Forever Young....

This past month, two precious little ones went to the Lord.  I've been a lay minister in the Kenyan government hospital system for a little over a year, and each loss still hurts me deeply; particularly children.  Whenever I go into a children's ward and find an empty bed that was once filled, my heart still skips a beat, wondering if the child went home to his family or to the Lord.   When the Lord called me to work with the sick and the dying, I never questioned it.  Ever since I was a little girl, comforting sick and dying people had always been a natural fit for me.  However, when a child dies, sometimes I find myself asking why.  It doesn't seem very fair to me that a child dies before he really has the opportunity to live.  When I'm sad, I know I'm only sad for me, and not for them.  I know they are finally at peace with the Lord, and free from pain.  I'm eternally grateful to the Lord that He has given me the opportunity to get to know these children and their families, and to allow me to help them have meaningful, fun, and fulfilling lives, however long we spend together.  And I always have my memories and the life lessons these children have taught me.  Here are two of them:

Remembering Tony

I didn't have an opportunity to get to know Tony as much as I would have liked to.  Mainly because he was quiet, patient and soft spoken, so he didn't make himself known.  One thing I do remember about Tony is that was was always kind and courteous.  No matter how rotten he was feeling, he tried to make others feel comfortable.  He made sure visitors felt welcome and had a chair to sit in.  He was very liberal with his hugs, and loved to be hugged.  When sweets were distributed, he didn't reach for them and call for them like other children.  He would simply sit and wait his turn.  Tony taught me that the opportunity to show love and compassion is always present, even in the midst of pain.

Remembering Faith

When I first met Faith, she pretended like she was going to run into me with her wheelchair. I feigned being seriously hurt, and she laughed so hard she cried.  That was the beginning of a game that we played nearly right up to her death.  I loved Faith's brand of humor.  A fellow connoisseur of sarcasm, I could relate to Faith in such a way that not many children could. The thing I remember most about Faith was her insatiable desire to laugh and smile.  If there wasn't anything for her to smile about, she would create something to laugh and smile about.  She was cheeky and  deliciously mischievous.   If I were playing catch with another child, she would zoom in between us with her wheelchair to take the ball away.  She and I had a game where she would pretend to hurt me.  She would throw a beach ball at me, or pretend to run into me with her wheelchair.  My part of the game was to always act really hurt; falling to the ground, moaning and writhing in pain.  She loved it.  Sometimes she laughed so hard she cried.She also made fun of my American accent; she would repeat words I said in a funny little voice that was her rendition of my voice.  She also stowed away sweets under her blanket and pretend like she didn't receive one; all with a mischievous twinkle in her beautiful eyes.  She never did any of these things in a mean or spiteful way; it was just part of her plucky character that made her such a joy to be around.  She was a breath of fresh air to me in my travels; I could always count on Faith for a huge belly laugh that would just make my day.  It touched my heart to see how much her big brother loved her so much.  Faith taught me that even in the most horrible of situations, there is always room for smiles, laughter, and fun! 

Whenever someone in the ministry dies, my ritual is to play a song for them when I get home.  If it's one of my kiddos, I always play Joan Baez's version of 'Forever Young'.  It seems to encompass all that I hope and pray for for these kids.

Rest in the arms of the Lord, Faith and Tony.