"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world." -C.S. Lewis
My heart started to pound, hands began to sweat, and heat from deep within crawled out of and up my face. The footsteps got closer and closer. And then of course, the feet were at the side of the bed. It didn’t seem to matter that I prayed for the feet to move another direction. They always made their way to my bed anyway. The smell of alcohol was next, and then came the snake bite feeling on my arm. Right about at this time fear was at its worst. Nothing but panic sets in at this point. This scene was all too familiar to me in my childhood.
I am a former “sick kid.” You know the kind. There is one in every class. One child that is always sick, and always in the hospital for something. That was me. In the hospital way too many times as a child. I think it totaled 9 or 10 times by the time I was in fourth grade. And the worst was the scene described above, leading up to the nurse coming in to give you the IV.
Maybe that is why my heart broke for the child I saw in Kenya that warm sunny day. Maybe that is why I couldn’t help but shove my camera to the side when I saw her. I recognized the fear in her eyes. I felt it in the air. I knew exactly what she was feeling. She sat in the clinic with her father at her side. Been there. Done that. Many a time, my father and mother sat on the bed and held my hand during the IV procedure. Her father held hand and gave her a few quick smiles as the Dr. came closer.
What was her story? Why was she here? The details of her story are a mystery to me. I do however know she had Malaria, and was VERY sick because of it. Approximately 3 million people die each year due to malaria. The fog in my mind lifted briefly as I had a thought. I suddenly feared she might be grouped in that statistic. Her fever was high and the Dr. said it was very serious. The righteous anger in me boiled. This child is not just a number or a statistic. She is a precious little girl with limitless potential. I couldn’t help but think about how inexpensive mosquito nets are. Would the $10 we have each no doubt spent on a fast food recently, have saved her life if it was spent on a net instead? Probably.
The Dr. at the clinic had the bitter sweet task of piercing the little girl’s skin with that needle and causing pain to shoot up her arm. The medicine might help her. It might save her life. We hope. We Pray so. Although, the pain and sin of the world still hurts, and she is too young to understand it. She started to cry. Her father bent down to say something to her. I was relieved he was there to comfort her. He abruptly and in a firm voice, barked something in Swahili towards her. I suddenly realized he was scolding her for starting to cry. He wasn’t smiling anymore. She took a deep breath. Her chest bounced up and down as she tried to shove the cry down deep within her chest. I wanted to cry for her.
If I were her, I would have been crushed. Life is different in Kenya though. These children are raised to withstand and be strong against pain. Pain, it’s a part of everyday life here. Isn’t her father just doing what he has to do to prepare her for the life of a woman in Kenya? Watching her on the hospital bed was like looking into a mirror of my childhood. I guess it was the motherly side of me that just wanted to jump in and hold her, letting her cry as long as she needed.
Life on earth is sometimes unfair. God never said it would be fair. I long for children to be allowed to be just be kids. Instead, these children are in conditions where they have to be strong, grow up quickly, and learn that pain, suffering, and death are just an everyday part of life. In a land where so many watch their parents die of AIDs, their brothers and sisters die of Malaria, and the hope of living beyond 50 years old is considered miraculous, fairness seems like something out of a fairy tale.
My heart started to pound, hands began to sweat, and heat from deep within crawled out of and up my face. The footsteps got closer and closer. And then of course, the feet were at the side of the bed. It didn’t seem to matter that I prayed for the feet to move another direction. They always made their way to my bed anyway. The smell of alcohol was next, and then came the snake bite feeling on my arm. Right about at this time fear was at its worst. Nothing but panic sets in at this point. This scene was all too familiar to me in my childhood.
I am a former “sick kid.” You know the kind. There is one in every class. One child that is always sick, and always in the hospital for something. That was me. In the hospital way too many times as a child. I think it totaled 9 or 10 times by the time I was in fourth grade. And the worst was the scene described above, leading up to the nurse coming in to give you the IV.
Maybe that is why my heart broke for the child I saw in Kenya that warm sunny day. Maybe that is why I couldn’t help but shove my camera to the side when I saw her. I recognized the fear in her eyes. I felt it in the air. I knew exactly what she was feeling. She sat in the clinic with her father at her side. Been there. Done that. Many a time, my father and mother sat on the bed and held my hand during the IV procedure. Her father held hand and gave her a few quick smiles as the Dr. came closer.
What was her story? Why was she here? The details of her story are a mystery to me. I do however know she had Malaria, and was VERY sick because of it. Approximately 3 million people die each year due to malaria. The fog in my mind lifted briefly as I had a thought. I suddenly feared she might be grouped in that statistic. Her fever was high and the Dr. said it was very serious. The righteous anger in me boiled. This child is not just a number or a statistic. She is a precious little girl with limitless potential. I couldn’t help but think about how inexpensive mosquito nets are. Would the $10 we have each no doubt spent on a fast food recently, have saved her life if it was spent on a net instead? Probably.
The Dr. at the clinic had the bitter sweet task of piercing the little girl’s skin with that needle and causing pain to shoot up her arm. The medicine might help her. It might save her life. We hope. We Pray so. Although, the pain and sin of the world still hurts, and she is too young to understand it. She started to cry. Her father bent down to say something to her. I was relieved he was there to comfort her. He abruptly and in a firm voice, barked something in Swahili towards her. I suddenly realized he was scolding her for starting to cry. He wasn’t smiling anymore. She took a deep breath. Her chest bounced up and down as she tried to shove the cry down deep within her chest. I wanted to cry for her.
If I were her, I would have been crushed. Life is different in Kenya though. These children are raised to withstand and be strong against pain. Pain, it’s a part of everyday life here. Isn’t her father just doing what he has to do to prepare her for the life of a woman in Kenya? Watching her on the hospital bed was like looking into a mirror of my childhood. I guess it was the motherly side of me that just wanted to jump in and hold her, letting her cry as long as she needed.
Life on earth is sometimes unfair. God never said it would be fair. I long for children to be allowed to be just be kids. Instead, these children are in conditions where they have to be strong, grow up quickly, and learn that pain, suffering, and death are just an everyday part of life. In a land where so many watch their parents die of AIDs, their brothers and sisters die of Malaria, and the hope of living beyond 50 years old is considered miraculous, fairness seems like something out of a fairy tale.
I find myself a desire for innocent children to never be in pain and to not experience suffering. I pray that one day I will meet that little girl again in a world that has no pain…the world and heaven we were made for. I understand the quote above from C.S. Lewis so well after serving on the mission field with orphans.
The singer Bono once said, “Where you live should not determine whether you live or whether you die.” I agree. The children in Africa are dying. It’s not because they did something wrong or made a poor choice. It is simply because they live in Africa. Their screams from the grave and from the hospital beds around the land cry out. They cry for change…they cry for help…they cry for us to take action.
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