He Smiled

From the moment I first met him, he tugged at my heart. 

Perhaps it was because he looked to be about the size of a three year old even though he was five. He was severely stunted and thin from chronic malnutrition; he hadn't truly eaten in over two years because of a severe esophageal stricture, which made it painful and impossible to swallow solid foods. He had been living off liquids, and even that often ended in pain and vomiting. For two whole years. 

Or perhaps it was the look in his eyes. His expression was completely flat, his eyes almost hollow as if nothing was even left inside of him. I have never seen a child look as hopeless as he did, as if childhood had been totally robbed of him. His eyes told a story of a child that has experienced too much suffering in his five short years. Years that should be spent playing and exploring, learning and growing and being loved. Instead he had nothing but pain, hunger, poverty, isolation, neglect, perhaps abuse. 

"When a child doesn't thrive, his parents give up on him," I was told when I commented on how it appears that his parents don't care about him at all. "It's like he is already dead." Maybe they detach themselves from the pain. Maybe they think he will die no matter what, so they create a self-fulfilling prophecy. For some reason, this little boy has lived despite everything that has been working against him. 

When I reached out to shake his hand, he made no movement. His father took his arm and physically forced him to shake my hand as if he was a lifeless puppet. His little hand fell limp in mine because he made no effort whatsoever. He had no energy to do it. He had no energy to smile. It took all his force just to move his eyes, which watched me intently and seemed to plead with me to help and to rescue. 

Over the course of the last four months, we have arranged doctor's visits, exams, and diagnostic testing. A feeding tube directly into the stomach has been placed, infected, replaced, torn out, and replaced again. A scope has been done and redone three times and blood work done and redone twice due to poor equipment and inadequate results. A surgery has been scheduled and cancelled and rescheduled at least four times because of various reasons and excuses. Misunderstandings, miscommunications, and flat out injustices have been experienced along the way. A process that would have taken three days in the United States has taken over three months. And this little guy still hasn't had the life-changing surgery that he needs. 

In all this, I have never seen him smile. I've called him by name, visited his home, played with him, accompanied him to doctor's visits, and done everything I know to do to make him smile...but it has never worked. I have prayed and had him prayed over multiple times, recognizing that his physical and emotional illness may be more spiritual than we realize, thinking that perhaps a darkness hovers over him, like a curse needs to be broken or a demon cast out. 

That's why I almost dreaded going to visit this week. In my weakness, I was afraid. I was afraid of seeing him still skinny and unable to eat because of a surgery that still hasn't been done after four months of advocating. I was afraid of trying to make him smile only to be met by an empty, hope-hungry stare. I was afraid of talking to the doctor and hearing once again an excuse of why nothing has been done. I was afraid of my own heart breaking all over again because I hate his suffering and the injustice of it all and yet I can't seem to make a difference for him. Most of all, I was afraid of the voice over my shoulder that just said to quit trying because nothing would ever change for him. 

Then I cried out to the Lord and remembered that our struggle is not against flesh and blood but against powers in the heavenly places, and that this little one needs someone to fight for him against the physical pain, the social injustice, the emotional barriers, and the spiritual darkness that has tried to swallow him up. He needs someone who will not give up easily, who will not be discouraged by the obstacles, who will persevere longer than four months. Who will love him and fight for him? I know Jesus does, and so I picked up my sword, too, and I went to visit him like a soldier of light in a battle against darkness. 

The amazing thing is, light doesn't have to really do anything to overcome darkness. It's in its very nature. It just walks in. Light overcomes darkness not because of what it does but because of what it is. The best weapon is the light of God within us. 

I hadn't seen him in about three weeks since he is staying in the capital city in a medical children's home to wait for his surgery. When I visited him there this week, I hardly recognized him. Thanks to the support of the children's home and the fortified nutrition the nurses had been giving him through his gastric tube, he had gained weight and filled out. And thanks to the community environment of the home, he had made some friends with kids who are sick or handicapped or suffering...like him. 

While I thought he needed the surgery right away and felt as if nothing had been done for him over the last few months, I realized that he had been gaining strength and making friends at the home where he had been staying. The medical plan of care had not been going at all the way I wanted it to go, and the nurse in me was severely agitated and disappointed because of that. Something that should have taken a few days was still unresolved after several months, which makes the nurse in me very frustrated, but perhaps God had something better in mind for him during his extended stay. I shouldn't fret when things don't go the way I want them to. I learned that sometimes the fastest way is not the best way. The four month track may be better than the three day one. The Burkina way may be better than the American one. When I thought nothing was being done for him, perhaps God was doing something greater. I am so glad God is in control and I'm not. 

I kneeled down beside him and looked into his eyes, which weren't quite as sunken or empty as the last time I saw him. I called his name and opened up the sack that I had brought, which contained some gifts from the market back home. A couple of pants, some warm jackets, a tailor-made full outfit made from fabric that Emily chose for him, a notebook and crayons, some bubbles, a ball. 

After receiving the gift, he walked to me, extended his hand, and shook mine - a way to sincerely say thank you - and my heart melted because I remembered the very first time I met him when his hand was forced into mine, floppy and lifeless. As he shook my hand, I looked into his face, and the corners of his mouth turned up on the edges, and with his lips pressed together, he smiled! 

In that instant, a curse was broken, a wall was brought down, a darkness lifted, a breakthrough happened. A drop of hope was restored. Love broke through. Jesus won a battle, and I believe he will win this war in behalf of this child. 

The surgery he needs has still not been scheduled, and their excuse this time was that the one and only pediatric surgeon in this entire country who can perform the esophageal dilatation is an old man with sciatica who sometimes doesn't show up to work due to his pain, and since surgeries are only scheduled on Fridays for the entire following week, this would explain why the surgery has been difficult to achieve. The one time the surgery did get on the schedule, the doctor had a flare-up the day of the operation and didn't show up. Since then, he has not shown up a single Friday, meaning the intervention has not yet been rescheduled. Meanwhile, a five year old boy can't eat because his esophagus is essentially hardened and closed up, but a simple procedure that would change his life can't be done. This is the reality of health care in resources limited environments. 

Despite this ongoing disappointment, I left the visit praising God and wanting to tell the world what I saw. He smiled! He smiled! I couldn't believe it - he smiled! I saw Jesus in his smile. I saw Jesus when his little hand reached out to shake mine, for it was the first time I saw him reach out to someone else instead of withdraw into himself. I saw Jesus in his caregiver, who is normally complaining and demanding but who was this time thankful and cheerful. I saw Jesus in the doctors and nurses at the children's home, whom I accused of doing nothing to help him but who were actually preparing and providing free nutritious meals that have helped him gain weight. I saw Jesus in the loving community that I saw evidenced in the other woman and children who are lodging there - people who are hurting together yet sharing life and celebrating victories one day at a time as they see their children change and grow and get healed. One day, it will be his turn. I saw Jesus in his eyes, and I learned that love can indeed overcome hate, that hope can overcome suffering, and that light always overcomes darkness.