As I walked down the hall, I heard the most startling sound possible in an infant home…silence. I was told “They don’t cry anymore…they have learned..if they cry, no one comes to them. Now, they just don’t cry.” In this infant home in Romania, there was one caregiver per 20+ children, and the sound of silence was killing me.
I was led to a room with 3 small children in cribs. One foot in front of the other, I made my way to the child in the blue onesie in the crib. This child, whom I would later name as “my teacher,” would change my life and teach me more about servanthood in just a few minutes, than I had learned in twenty some years before.
As I approached him, the stench of his soiled diaper ascended from the crib. I looked down at him. What a fragile little body, marked with vomit, dirt, and blood coming from his nose. My heart broke. After figuring out how to lower the ancient metal style crib gate, I reached in and picked him up. I was determined to achieve what we all do while holding a baby..a smile.
I sang, I made goofy faces, I danced, you name it. Nothing. No smile. No giggle. Nothing. This child seemed emotionless. I looked around the room. I was overwhelmed. This day marked one of the first days of my very first mission trip. What was I doing? I wasn’t the right person for this job. I couldn’t even make this child smile. My heart sank at this defeat, I had that feeling I was in way over my head.
You know how when you walk into a small room, you automatically feel big? It just happens. When you are in a small room, you just feel bigger. The strange thing about this small room in the infant home was that the longer I was in it, the smaller and smaller I felt. I looked around the room. What I saw confirmed my feelings of inadequacy. I saw a bath tub that was filthy. This is where they bathed. I saw a child in a crib that was way too old to be caged like an animal. He was drinking from a bottle that had been propped up to his mouth. He looked like he should be in third or fourth grade. I felt myself getting smaller and smaller.
I wondered if this was a fraction of how David felt standing before Goliath. Feeling so small and like he were up against the impossible. Without a clue of what to do next, I sat on the edge of a bed in that room. I had the child still in my arms, and bowed my head to pray. How can I make a difference here, Lord? What am I supposed to do? I can’t even do something as simple as make this child smile. I have no idea where to start, and I feel so small. Tell me what to do.
After my heart spoke those words, I opened my eyes. As I looked down in my arms to that small precious child, I saw something that spoke a message that was if it were written on the wall. My new emotionless friend was smiling from ear to ear. In that moment the Lord spoke to me. “You start right here. You start by loving these children.” You know, that smile in itself was worth every penny I had raised for my first mission trip. It was worth every mile traveled and every sleepless night afterwards. I would do everything all over again, just to see that smile for two more seconds.
It’s pretty simple really. You start by loving the children. It doesn’t take a Billy Graham type evangelist. It doesn’t take a person who even has a clue on what to do on a mission trip. You start by loving the children. That is how you start making a difference in their lives. Can you hold a child’s hand? Can you sit them on your lap and squeeze them tight? Can you pray for them? That’s all it takes…people like you and people like me…loving them. It’s pretty easy really.
I call that child, my teacher. He taught me so much. He taught me that it starts by praying for and loving the children. And that, will change their lives AND your life in more blessed ways than you could ever imagine.
I was led to a room with 3 small children in cribs. One foot in front of the other, I made my way to the child in the blue onesie in the crib. This child, whom I would later name as “my teacher,” would change my life and teach me more about servanthood in just a few minutes, than I had learned in twenty some years before.
As I approached him, the stench of his soiled diaper ascended from the crib. I looked down at him. What a fragile little body, marked with vomit, dirt, and blood coming from his nose. My heart broke. After figuring out how to lower the ancient metal style crib gate, I reached in and picked him up. I was determined to achieve what we all do while holding a baby..a smile.
I sang, I made goofy faces, I danced, you name it. Nothing. No smile. No giggle. Nothing. This child seemed emotionless. I looked around the room. I was overwhelmed. This day marked one of the first days of my very first mission trip. What was I doing? I wasn’t the right person for this job. I couldn’t even make this child smile. My heart sank at this defeat, I had that feeling I was in way over my head.
You know how when you walk into a small room, you automatically feel big? It just happens. When you are in a small room, you just feel bigger. The strange thing about this small room in the infant home was that the longer I was in it, the smaller and smaller I felt. I looked around the room. What I saw confirmed my feelings of inadequacy. I saw a bath tub that was filthy. This is where they bathed. I saw a child in a crib that was way too old to be caged like an animal. He was drinking from a bottle that had been propped up to his mouth. He looked like he should be in third or fourth grade. I felt myself getting smaller and smaller.
I wondered if this was a fraction of how David felt standing before Goliath. Feeling so small and like he were up against the impossible. Without a clue of what to do next, I sat on the edge of a bed in that room. I had the child still in my arms, and bowed my head to pray. How can I make a difference here, Lord? What am I supposed to do? I can’t even do something as simple as make this child smile. I have no idea where to start, and I feel so small. Tell me what to do.
After my heart spoke those words, I opened my eyes. As I looked down in my arms to that small precious child, I saw something that spoke a message that was if it were written on the wall. My new emotionless friend was smiling from ear to ear. In that moment the Lord spoke to me. “You start right here. You start by loving these children.” You know, that smile in itself was worth every penny I had raised for my first mission trip. It was worth every mile traveled and every sleepless night afterwards. I would do everything all over again, just to see that smile for two more seconds.
It’s pretty simple really. You start by loving the children. It doesn’t take a Billy Graham type evangelist. It doesn’t take a person who even has a clue on what to do on a mission trip. You start by loving the children. That is how you start making a difference in their lives. Can you hold a child’s hand? Can you sit them on your lap and squeeze them tight? Can you pray for them? That’s all it takes…people like you and people like me…loving them. It’s pretty easy really.
I call that child, my teacher. He taught me so much. He taught me that it starts by praying for and loving the children. And that, will change their lives AND your life in more blessed ways than you could ever imagine.
1 comment:
In our feelings of overwhelming heartache...He makes it pretty easy for us doesn't He? Start with one...hold one...love one... Thanks for your continued inspiration Beth!
Post a Comment