Recently, i began visiting two very special children. Satrine is one and a half years old. He and his mother were one of many victims of a cruel, senseless act of violence committed against their church in Mombasa, Kenya. Many folks were sitting in church on a Sunday listening to a sermon. Out of the blue, a large group suddenly ambushed the church and began spraying the sanctuary with bullets. In the panic, Satrine's mother attempted to shield her son from the rapid fire. In the melee, she was shot in the chest and died immediately. In an unbelievably horrendous twist of fate, the very bullet that took his mother's life then became lodged in this beautiful little boy's head. His 13 year old brother took him to the hospital, where, shortly thereafter, he was transferred to Kenyatta Hospital. Unbeknownst to this miraculous little boy, he has now become a symbol of hope and prosperity in a country wrack with violence and hate. His picture and story have been featured in print and television media all across the country. Everyone knows him and everyone has been sending him prayers. He overcame so many obstacles, including losing his loving mother, receiving an incredibly grievous head and brain injury, being abruptly uprooted from the only place he's ever known, major brain surgery, and the subsequent physical and psychological healing process he's dealing with as he now faces a life without his mother. Despite all of this, at the end of the day he's still a little boy. He's got a gorgeous smile that just doesn't quit. He loves to laugh and to eat. He loves to hide from visitors as they enter the room in an attempt to jump out and scare them. He loves cartoons and playing with children. I brought him some markers and paper, and he drew me a picture. I took it home with me, and it now resides in a prominent place on my office desk, where I can always see it. Not because it was created by a now famous (albeit not in a good way) little boy. Whenever I look at it, it reminds me that, even when life seems so difficult it can be absolutely unbearable, there is always, always an opportunity for gladness. Even in the midst of unspeakable tragedy and despair, there is always an opportunity to smile, to laugh, to enjoy. It may be like finding a diamond in the rough of a darkened cave, but don't give up. Keep looking, and you'll find it
The second child I began visiting a couple of weeks ago is Winnie. No one is really sure how old Winnie is...she's been aged somewhere between five and nine years old. Winnie's entire family, from grandparents and parents, to siblings and cousins, were ravaged by AIDS and subsequently all have succumbed to the disease. One of the complications Winnie is facing is a form of tuberculosis that is multiple drug resistant. I found Winnie by a story in the newspaper in which she was featured. When the story ran, she had been there for several months. Apparently, no one had visited her in quite some time, and the newspaper was trying to get visitors and donations for her. When I visited Winnie for the first time, I was shocked. I was first shocked by her appearance. At age five, Winnie weighed less than one and half year old Satrine. I can make an O shape with my thumb and forefinger and place it around her forearm, with plenty of room to spare. I was them shocked by all of the donations that had appeared in her room the past week. There were books, clothes, toys, and even a radio. Several people had responded to the article and sent her donations. However, although their gestures were generous and kind and she did indeed enjoy all of her new gifts, no one was giving her what she really needed: human interaction. I first noticed this when I was getting ready to leave after my first visit. During that visit I allowed her to experience things she probably hadn't experienced in a long time. I held her, I hugged her, I sang to her, I played with her, I prayed with her, and I drew with her. As I was preparing to leave, she became very withdrawn. She refused to look at me, and refused to allow me to touch her. Tears filled her eyes. It broke my heart. Not just because it was difficult leaving her. But because this beautiful little girl had been starved of human interaction for so long that she reacted so strongly when I left. Gradually, as she is beginning to realize more and more that when I leave, I do return to see her, the goodbyes have been getting less difficult.
It got me to thinking how much folks cling to things that, in the long run, don't matter at all. I know I do that frequently. I justify my need for material things by using them as coping strategies for living in a third world country, but it's just a lame excuse for using material things to fulfill my needs, rather than using what counts. God. Prayer. Family. Friends. Fellowship. Reaching out to others. No material possession I have ever owned held a candle to the healing properties I've experienced in reaching out to others and for others. There is so much more healing to be found in reaching for God instead of a donut. It was no accident God made humans to be social creatures. We are never, ever alone, unless we choose to be. Material possessions will come and go. In the end, whatever possessions we accumulate here on earth won't follow us to heaven. Winnie taught me that, no matter how much we try to placate ourselves with material possessions, at the end of the day, it's the people, not possessions with which you share your life. All that really matters is love and fellowship.
