Last Thursday was a good day.
It was also a hard day.Thankfully all of my days seemingly pan out like yesterday, so I have grown accustomed to swinging back and forth emotionally and looking up when I'm afraid I won't make it another step.
As I carried her out to the car and handed to her mama who got settled in the backseat, I couldn't help but notice she felt heavy as I passed her up.
HeavyAll 9 pounds of her.
I quizzed mom about her age (this would take me too long to explain. Bottom line, they rarely know their age here).She replied with the answer of 8 months. For some reason, in my head, she was still 5 months old. This, I realized, was only because I fail to recognize the fact that I met her 3 months ago on the wards, when she actually was 5 months.
I couldn't stop looking back at her every time we hit a red light or other random traffic jam.
Joy. Inexplicable joy. How else could I ever explain what I feel in my heart in words that fall dull on a screen once I place them there.Next up was Pania. We left the city around 10 am, arriving at his house by 11. We had planned to help move him, his baby brother, and mother back down to the city where they would all live with his dad. We packed the car with two small bags, and a pop-up baby bed made of just netting. Pania was upset as they settled into the car. I climbed into the drivers seat, still holding his 3 month old brother I had grabbed during the 'move', and my eyes fell on Pania as I handed the baby back. His face was listless, his eyes set in a far off gaze. He was hot with fever and after a bit, finally found comfort in leaning into his mama.
While driving his mom mentioned he stopped drinking the ensure we give him weekly, the only thing he takes in for nutrition these days. My heart dropped hard. Dis-interest in food or drink, even the things used to be found enjoyable is a general sign of decline, that death is fairly immanent.
How do people ever face these things without you, God?
I could barely keep my mind focused on the road and the questions being asked by his parents. Questions that are so hard to answer honestly. He's only 2 years old.
After lunch the plan was to meet Antoinette, a little girl whose disease we have been trying to figure out for months. So many people were frustrated when she came back after treatment we though for sure was working with a face filled with sores again. The day before, our ship doctor came up to me and asked if I would be willing to follow her outpatient. I was so excited to hear the news she had Tuberculosis. This seems odd, but you see, TB is treatable. Antoinette is going to one of the ones who makes it. She's going to be treated and hopefully next year I will take care of her on the wards after reconstruction surgery returns her face to how it should be. A beautiful face to match a beautiful, sweet spirit.
She and her brother (who I have lovingly nicknamed monkey-butt for his hilarious attitude and undeniable mischievous way about him), along with their mom, climbed into the land rover, smiling from ear to ear.
We drove to the TB clinic and started with the registration process for Antoinette. On the way home I felt the joy of success, like butterflies in my stomach.
On the drive back to the ship I recalled how much the story of the starfish hit me before coming here.
Its easy to put all of Benin, all of Africa for that matter, into one big group. When I do this, I see as impossible task, and hopelessness starts creeping in. Then I smile and realize God in all of it.
I smile because He's got me driving a land rover around Africa, picking up his precious children, asking me to do nothing except love them with everything in me, with all that I am.
How do people ever face these things without you, God?
I could barely keep my mind focused on the road and the questions being asked by his parents. Questions that are so hard to answer honestly. He's only 2 years old.
After lunch the plan was to meet Antoinette, a little girl whose disease we have been trying to figure out for months. So many people were frustrated when she came back after treatment we though for sure was working with a face filled with sores again. The day before, our ship doctor came up to me and asked if I would be willing to follow her outpatient. I was so excited to hear the news she had Tuberculosis. This seems odd, but you see, TB is treatable. Antoinette is going to one of the ones who makes it. She's going to be treated and hopefully next year I will take care of her on the wards after reconstruction surgery returns her face to how it should be. A beautiful face to match a beautiful, sweet spirit.
She and her brother (who I have lovingly nicknamed monkey-butt for his hilarious attitude and undeniable mischievous way about him), along with their mom, climbed into the land rover, smiling from ear to ear.
We drove to the TB clinic and started with the registration process for Antoinette. On the way home I felt the joy of success, like butterflies in my stomach.
On the drive back to the ship I recalled how much the story of the starfish hit me before coming here.
Its easy to put all of Benin, all of Africa for that matter, into one big group. When I do this, I see as impossible task, and hopelessness starts creeping in. Then I smile and realize God in all of it.
I smile because He's got me driving a land rover around Africa, picking up his precious children, asking me to do nothing except love them with everything in me, with all that I am.
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