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There are many images that fill my mind from this day, but there is one that I will not soon forget. I was visiting a patient, who is currently admitted to a local hospital, in hopes that she will soon be discharged to Living Room. As I stood at the bedside of this young, dying woman named Salome, I saw a clear and sad picture of what it looks like to be both sick and poor. Although I have lived in Kenya for six years and have visited this hospital on numerous occasions, I felt like I was watching a documentary depicting the horror of AIDS in Africa. Salome, along with every other woman on the ward, was sharing her twin bed with another patient. There were noxious smells, sounds, sights and extreme suffering all around.
Salome is 32 years old and a mother of four young children. Everything within me wishes that she was not dying. There is no one who can replace who she is to her kids. The youngest child is only five months old, and I wonder who will defend her and fight for her rights. For her, my heart aches terribly. As I stood at Salome’s bedside this afternoon, even as she gasped for air, she looked me in the eyes with such intensity and said: “Sister Juli, please make sure my children have food.” The gravity of her simple request humbled me. With tears in my eyes, I promised her that I would. She then proceeded to speak words of thanksgiving for our team’s love and care. She said that she prayed that God would help us as we continued to help others. As she spoke, I found myself, in the midst of this crazy environment, leaning in to listen and to receive the blessings being spoken from the mouth of a dying mother.
Recently, in reflection of this journey, I wrote a song. The lyrics say:
There is a time for everything, I know.
Moments of laughter and ones of tears.
There is a time for everything, I know.
A time to be born and one to die.
I’m just wondering why.
“Blessed are those who mourn,” You said.
A heart that hurts so much will be comforted.
“Blessed are those who mourn,” You said.
I feel all alone, but you must be near.
You must be near.
Seasons come and seasons go,
But what I really need to know.
When all else fails and fades away,
Will you still be here?
Brokenness is my offering.
I will declare that you are good,
And trust what my eyes can’t see.
Your mercy is following me.
Honestly, days like today make me long for the moment when the orphan’s tears and death will simply be no more. Until then, I pray that God will give us the grace and courage to be merciful and to walk these sorrow-filled paths. I say it often, but thank you for being a part of Living Room.
May God continue to expand our hearts.
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