the heartache.

Quite honestly, this has been hard to start writing. Time after time I’ve tried to write this post and it always seems to be pushed off. And I think that’s because it means I go back and relive the hard moments of heartache. The moments when I needed God the most. The moments that broke me. The moments that woke me up, that opened my eyes. The moments that made me hug the kids and families even closer.

There’s a lot I don’t understand. Praise God I trust in the One who holds all wisdom, because when I looked into the big, helpless eyes of these kids - I didn’t understand.

I mentioned in the last blog that many of the patients would come in after days/months/maybe even years of the family debating, trying other methods, and then finally coming in for medical care - which, in some cases, is too late…..

A sweet, little girl was laying in one of our emergency beds because of extreme malnourishment. A 2year old who looked like a 8month old. Oh what a precious girl. She was so malnourished, to the point of being apathetic to anything and everything. She let us poke an IV in her, lay her in weird positions for xrays, hook her up to our vitals machine, all without a little cry - I don’t understand. Too helpless. As I picked her up and held her, she melted into me. Her eyes stared into mine - and that’s a look that speaks louder than any words. I held her close as the doctor told me her body wouldn’t be able to sustain itself for much longer. I held her even closer, this sweet little girl. I don’t understand.

A team of nurses and a doctor ran in, wheeling a patient. I could tell something was very wrong with this patient. I looked over at his eyes rolling back. We quickly placed him in a bed and grabbed the crash cart - he already wasn’t breathing. We gave him breaths, the doctor listened for his heartbeat, nurses checked his pulses. “His heart stopped.” What?? I don’t understand. That was so fast. “He’s gone.” I looked over at his family sitting in chairs a few steps away - they don’t know English, they don’t understand. I watched death right beneath me. A 7year old boy. I don’t understand. As the doctor sat down with the family, the nurses and I proceeded care for this little boy. Cleaning him, moving his limp body, watching the body continue with the dying process, clothing him, wrapping him in linen. The nurses taught us Americans their cultural normal way of postmortem care - I don’t understand….normal?! I don’t understand how this could be normal, but for them, it is. The doctor came back to the boy’s bed and gathered us together - “we’re going to pray.” Those were the most relieving words in that moment. My brain was spinning, I didn’t understand, I couldn’t comprehend, I just needed my Heavenly Father. I looked back again and saw his sister in tears, weeping. His sister and his uncle were the only two family members who brought him in. The little boy was carried out to their car, as the doctor and I walked with his weakened sister. As they drove away she rolled down the window, stuck her head out, and said “merci (thank you).” I don’t understand. After everything that just happened minutes before, she turns and thanks us.

The rest of the day was a blur. I tried to wrap my brain around everything that so quickly came and went. I didn’t understand. I don’t understand death. “Death is something we were not created to experience. It’s going to be hard to wrap our heads around it.” Now understanding this, my mind (still unsettled) rests in the unknown. I don’t understand, but I serve a God who is above it all.

The next day, his siblings came in: two older sisters, one younger brother, and an identical twin brother. That day was healing, on so many levels. This sick and malnourished family received the help that had been needed for such a long time. The grieving, confused, weak twin brother was shown God’s love, compassion, comfort, joy, and peace through the clinic’s staff. I was able to sit with him, hold him, play with him, care for him - something I wasn’t able to do with his brother the day before. Now, through so many prayers and by the grace of God, this sweet boy has recovered and is back to full health.

THROUGH IT ALL, MY EYES ARE ON YOU

THROUGH IT ALL, IT IS WELL

THROUGH IT ALL, MY EYES ARE ON YOU

— AND IT IS WELL WITH ME —

SO LET GO MY SOUL AND TRUST IN HIM

THE WAVES AND WIND STILL KNOW HIS NAME

It is well with my soul - through the grief, pain, sadness, mourning, and processing - He is right there with me. In the weeping with me.

God, thank you for letting me hold Your children. Thank You for giving me Your perspective. You broke my heart for what breaks Yours. Thank you for teaching me to cherish and slow down time, to be present with these kids and families.

Even in the heartache, He is with me.