Stories, Stitches, Scars, & Peach Pits

I have never had stitches before—not until today that is…

Today was a day full of the unexpected.  We planned to leave early for a trip across the border to South Africa.  However, due to some political unrest, we decided to postpone our trip.  We shifted gears, and Alice and I planned to spend the afternoon at the hospital with our beloved cancer patients as we usually do.  By 2PM, we were ready to go, and Jorge offered to drive us. 

Maputo is a very windy city; but as the aftermath of a big storm last night, today was exceptionally windy.  When Jorge opened the door of our 14^th floor apartment for us to leave, a tremendous gust of wind came out of “I don’t know where,” causing the glass window of a second door behind me to shatter.  In an instant, I was showered by glass.  Alice with her mother’s heart asked if I was hurt.  Only then when I saw her concern did I examine myself for injuries.  When I looked down, I noticed a slice on my right foot.  Thankfully, it was not bleeding severely, but Alice and Jorge thought it would be best to take me to the hospital and get it looked at.  So, I got another taste of Mozambiquan hospitals—this time as a patient.  The nurses and doctor were very kind, and I ended up with six stitches (give or take a few as I was too engrossed in watching the procedure to count).  While all this was happening, Jorge called to tell us that the car had broken down.  Alice and I caught a taxi back home and once again found ourselves back in our 14^th floor apartment.  Yes, I think we were all feeling like we should have just stayed in bed today.



 

The scene of the accident: note the door missing all of it's glass window pain.

 





 

While Jorge was cleaning up glass and Alice was getting medical supplies, I was sneaking a picture.

 

Stitches!

 



 

Having a little bit too much fun with my super swell doctor.  He was so happy to be treating a future nurse. :) 

 

 

Tada!  All ready to heal.

 

As I was attempting to stay off of my foot as instructed by the nurse, I had time to do a lot of thinking.  My biggest regret of the day was not being able to see and love on my friends at the hospital.  I like to help other people through their suffering and problems, but having others help me through mine is more difficult.  This requires me acknowledging that I have problems.  I came to Mozambique, with a lot of wounds of my own—some that I didn’t even realize that I had because I had been masking, hiding, and numbing them for so long.  Yet, as I begin to truly see others’ pain, I begin to feel.  Then, as I begin to feel, I feel my own pain.  Now, more than ever, I want to heal so that I can also help others to heal.  No longer do I want to shut off emotions or exchange them for more “socially acceptable” ones.  I don’t want to deny the existence of pain or punish myself endlessly for causing it.  Neither do I want to slap a Band-Aid on my wounds and leave a trail of blood as I run around trying to “help” people. 

It is time for stitches.  It is time to accept the grace and care offered to me by God and those who love me.  In the end, I am left with a scar.  Behind every scar is a story of pain, but a scar also tells the story of healing.  I want to allow my scars to enable me to relate to others better. 

Shortly before coming to Mozambique, someone told me that I was like a peach.  “Cute.  Sunny.  Sweet.  But, there’s a pit inside.  Out of that pit comes new life; a tree grows.  From that pit—fruit is produced.”  I think that I am ready now.  I am ready to allow beauty and life to arise from my pit rather than allowing it to rot.  I may need a little watering and nurturing along the way, but thankfully, my life is filled with nurses, doctors, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends, and of course there is you.  Thank you for sticking with me throughout this journey.  Thank you for desiring to see me blossom, bloom, and produce fruit.  Thank you for believing in me even when all there is to see is a pit.  Here’s to healing and growth!

I Hope You Will Ask

So much has happened since I last wrote.  Over and over again, I have run the events of the last week through my brain.  I have tried to put all that I have seen and felt into words, but I just can’t.  My heart has been affected too deeply.  The stories of these people whom I love dearly are so very intimate.  These mothers and children that I hold through unimaginable suffering and laugh with on good days are now my friends and not just people that I will try to bless one day and then never see again.  Living life with them and getting a small taste of their worlds has changed my life forever.  Through these people, God is breaking and wrecking my heart and life so that He can give me His heart and life.  Yes, it is painful, but the peace, joy, purpose, and love that ensue are better than anything else I have ever experienced.  I have stories.  Many stories.  Stories of people that I love and have loved until death.  Now that I have loved these people, they have tremendously impacted my story.  While I am not yet able to share these stories, I hope that one day if you desire to know the deepest part of my heart you will ask. 

