Chipped Paint- A Reflection of Africa

The sun was shinning so brightly I had to squint to make out any shapes at all. The day was hot; I was already sweating and I had just stepped out of the house. I looked around me and sighed as I realized how I was going to be spending my Christmas. Africa wasn’t anything I had expected. But just as quickly as that thought flew into my mind- I crumpled it up and threw it out again. Expectations are meant to be challenged, and I walked over to the car and got in.

As Pierre drove I listened to the conversations around me. Everyone was talking about what they would be doing if they were home. I thought about where I would be; what I’d be doing. It certainly wasn’t this. I wouldn’t be wearing the same clothes I had worn for the last three weeks, smelling as if I hadn’t showered in decades. I was in South Africa, headed to a hospital to make a difference, but I was beginning to feel that the difference was too small to see. I wondered whether there was a point in any of it. We drove on passing beautiful countryside so quickly all of the defined shapes had morphed into a swirl of greens and blues.

I sighed, “Do you guys feel lost? You’re traveling too fast and you want to stop and look around at what you’re chasing. But you know if you stop the thing you’re chasing just disappears.”

There was a pause of awkward silence. I turned back to the window.

Life felt so heavy in those moments. As I looked at the country around me I knew that we couldn’t cover the despair. There wasn’t enough whitewash in the world to bleach out this kind of pain. Living in South Africa was slowly destroying the hope I held inside of me. Each day that passed brought with it the reality that it didn’t matter how many hospitals I visited, how many children I held, because there would always be more; more pain, more death, I had come to Africa wanting to change it. But the longer I stayed in this country the more I felt that I wasn't enough.

I felt the car jolt to a stop. We had arrived at the local hospital and as I stepped into the dirt my eyes welled up at the sight of the pain. These people sought answers here, healing. But they couldn't receive any of the answers they needed and the healing continued to elude them. This wasn’t a hospital; this was a place where the dying took their dead. We walked past the TB ward, passed the HIV/AIDS ward. We slowed slightly and then took a left down a very long hallway. There were no walls on the hallway so the sun streamed through and heated the concrete bellow our feet. The air was thick and smelled like urine. Weeks earlier I had stopped noticing the smell of urine.

Pierre was leading the way and he stopped before a large green door, at least I assume it had been green before all the paint had chipped away. He turned around and faced our gang of twelve, “The people you are about to minister to are helpless, hopeless. They need you, so put aside what you are thinking about, it doesn’t matter, for the next four hours it’s not about you.” And then he opened the door; the door I assumed was green before all the paint had chipped away.

We walked into a children’s ward, I looked slowly to the left then the right the children were staring at us with big round eyes. I shivered slightly at the cold walls surrounding me. My mind was swirling as I realized the unfairness of it all. No child should face such a lifeless Christmas. Though my thoughts were true and noble, I knew I was hiding behind the nobility. I didn’t want to face such a lifeless Christmas.

I watched as our group fanned out. They seemed to end up in pairs: Adam and Terra, Barry and Pierre, Heidi and Jenna, Sam and Brandon, Oyvind and Nathan, and Moses and Andrew. I guess that left me odd man out. At first I walked aimlessly around the beds. I stared at little girls covered in bandages, little boys staring blankly at the walls. It shocked me that such a small space, holding so many children, could be so quiet. I moved to the back of the room where I saw a mother sitting beside a crib holding a rag doll. As I walked closer I realized it wasn’t a doll it was a child. I walked closer. Suddenly I found myself next to the mother and for a few moments just stared at the beautiful child she held. I wanted to hold her, to make every sickness and pain in that tiny body disappear. I wanted this baby to know peace. I was so full of emotions and thoughts I felt ready to burst. The mother just stared at me. I knew she couldn’t speak any English but I also knew that deep inside she felt my compassion. As I looked into the haunted eyes of the mother and she looked into the broken eyes of the “missionary” we reached an understanding, we were both missing the hope inside of us. With that look of lost hope I felt a little bit more of the green pain chip away from the door.

I looked at my feet; embarrassed that after all this time I hadn’t developed a thicker skin to agony. I was contemplating the future for this small mother and her small child when I felt something coarse in my arms. I looked down and realized that the mother had handed me her baby, wrapped only in a small, white towel.

“Hello,” I whispered, “my name is Chelsea and I love you so very much. I know it must be horrible to be here on Christmas. I wish there was something more I could do. You are such a beautiful baby.”

The only response I felt was her tiny body struggling to breathe in and out. Each breath was becoming more difficult then the last. My eyes filled with tears. One word continued to run through my mind like the ticker of a newsreel, ‘Heal.’ I had waited almost a month in this country that was so full of pain and darkness, I wanted to see God do what He had promised me; I wanted a miracle for my tiny little baby.

“It’s Christmas, God. This is the day you sent the world your miracle, please give this child hope. It’s not too late for this baby to be another Christmas miracle.” The words were spoken so softly that I wondered if they could make it to the ears of the Almighty. But when my eyes met with the eyes of the mother sitting next to me I knew that more then anything I needed my Lord to return the hope I had once felt so clearly. I needed to believe that the miracle of Jesus’ birth was still relevant, still held weight. I needed God to repaint the green door.

I was silent waiting with baited breath for my Savior to show me that His love reached beyond the pages of a Bible. I held that baby; the mother watched me, and the entire time I was praying in my head, “Lord have mercy, heal.” Each moment felt like an eternity and I saw no change in my little one. Soon it was time to go and when I handed the mother her child I whispered softly, “I’m sorry.”

Back in the car I returned to staring out the window. As we drove further and further from the hospital I felt my heart drift from my God. I didn’t understand how this could happen. I replayed countless sermons in my head, but as I thought about what happened in that small room behind the door that I assume had been green before the paint chipped away, I realized that sermons could only comment on theory and I was living reality.

When we pulled up in front of our house I rushed out the door. I called to everyone that I’d be back in a little while and I ran. I ran as fast as I could, looking for a place that I could be alone. I stopped at the playground behind our house. I sat on the top of the slide and looked out to the endless sky.

“Lord, where are you? Have you forgotten me? I am waiting for you. I'm always aiting for you. All my life I have been waiting for you.” The tears fell so freely. My body was raked with sobs and as I let myself feel truly angry, I felt something grow. Deep inside of me it seemed there was still the glimmer of hope. In that moment of release, that place of weakness I allowed myself to make room for God to show me His purpose.

My child. I sent you my son, he died a horrifying death, and I stood by and watched.

“I don’t care. Reading about that doesn’t change the fact that today I needed you, that baby needed you and you were no where.” I responded to the breeze fluttering by.

I was there. I know that child as I know you. Chelsea, I breathed life into you. I created you for such purpose. There is a call on your life to be light and hope. Trust that. Trust me.

“How can I be hope when I don’t feel it inside of me?”

Just because you can’t feel it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

With those words the breeze brushed the hair out of my eyes and I felt a strong calm rise from the pit of my stomach. I sighed and looked up. I knew, I knew deep in my soul that the love of my Lord endures. In that moment I knew that the pain of South Africa could be changed. On the walk back to the house I smiled. Maybe God didn’t heal my small Christmas child in the way I had expected, but I knew she was in Heaven with Him. I realized that was the best miracle anyone would ever experience. As I reached the front door I waited before I turned the knob.

“I’ll help you repaint the door, Abba.” With those words I finally caught what I was chasing.