Monday, May 5, 2014
I sat on the edge of the tile tub, sobbing tears of silence. There was no safe place to let it out. No hum of electricity. No gushing water to drown out the sounds trying to break loose from my chest and mouth. Not even a flushing toilet. Everyone in the house and outside can hear everything going on inside. No privacy.
I traced the designs in the slick tiles with my finger tips. Pink and white intermingled. Purity swirled with suffering.
My mind tried to form it’s way around the little 8 year old girl who would not likely live a long life. Bajunica, her name danced across my prayers. This little girl, the same size as my own daughter.
Nurses and nursing students had surrounded her. Each taking their turn to gently palpate her stomach and her back to feel the football size tumor.
A tumor. In Haiti. In a little girl.
No surgeons. No chemo.
My body shook again with heartbreak.
Lord, this is your girl. This is your country. You love her like you love me. You love Haiti as you love America. But I can’t grasp this situation. I just can’t. How is this suffering okay? Please bring a surgeon. Please bring… something. I don’t even know what to ask for. All I have to offer are my prayers. And myself. Use me in what ever way you see fit here. Let me be your hands and feet. However that may look. In Jesus Name, Amen.
I dunked my washcloth in my bucket of bath water and scrubbed my tear stained face and then washed my feet so I could climb onto my mosquito net and settle for a night of restless sleep.
Haiti, land that I love. Country that breaks my heart. I have to go back. And I can’t explain it, but the Lord says GO. I obey, dragging my little heart pieces with me.
You may also enjoy: When Haiti Breaks Your Heart
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