We visited the children's ward at the Murchison hospital; a first for me on this trip. It's a tiny, hopeful place full of loving nurses and doting mothers for some.
But it was also a place with scared faces of young mothers. And downhearted, exhausted mothers. Or no mothers at all.
Looking down at babies with scarred faces, wrapped limbs, and broken bodies undid me. I stared hard into the cartoon painted wall, trying to will the tears back into my eyes. I can't let them see me cry. I can't let them see anything but hope. But my mind was racing with questions of "why?". Why are they here? Why do they have these burns on their little bodies? Why are their growing bones twisted; bones bending in familiar but un-natural directions? Why...when they already endure such pain & poverty? Why?...
I have been racking my brain trying to figure out what I can possibly say on this blog that I haven't already said the past 2 years. What can I say to you that could possibly make you understand the level of hardship here?
I think the answer to that question is: I can't. I can't fully describe the level of frustration I feel at seeing some of the things I see. Not because we don't have pain, disease, hardships and brokenness in the United States....because we do, and everyone's pain & suffering should be validated. But what I can't understand is how the world became so unbalanced when it comes to treating and tending to these tragedies? I could go to any hospital around the world and potentially see a baby with burns on his body. But in a place of extreme poverty, that baby is not getting the same treatment as other babies around the world. And that little boy over there in that bed with Cerebral Palsy? He's not getting physical therapy or a communication system or even a possibility of a wheelchair. And that baby sitting at the table, waiting for the orange and banana we brought her? She's not getting social work to get to the bottom of why she can't make eye contact or why she pulls away from a touch to her shoulder or why no mom or other relative is around to tell her it's going to be okay.
I don't pretend to know or understand the answers to these questions. But my devotional today...before I even left for the hospital...prepared my heart ever so slightly with these words from 2 Corinthians 1:9...
"In our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but, on God, who raises the dead"
God lifted little voices to sing and play peek a boo from cribs. God brought smiles and satisfaction and filled empty bellies with oranges and bananas and juice pouches. God heard prayers, laid upon the alter in the name of Jesus, for the sake of His children. God brought an entourage of family and friends to the bedside of a child who was struck by a car yesterday. God arranged for a girl from Illinois to walk through the doors of a hospital and wrap her hands around tiny fingers and to smile deep into the eyes of a 7 month old baby girl, telling her that she was going to get well. That her mama was sitting at the end of her bed, and that it was okay to fall asleep.
God raised the dead today. He showed up in hospitals everywhere. He shed light where darkness tries to hide and linger and steal souls. He brought joy to eager faces.
Upon these things I choose to steady my heart. Upon these victories I choose to focus.
God raised the dead today. And placed beauty in the darkness...
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