I pulled on some lazy clothes, started my two cups of coffee routine, and sat at the computer ready to get some work done. I wouldn't sit there long however, because this day was going to be a bit different than the other days. I had a new relationship I had to attend to.
After my two cups of coffee were finished, I began to sift through the house looking for things that would be of good use as I went over to Maria and Henry's house. I found a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush that hadn't been used. I got a bar of disinfectant soap and filled some empty coke bottles with water. I grabbed some nail clippers and a whole pack of baby wipes, a washcloth, some Qtips, my head shaver, some scissors and a razor.
I must be the worst missionary ever. If I can just be honest for a minute before I go back to pretending I love everything I do here all the time, I have no idea why I chose this profession, or should I say why God chose this for me. I mean I don't even really like people that much. I think they are annoying and quite frankly, gross. Long ago, I thought I was going to be a neonatologist (premature baby deliverer). I laugh to myself when I remember those days. What was I thinking? I pass out when people give me shots. I can't stand dirty teeth, bad hygiene, bad breath, other people's blood or gunk or...my goodness. I can't even stand certain words that describe people's body functions. I like sleeping better than staying up late with company, and being by myself instead of being with people that like to talk...most of the time. I prefer dogs over children. Yet here I find myself surrounded by 'people' and planning a life of working with 'children'. Don't get me wrong, there are people I enjoy being around...as long as I can leave when I'm ready. Call me introverted. I don't care if you judge me, I know I'm a terrible missionary.
So I packed up all the little things I found around the house into a bag, and I got my husband to come with me and we hiked the little hill to the dirty, wood shack with no water, no electricity. A piece of rusted metal that reached just below my knees acted as the door. I lifted up on it to move it out of the way regretting not getting a tetanus shot before I left the clean world I used to be a member of.
Immediately the stench hit me. I held my breath as long as I could and walked in between some stained and tattered mattresses, dodging the pieces of fabric that hung from wall to wall.
There lay Henry, soiled, unable to move. His mother was just starting to change his diaper. Oh, but this isn't just any diaper. This is a green sweatshirt diaper with the arms tied around his waist. She has perfected the use of clothing, not to be mistaken for cloths, for diapers. Geoffrey held open the white bag we had brought to collect all their dirty, I mean dirty, clothes, diapers, whatever you want to call them. She filled the bag up and off Geoffrey went to wash the clothes. Lucky Geoffrey.
I prayed and asked the Lord to help me through this. Poor Henry. He was at the mercy of the world's worst nurse. I put on a smile and the Holy Spirit began to fill my heart with compassion at the flesh-colored bones that lay limp in front of me. I grabbed his dirty hand, pried his fingers apart and his hand open, and began to cut his nails. One at a time. A smile grew on Henry's face and stayed there the rest of the time. I chatted to him and prayed over him and worked my way down to his feet. I started with the big toenail and began to squeeze the clippers and snap, the metal clippers broke in half. His toenail was too big and thick. I quickly wiped the look off my face, found some other clippers and I clipped away little by little. I got a bucket of water and the soap and washcloth and gently washed his feet and legs, his hands and arms. I noticed dozens of very deep scars that covered his body. His mother said these were from bed sores. I shaved his face (it had about 6 hairs on it) and washed it, brushed his hair and brushed his teeth, at least what I could before they began profusely bleeding.
But Henry's smile never left his face. I had just about had all I could take for one sitting and I gave everything to his mother and told her to keep it and to brush his teeth every day. I gave Henry a kiss on the cheek and darted outside the house, happy to be out in the fresh air, and went straight home and up to the clothes dryer only to find that all the clothes still smelled like crap. Back into the washing machine they went.
As the days went on, I felt my heart falling in love with Henry. I thought about what it would be like if he were my child. I told the Lord to make it clear to us how we were suppose to get help for this dying boy. A missionary on the other side of Guatemala had connections to one of the only homes in all the country that takes in people like Henry. Not only that, but despite the waiting list that is who knows how long, he felt pretty confident that we could get Henry in immediately. The Lord had answered our prayers!
I ran as fast as I could to tell Maria that we found Henry a home. I told her about the place and she seemed to be pretty excited with everything except that this was a Catholic ministry and not, according to her, a "Christian" ministry. In 5 minutes, and broken Spanish, I tried to diffuse years and years of violent persecution from the Roman Catholics towards the Evangelical Christians in Guatemala. I left her house that night thinking that we would be leaving in two days to take Henry somewhere where he could finally get the help he needed.
