Momma said there'd be days like this

This morning started off like any other Monday, except today we had a new patient to go visit. She came into the eye clinic last week and was diagnosed with advanced retinoblastoma, cancer of the eye. We can't help her, she is suffering.
She is two years old.
I sucked in a deep breath and inwardly squashed the desire to go back to bed, go back to the safety of just an hour prior to that moment.
We got ourselves as close to her house as the sketchy directions allowed us, our patients dad met us then climbed into the car to direct us the rest of the way. We parked and started to snake through cement walls, ducking under brightly colored laundry, waving and smiling at neighbors, wondering what the next corner would reveal. We were brought into a small dark room, big enough to hold a family and all of their earthly possessions, a room probably smaller than your living room.
When her momma turned I saw Harrietts tumor, protruding sharply from her small face. As she was swung forward, pulled loose from the lappa of material that held her in place, she started crying. We quickly realized, and confirmed by asking, that Harriett is completely blind. she settled slowly into her momma, finding comfort like a small baby in drawing close to her mom's bare chest. I held it together throughout the visit. I drew on every reserve I had. At one point I put my fingers next to hers and watched her slowly feel them, tentatively wrapping her tiny fingers around each of mine. While praying I was overcome with emotion.

Please God, if it is your will, heal this little girl. If it isn't, hold her close, comfort her. She is your child, hold her. Please.

I wiped away tears quickly and grasped for words as her mom tried to thank us.

Please, no. Its ok, its ok.

We came back to the ship, my mind all the while still back in the maze of cement walls and bright fabrics, and Harriett.

I thought I would quickly write my notes, make a phone call, and call it a day. I was numb as I walked through the ship. I casually picked up the phone to make my one call to a woman at the local hospital we were working with concerning the patient who wasn't doing well. (I talked about her here).
She hesitated for a second when she answered the phone "Oh, Suzanne. I was going to call you this evening. Vittorine has died over the weekend"
I don't remember much after that. We talked about how it worked out the best one could have hoped for (here, that is). She said she would call me tomorrow so we could talk more. I hurried through my notes and found my way to my cabin, tears welling up in my eyes with each step.
I picked up the phone and dialed home.

Please pick up

"Suey?"
"Hi mom"
"Are you ok?"
:insert those sobs where your shoulders heave and you gasp awkwardly for breaths in between incoherent attempts at speaking:

Withing minutes, my mom, thousands of miles away, was calling on God for peace. She valiantly stormed Heaven with prayers for me, and through her own tears, prayers for Harriett. The peace came like a wave. The comfort enveloped me like warm air does when you step outside on the hottest day of the year (or any day in Africa).
She prayed I would find comfort throughout the evening in friends and my "family" here. We talked about what it is to be in the center of Gods will, how God had affirmed my being here to both of us individually just the day before.

With only 20 minutes to spare to eat dinner I hung up the phone and puff-eyed made my way upstairs. Withing minutes a friend spotted me, recognized my, well, seriously worn-looking face, and gave me a big hug. A few words were exchanged, just enough, and I felt a little bit stronger. I carried on through the evening, finally asking another friend if they wanted to go out for a bit. Within moments six of my 'family' members from gateway training back in TX were ready to hop in the car and head off. For two hours I sat with a group of friends, only one of which knew what my day had held, and let myself settle into funny stories, random quotes, and the not-so-subtle sarcastic undertones of the night. Without knowing, all of them brought me comfort and made me realize I am far from being in this alone. I believe with everything in me that God puts people in our lives, each for specific reasons and purposes. If we allow people in, if we let the walls built up around us crumble, we can truly live. We can know what its like to love and be loved. When you allow these people in you might find yourself walking down the hall, on the worst day you've had in a while, with a friend singing (while conjuring up a smile)...

"momma said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this my momma said"
"momma said, momma said"

I struggle with how people live here. Its even harder to see how they die.
I don't ever struggle with whether or not God is here, whether or not He cares. I will go to bed in a few minutes and be able to rest in the knowledge and faith I have. I wouldn't trade this for anything.

Philippians 4:7
"And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."


PS-Don't even think about counting my comma's or coming after me like a crazed grammarian...It's been a long day ;)