Target vs. The Insanity of God

**Before reading this post, I should warn you that these pictures are heartbreaking and graphic.  I suppose inquiring minds can scroll ahead, but without hearing the beautiful story you might miss the bigger picture.

Going back and forth from the states to Guatemala always inflicts some sort of culture shock within myself.  Strolling through the aisles of Target (which I believe is a small glimpse of what heaven may be like), I can’t help but to feel overwhelmed by the abundance of stuff.  “$60 for a pair of boots?” I rolled my eyes thinking how many pairs of shoes I could buy for that same pricetag.  It wasn’t long until my pretentiousness got the best of me and I found myself looking at $12 birthday cards, although I literally knew no one with an upcoming birthday.  I dodged that aisle and settled on a 25 count package of cute thank you notes, at least those I would use.  I threw them into my cart and they nestled in between the box of pumpkin spice frosted mini wheats, pumpkin chai drink mix, and various items from the $1 bin that I’m always a sucker for.  I had somehow accumulated all this stuff since scoffing at a pair of boots.  “This is it,” I thought to myself.  “I have officially become THAT internet meme…”

It never takes long to fall back into the comforts of being in the states.  Guatemala may not have a Target, but it has so many stories hidden in these hills…  and despite my overindulgence at the store, I was soon about to rediscover my passion for what I am doing now.  I can credit my mother-in-law for this, as she offered one of her books for me to read on the beach a week later.  I had read “The Insanity of God” before, but at that time, I was in a much different place in my life.  Now, after nearly two years on the mission field, the stories seemed much more alive and realistic.  Although the author had spent years in Somalia and China doing far more heroic and far more dangerous work than I’m doing, I noticed many similarities in our stories and the people we encountered.  The common link between what we were doing?  Giving hope to the hopeless and help to the helpless.  The difference was that he shared his stories with a lot more audacity than I do mine.

When Wilson came into our hospital, he weighed only 20 pounds at 25 YEARS of age.  His frail body felt like paper in my arms as I tried to move his small fingers that had become severely contractured like the rest of his body from years of immobility.  His eyes were vacant, his smile nonexistent, and he didn’t even have the energy to muster up a noise.

To read these details and see the pictures, it’s easy to point the blame.  What an outrage!  He would have obviously have been abandoned to be in such a state, right?!  Wrong.  His mother lovingly clung onto his weak body, propping his head up so he could see the world around him and wiping drool off of his cheek with her own shirt.  She smiled at me.  In the states, she may have suffered a lot of verbal abuse and questioning of her ability and her right to be a parent.  But here, she sat relieved, and surrounded by other mothers who understood her struggle.

Although Wilson’s malnourishment was one of the worst cases I have ever seen, one quick glance over his body showed me the care his mother had given him without her ever saying a word.  His paperthin skin was beautiful, without a mark, a bruise, or any evidence of skin break down.  (Something our culture has a hard time avoiding even in medical care facilities where patients are tended to by multiple staff members.  If you do not clean, turn, and cushion the patient in the appropriate manner, skin break down can happen in a matter of hours.)  I smiled back at her and remarked how it was obvious how she cleaned and tended to him.  He had been so meticulously cared for.  Most kids in this condition would have been found lying on a mattress with wounds festering at all of their pressure points.

She began to weep.  “Of course he has been deeply cared for,” she told me.  “He is my son.”  She wiped his cheek once again with her shirt and repositioned him on her lap.  She told me his story– how he fell ill at age 8 and became bedridden ever since.  “Over the past year, he got sick again and eventually stopped eating.  I would try my hardest to give him tortilla or beans in water, but he was too weak to even chew,” her face was guilt ridden.  “So now, here we are.” She explained how her home was over a 5 hour drive from a medical facility.  Even if she had the money to make that voyage, she was uncertain how he would fare on the back of one of the crowded cattle trucks that are frequently used as a “taxi” to remote mountainous villages.  She knew she’d never be able to complete the journey by foot, either.  So she stayed at home and did the best she could with what she could, and it was her attentiveness that kept him alive.  She was hopeful that her son may survive, but back then I was uncertain of that.  I didn’t even think he could make it through the night.

The days turned to weeks and Wilson began gaining weight.  His nasogastric feeding tube had been removed and he was able to eat pureed food as long as it was given carefully.  Watching his mother scoop tiny bits of liquid mush into his mouth, I had no doubt that he would be fed with complete caution in her hands.  Wilson nearly doubled his weight and was able to be discharged home after months in our care.  His mother was excited to return home to her husband and other children.

I share this story, because before returning to the states, Wilson and his mom had come in for a check up.  Wilson looked great, but his mother was distraught as her husband had left months ago with another woman.  She was no longer receiving what little money he brought in from working on someone else’s farm. “But I trust God will continue to carry us through this season.  He has already brought us through so much.”  Through the difficulty of her circumstances, she remained strong.  She was faithful.

She is such an inspiration to me, because this is a woman who has literally nothing, yet still found a way to praise God in her most difficult moments.  Could I ever be like her?  We were a world apart of how different we were…  I came from wealth and privilege and she spent every waking moment of her life fighting the struggle of poverty.  Like Target, my life was shelved with everything I could ever want or need.  But what I didn’t have was her tenacity and her faith.

Live a life like hers.  It’s okay to have “stuff” but don’t allow “stuff” to cloud your compassion, your convictions, and your faith.  This message is for myself today, but maybe you needed it too.  <3

You are loved.
-Whitney