The next day Maria made it clear that without her boy she would die and that she could not send Henry to be taken care of by people who were not brothers in Christ and might beat and neglect him.
All that work and all the prayers and all those nights spent laboring over how to help these people, and she rejected it. Flat out rejected it.
Is she wrong? Maybe not. Does she love her son? Yes she does. Does this help me love people more? No it does not. Oh well. So it is with the life of a missionary, at least this missionary. And we press on in prayer, spending time with them, trying to find a way to help them, get them a wheelchair and some medicine so he doesn't have to have his four seizures a day, and we press on.
We took Maria to church yesterday. She slowly walks up to the front with an offering, I say offering because a tithe comes from an income - she has no income. She drops maybe one of three coins she had in her purse in the offering plate and returns humbly to her seat.
Well I'm the one that's humbled. I'm watching live the story of the widow and her offering played out in front of my eyes. We sing and she weeps, we pray and she really prays.
Church is over and I'm ready to go home and get in my pajamas and eat my left over pizza and spend the day doing nothing, after all, it is Sunday, the one day where we try not to work. And she turns to me and tells me she is going to get some of the food the church is selling after the service. We stand around waiting, patiently actually, and she comes back with two heavily fried bananas covered in sugar and gives them to us.
This lady, who can't afford to feed herself or her child who is already dying, has bought us fried bananas. Do we accept them? I tell her she should eat them or take them to Henry and I see the look that comes across her face and immediately I retract my statement and tell Geoffrey that these are for us. Well, humility has slapped me in the face again and together we all pile in the car and leave.
September 1 marked my one year anniversary of being a terrible missionary in Guatemala. So far, I really love living here and I don't have the same longings I had when I lived in the States to just fly away to somewhere where the needs were great. I don't make much of a difference here, but a difference has been made in me. I know how the Lord should feel when He looks at me lying helpless in my own filthy pile of sin, acting out of pure ignorance, determined to choose the wrong when the right is so clearly right and right in front of my face, unable to help myself or even move. The Lord should be repulsed and sickened and He should get angry and roll his eyes and refuse to be there for me ever again. He should talk bad about me to all the saints up there in Heaven and have nothing to do with me.
Instead, He tells me,
" '...on the day you were born your navel cord was not cut, nor were you washed with water for cleansing; you were not rubbed with salt or even wrapped in cloths. No eye looked with pity on you to do any of these things for you, to have compassion on you. Rather you were thrown out into the open field, for you were abhorred on the day you were born.
When I passed by you and saw you squirming in your blood, I said to you while you were in your blood, ‘Live!’...Then you grew up, became tall...your breasts were formed and your hair had grown. Yet you were naked and bare. Then I passed by you and saw you, and behold, you were at the time for love; so I spread My skirt over you and covered your nakedness. I also swore to you and entered into a covenant with you so that you became Mine,” declares the Lord God. Then I bathed you with water, washed off your blood from you and anointed you with oil. I also clothed you with embroidered cloth and put sandals of porpoise skin on your feet; and I wrapped you with fine linen and covered you with silk. I adorned you with ornaments, put bracelets on your hands and a necklace around your neck...and your dress was of fine linen, silk and embroidered cloth. You ate fine flour, honey and oil; so you were exceedingly beautiful and advanced to royalty. Then your fame went forth among the nations on account of your beauty, for it was perfect because of My splendor which I bestowed on you,' declares the Lord."
So I guess the Lord is not surprised by my flaws. He is the one that chose to put me here. I think He knows exactly what He is doing putting such a human being like me in such a place like this. He uses weaknesses like mine and somehow, creatively, He turns them into means of glorifying Himself and proving Himself to be the One that is good, that is strong.
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We have started the plans for phase 2 of the children's home, which is actually the part that will house half of the children. The sooner we get this started, the sooner we can take in the orphans, the abandoned, and the abused. We hope the Lord will do a miracle and provide the funds to lay the foundation in January. Pray with us.
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| 80' x 40' Option for Casa Gloria |
Love, Jenna
I am both humbled and impressed by the work ya'll are doing down there. Many blessings to Henry, all the children you are feeding on a weekly basis, and to you both! I am blessed by you, Jenna and Geoffrey! Our God is so good!
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