In the meantime, Casting Crowns song does an excellent job of putting my thoughts, emotions, and desires into words:

The love of her life is drifting away
They're losing the fight for another day
The life that she's known is falling apart
A fatherless home, a child's broken heart

You're holding her hand, you're straining for words
You trying to make - sense of it all
She's desperate for hope, darkness clouding her view
She's looking to you

Just love her like Jesus, carry her to Him
His yoke is easy, His burden is light
You don't need the answers to all of life's questions
Just know that He loves her and stay by her side
Love her like Jesus
Love her like Jesus

The gifts lie in wait, in a room painted blue
Little blessing from Heaven would be there soon
Hope fades in the night, blue skies turn to gray
As the little one slips away

You're holding her hand, you're straining for words
You're trying to make sense of it all
They're desperate for hope, darkness clouding their view
They're looking to you

Just love them like Jesus, carry them to Him
His yoke is easy, His burden is light
You don't need the answers to all of life's questions
Just know that He loves them and stay by their side
Love them like Jesus

Lord of all creation holds our lives in His hands
The God of all the nations holds our lives in His hands
The Rock of our salvation holds our lives in His hands
He cares for them just as He cares for you

So love them like Jesus, love them like Jesus
You don't need the answers to all of life's questions
Just know that He loves them and stay by their side
Love them like Jesus
Love them like Jesus

Loving Luciano

The happy stories are easy to tell.  It is easy to capture pictures of smiles, hugs, and art projects.  My time at the hospital is filled with many happy moments as I try to brighten children’s days and in return they brighten mine.  However, it is the difficult stories that are hard to share and accurately depict.  These are the stories that penetrate my heart deeply.  These are the stories that keep me up and night because my heart is so greatly moved.  The people behind these stories are the reason that I came to Mozambique.  While I desire to love all whom I encounter with Jesus’s love, there are a few people that I know am destined to love.  Jesus’s love in me overcomes my flesh, and I can’t resist loving them.  For these people, I shed tears and dare to feel their suffering.  Yes, these stories are difficult and hard to share because they touch such a deep part of my heart that I feel no one else will understand.  Yet, it is through these pain-stricken and tear-streaked stories that the most beautiful hope, beauty, and redemption can arise.  Here is the beginning of one such story…

Luciano’s story.

I was getting ready to leave the hospital for the day when I spotted a scared mother sitting alone in one of the pediatric oncology’s four rooms.  The fear in her eyes was undeniable.  I could tell that she was far from home and had endured a long journey.  She had nothing with her except the tattered clothes that she wore and a small child secured tightly on her back with a kapulana.  I went to meet her and kissed her cheeks as is the custom here.  Then I got my first glimpse of the child on her back.  The child’s small face was mostly covered by the kapulana, but I could see that it was covered with blood, mucus, and drool.  Clearly, the child was not well.  The mom remained relatively unresponsive to my interaction with her, and I did not linger long.  The next day, I got a closer look at the child.  .  The child’s entire left eyeball was oozing and bulging out of his face and nose in an infected, pussy mass.  Truth be told, it was hideous.  That night, in my dark bedroom, my heart broke for this child.  I so desperately wanted to fix this glaring imperfection, but I felt helpless.  I sobbed into my pillow with desperation asking God to love this little one.  The next day, God answered that prayer.  However, what I didn’t expect is that He would use me to do it. 

