What would you do if you started your period and you went to the store for pads or tampons and there weren't any? I mean, none. As in, not available? I'm not talking about the store being out. I'm saying there aren't any. What would you do? Would you know what to do?
Or what if you were incontinent? You pee on yourself. You can't control your bowels. Baby diapers are hard to find much less adult ones. What do you do?
Your body bleeds. You mess yourself. It's not a matter of just going to the store to replace the ruined underwear. You can't afford to. Your momma taught you how to sew after she learned from the nice missionary who came but the material is not as good to work with as the kind she brought with her, and it also cost money.
Or picture this.
You have a 5 year old son. A 7 year old daughter. Baby twins on the way. There is no school that will accept your children as the birth certificate does not exist. The age you give does not match the child's appearance as they are small. They stay at home unable to be educated and you can't teach them at least not past grade 5, as you only made it to grade 5 yourself. Schooling - is a miracle.
Your husband works long hours as you manage the home and raise your children, trying to take care of your very pregnant body. You are running out of food. You have been out of water. It's not as simple as calling a friend to get them to help you pick up something as your phone hardly ever works because everyone is using the same network as there is only one phone provider and everyone in the country is using the same one - calls disconnect or it says its not working.
You walk long distances to get the normal things done. You don't drive. You may be able to ride the taxi once to the main strip but for the most part you are on your feet. Your shoes are falling apart as you have walked and walked.
Medical care for your baby belly is rare to none as there's a lack of specialized doctors in your area.
Do you see it?
I'm trying so desperately to paint an accurate picture of their reality. I want you to understand or try to understand the best ways possible why life is different. I have seen this. I have met real people who live these things out in their every day. I have attempted to lead, disciple, and love these people through prayer, more prayer and games.
Coming back, life is different. I get angry. It makes me angry that it is this way and that other people don't seem to notice or to hear or to care enough to change it. It's not enough to settle for the answer "I can't do anything about it." I cry. I cry thinking of these kids who are not in school, who are facing finding people who will care enough to add them into their budget for things kids in the States never had to fight for. I cry that these kids are overlooked while we're busy raising brats that honestly have no clue what it is like in other parts of the world and we're raising them as though it is all about them as they get every little thing...
It's infuriating how the public acts during the holidays as they rush to get the latest item and complain about the money that is spent afterward only to avoid the subject of some of it going here. But no, let us catch up first.
There are days I can't do it. I don't know how to do it.
I read His word and I dive into my "emergency" scriptures on how to love and not lose confidence in people, verses for when men fail, and when you feel like you are in this battle alone as it can all feel so isolating...
The desire to make a difference is countered by the inability to do so. I can't get you to that moment of clarity when ding-ding light bulb it makes sense - I'm the one she's talking to - I'm the one for the job.
And I go to the stable. I go to the boy who was treated exactly the way we are treating these kids - the child born of a virgin who from the moment he was born was told there was no room for him. I go to that baby - in the middle of all the cows, the sheep, the goats and I see Mary's face. The one who said yes, the one who said there was room, the one who would carry him. And while it's not about Mary I have a different love for her because she became willing.
And I surrender these kids back again - because if Jesus (though He is God) was brought into a world like that and grew up out of that stable to raise himself from the dead, who am I to worry and stress about them? They have a chance.
You're going to have to hang in with me. I love these people. If I didn't, I wouldn't go.
Jesus cries with me. He gets angry with me. He knows. He's been where they are. And yet I also know Him to be merciful, to be loving, to be kind and an extender of grace. And as His child I get to be a conduit. I get to be like Him. I get to soak in the death He died and rejoice in the resurrection. I get to remember at times I'm an idiot too and I keep going - keep loving - the best I can with all I can. He hurts with me and in time, He heals my heart.
