen a room filled with so many ailments without it being called a hospital. This wasn’t even a small fraction of the town—this was the majority. We had seen and prayed for most of them the day before as we walked through the town. The pastor’s own son had a high fever and had been vomiting the day before. Pray for the poverty; pray for the sickness; pray that these people find Jesus before it is too late; and pray for the strength and faith of those that have already accepted him, but are still experiencing extremely difficult times.