Thursday morning, I woke up feeling unexpectedly peaceful and hopeful.  I attended Bible Study with my missionary friends, and finally it was time for me to go visit my loves at the hospital.  From the moment, I entered pediatric oncology, one of the little girls squealed with delight, “Tia Abi!”  Despite the difficulties and hardships, I knew for certain that this is where my heart is most alive and at home.  I began to paint and draw with my little loves, when the mother and child from the day before rounded the corner.  I invited the child to come color with us, and he timidly took my hand.  I gave him a crayon and he giggled with delight as color streaked across his paper.  I am guessing that it was his first time coloring.  However, all too soon, his merriment turned to uneasiness as the other children at the table began to pinch and cover their noses in disgust.  The odor coming from his rotting eye was almost unbearable.  He began to whimper, and I escorted him back to his room and mother.  Then I brought him a coloring book and crayons so that he could continue to color in his room.  I motioned for him to come and sit on my lap, and it became obvious that he would rather be held than color.  At this point, I discovered that neither he nor his mom spoke Portuguese (the national language); they only spoke Shanganah (their native dialect).  I was also told that his name was Luciano which I mistook for Luciana (so, at this point, I thought he was a little girl…oops!)  Nevertheless, I held Luciano in my arms.  Beyond the stench, the drool and snot poring onto my shirt, and the hideous infected eye touching me with its crusty puss, I held a beautiful, BEAUTIFUL child.  I felt his lungs straining for breath against my chest, sang him songs of Jesus’s love, kissed his tiny head, looked into his perfect brown right eye, saw him nod off to sleep, felt his little hand stroking my arm, and I fell unexplainably in love.  Then I saw his mom wiping tears from her eyes as she saw someone love her “outcast” son.  I was so moved by the fact that Jesus holds us so very close despite our glaring imperfections.  When we stink and are completely desolate, He holds us because He loves us and sees the beauty of God’s creation in us.  Then He allows us to do the same for others, and there is nothing better in this life! 

The next day, I had the privilege of bringing Luciano a clean outfit (Confession: I brought him girls' clothes as I still thought that he was a girl; I am glad that his mother was gracious!) and some cereal for him to eat over the weekend.  Furthermore, I got to see smiles on his mother’s face.  Luciano’s story is not over…and no matter what his future looks like, I am grateful to have had the chance to love him.  I wish that I had a picture of him to share, but due to severity of his condition I felt it was better to refrain from taking pictures until more trust is built. 

Luciano.  One life that Love in me loves.  This love is not by my power or my strength but by the Spirit of the Lord of Love. 

Kisses

Here in Mozambique and in many other countries for that matter, when a person meets another person, they greet each other by exchanging a kiss on the right cheek and then on the left cheek.  This is a kiss goodbye to the American custom of shaking hands and safely keeping arms’ length between two individuals.  Yes, at first, it is a little awkward and strange to think of kissing everyone you meet, but it really is a beautiful thing.  It is a beautiful thing to draw one another close without regard to whether or not they are contagious, dirty, short, tall, or have bad breath.  Truth be told, we are all a little different and have at least one quality that makes us “undesirable.”  So, let’s stoop and stretch to draw one another close.  Only then do we get to feel the warmth of their being and share in the gentleness and grace of something as simple as a kiss.  Cheeks are where smiles form and tears fall.  This is a blessed place to meet your neighbor. 

 

Reality Check

I live a life of two vastly different realities.  In one reality, all of my physical needs are met as well as many of my human desires.  I enjoy many luxuries—chocolate, coffee, hot showers.  I have the opportunity to travel the world and the opportunity to attend college.  Physically, I am in excellent health.  No matter where I am in life, I know that I have friends and family who will love and support me.  I am unimaginably loved, and every day I receive proof of this.

Then there is another reality that I also see every day.  In this reality, I see the corpse of a child that died an untimely death being wheeled out of a crumbling, smelly hospital.  I see a crippled man crawling on his hands across a street littered with garbage and shattered glass.  I see the hardened faces of orphaned children and desolate old people who have never truly been loved.  I hold my breath as I walk past the trees that reek of urine from being used as toilets and try not to be overwhelmed by the sorrow of realizing that the people surrounding me are in need of food, clothes, shelter, and love.  This is a reality I would rather not see because it is miserable, and honestly, it sucks.  It is a reality in which individuals strive for self-preservation at the expense of the rest of humanity.  If I were one to cry, I would sob every time I look out of my window.  Since I’m not, I take it all in; and then, I feel it.  I feel it deep in my heart.  I feel it until everything within me screams for a third reality.

