By Juli McGowan Boit | Published: March 22, 2011
On the night Chepchumba arrived to Kimbilio Hospice,my head was spinning with questions of how this much disregard, and in turn, this degree of suffering could be allowed to one little girl. Eight years old and thirteen pounds—two numbers that should never be linked together. Although Chepchumba’s history was, and is, unclear, it appears that she was born with physical and mental disabilities that demand great attention and 24-hour care. Overtime, for many reasons I do not pretend to understand, Chepchumba’s needs have been left unmet; and by the time she arrived into our home, she was on the verge of starvation. A wasted shell for a body and quiet whimpering were the remnants of her struggle and pain.
It has been nearly two weeks since she first came to Kimbilio. She is holding onto life. And we are holding onto her. As we feed and love this little one, I am still wrestling with unanswerable questions; but more and more, I am convinced and aware of God’s great love for this child. In fact, I feel as if I am relearning His love because of her. Her fragile life is a gift entrusted to us and a reminder of why Living Room exists at all.
My desire for Living Room echoes the words of Cicely Saunders, the founder of the modern hospice movement, when she said: “God is the center. But he is also the foundation, the periphery, the ground of our being… Transcendent as well as immanent and the person who meets the patient. He is everything [at Living Room], and our job will be to get patients quiet of their physical and mental distress so that they can listen to Him who will, most surely, speak to them.” Shortly after Chepchumba arrived at Kimbilio, in the arms of a caregiver, she began to gently laugh. The caregiver was singing to her, in the child’s vernacular language, words that repeatedly say: I am so glad that Jesus loves me. As I witnessed what felt like a miracle, I was overwhelmed by the truth of these words and for the unexpected joy they brought to this little girl.
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