I pray two things before every mission trip. Lord, let my lens be your eye to the world that we might see what you would have us see, and, Father, let me see the face of Jesus in every life a film. Today brought both these prayers to life in a way that broke my heart, utterly and completely, and, at the same time, let me see the face of our Savior before me.
I have a technique I use when filming very crowded scenes as I often am in these places. I ignore the larger crowd, fix my lens to full zoom, and scan the scene, allowing my eye to find the story. As I scanned the crowd today, my lens was filled with many little faces, several old, and every shade of emotion and condition one could imagine other than anything of anger. I was near the eye checking station scanning left to right and my lense caught the face of a little girl. Her head was tilted to the right and she was drooling. As I pulled back my lens I could see that she was in a whell chair and that she was severely disabled. I debated as to whether or not I should press my shutter and decided not to as I never hope to exploit personal misery or suffering for the sake of images. I set my camera down for a bit and tried to clear her from my head but as hard as I tried my eyes kept returning to her limp little frame with her mother fussing over her, continually bringing her head back to upright.
I began to pray for her and I was literally overcome, to the point of losing my breath, to go and place my hands on her and pray directly over her. I approached her, asked her mother's permission which I recieved, closed my eyes and began to pray. I wish I could tell you exactly what happened but, as i right this more than 24 hours later I can make no sense of it beyond the Spirit of Christ becoming tangible in the moment between the little girl and I. The words that poured from me were not my own, rather, they were spoken from a place beyond the corruption and fragility of my heart. The prayer flowed like a river from my center and I knew that in that moment Christ was alive and acting in this moment for this little girl. I pulled my hands aways and went to a corner to continue to pray and read through some scripture, John 4, that always tends to re-center me.
The doctor came for the little girl and mom and, because she was in a wheelchair, she was seen initially on the floor of the open room. The doctor was quite gentle with this little soul and tried many times to get the story from mom of how she became so handicapped. I sat on the stares behind them and continued to pray for her. Diana came to sit next to me seeing that I was lost in this moment and put her arm around me and asked if I was okay. She no sooner spoke the words and tears exploded from my eyes. I had left a place of prayer and entered into a despair that is contrary to my faith. How is it that in one moment we seek the blessings of Christ and in the very next dismiss Him?
The doctor noticed that quite a few people had crowded around and motioned for some help to carry her in her chair up the stairs to the exam room. I asked if I could follow and he agreed. The interview with mom became much clearer. The little girl, now ten, had experienced a high fever at 3 years old, had a tremendous seizure, and from what the doctor gathered, had suffered a stroke as a result. Before this time, the little girl ran and played like all kids do. The mystery had become plain and the truth was unsettling to hear.
Something quite beautiful happened in a sequence that I hope to never forget. The doctor leaned forward, focused the attention of the interpretor and said, i hope to quote as close a possible...."Tell her this is more important than anything else. Tell her that she has done a wonderful job caring for her daughter. Few mothers could have done what you have done with your daughter, you have done a wonderful job." I wish I could explain the expression that overtook that woman. It was as if a lifetime of weight and pain had been taken from her. Finally, someone, someone important, a doctor had told her, you are a good mom. I spent 20 years in healthcare and have worked for more doctors than I can remember. Never have I seen one make a bigger impact on the life of anyone with nothing more than love. I thank God for that moment.
The mother began speaking again and I believed she was going to thank the physician. She spoke for some time before the interpreter began, "She fears that no one will be there to care for her daughter when she is gone one day." She was right, the fear was well founded. Who in this place could do what she has done. When you are in countries such as this you seldom ever see a handicapped child. This part of the world simply cannot accomodate them. No one ever told this mother that what she was doing was not possible or practical. But she was right, damned right and I hated hearing the truth, again.
I left the room and went to the curb on the dirty street behind the clinic, put my head to me knees and wept. I can make no sense of children's fate in places such as this sometimes. Like the kids in other places we have worked, I will continue to pray for her. There is nothing more I know to say.
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