 

It is time for a reality in which, I love my neighbors as myself.  As much as I strive to meet my needs and desires, I want to acknowledge and strive to meet the needs and desires of my neighbor.  They are equally precious, sacred, and valued.  There is too much hate, sickness, and pain in the world to multiply it. Instead, I want to cling to every ounce of love that I have been given and spread it.  It hurts too much to suffer and to watch others suffer.  Hate is never the answer.  I want to see even the hardest hearts melted and softened by love—beginning with mine.  Sure, I am just one person, and I can’t change the world.  Yet, if I can touch the person next to me with love, a new reality is discovered that I can live with.   Love is the only answer, and it is one that I am willing to die for.  It is time for me to begin sharing.  It is time for me to see the faces of those who suffer, feel their pain, and offer all that I have to offer.  Likewise, I must be willing to unveil myself before them and allow them to do the same for me.  This is the only way in which I can face my two realities.  The old has passed away; a new way has come. 

 

Life and Death: Questions and Emotions Along the Way

She was only fourteen years old; I knew her for just over two weeks.  From the day that I first met her, I loved her.  Despite here peaceful demeanor, it was easy to read desperation in her beautiful brown eyes from the tremendous burden that she bore.  She was slender and beautiful, but her abdomen was so distended from cancer that it gave her the appearance of being pregnant.  For two weeks, I got to sit with her, hug her, draw with her, and indulge her love for candy.  Around her neck, she wore the necklace with the word “Friends” on it that I had given her.  This past Tuesday, she was very weak, and as I sat beside her on her bed, she whispered, “doce” (candy) to me.  I brought her a piece, and then I began to pass candy out to the other patients in her room as well.  As I went to say goodbye to my friend, she dropped her candy on the floor.  I stooped to pick it up and handed it to her.  As I did this, she reached for a second piece of candy.  Usually, I have to limit one piece per person to ensure that everyone gets some, but I slipped a second piece into her hand.  She smiled up at me, and I smiled back.  Then, I left for home.  The next day I arrived at the hospital to find her very weak.  I saw her step-mother dragging her by the arm to the bathroom.  As a result, my weak friend was stumbling and crashing into the wall.  I rushed to her side to help steady her, and she grasped my hand and leaned on me as we walked the hall to the bathroom.  That was the last time that I touched her or let her know that I loved her.  For all I know, that may have been the last touch of love that she received on earth.  I waited and waited for her step-mother to come from the bathroom so that I could help her back to her room, but she didn’t come.  Finally, I saw two men carrying her limp body back to her bed.  Shortly after this, my sweet friend passed away. 

 

My heart was heavy as I left pediatric oncology to meet Alice (the missionary I serve with) at adult oncology.  I found Alice sitting with a woman who had just lost her husband—her only love to cancer that afternoon.  The woman was overcome with grief and completely devastated.  I put my cheek next to hers and felt the warm tears that poured from her eyes as she sobbed in the arms of Alice and me. 

If ever there was ever an instance to ask, “How could a loving God allow such suffering to occur?” this seemed like the opportune time for such a question.  However, as I thought of these two beautiful women suffering regardless of whether I choose to be theist or atheist, a new question emerged in my mind, “How can there not be hope for these women?”  Suffering is inevitable on this earth, but hope is a choice and always available.  I have found hope from my faith in a loving God, and since I have found it, everything within me wants to share it.  I hate suffering, but my heart is overwhelmed with love for the one who suffers and is not content to leave them hopeless in their suffering.  I believe in a God who has come to give life and life to the fullest.  That life can start here on earth and will ultimately be fulfilled in Heaven.  “He (God/Love) will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away” (Revelations 21:4).  This is the hope that I have found and am devoted to sharing with the broken-hearted.  It doesn't always make sense, but it is all that I have to offer.  I desire that as I touch and interact with people, I show them a new way of life and bring the message of hope--the message of Love who carried all suffering past, present, and future so that a new way of life is available to all who are willing to receive.