just as the heavens are higher than the earth, My ways are higher than your ways:
we visited an orphanage in ethiopia on our next to last day, which is not unusual from any other of our days here, except for the fact that this orphanage, this day, was the cataylst for a righteous anger that rose up in me. an orphanage run by nuns, all of whom have well meaning intentions and giving hearts--i do not doubt this; but it is a matter of practicality: resources/money. the stench of urine, feces, and vomit (children are always sick) was overpowering in some rooms. one child sitting on a children’s potty in the midst of a 12 ft x 12 ft room filled with no less than 15 cribs, for 10 minutes, while all strength available in his weak body was used to hold himself up. the sister in the room pointed to him and said, “sick. sick”. this precious 1 year old son of our God had a gaping wound below his mouth, masking his chin as being nothing more than a mess of exposed tissue festering with infection and disease. i thought of the states, and my friends, my family, people i don’t even know: that would never happen there, go untreated, left for the helpless babe to suffer in pain every minute, of every hour of every day. his eyes glassed over from dehydration from sickness. loneliness screamed at me from them, and i embraced him in my hands. i was given a cup of pedialyte-like drink to give him, and i held it with one hand as i embraced his head in my other hand. holding him close to me, the odor of vomit soaked into his clothing, his skin. i shed tears, and could do nothing more than sing “Jesus loves you” over him.
i walked down to another room, slightly larger, but with many more cribs. no less than 35 cribs packed into a room that was perhaps 15 ft x 15 ft. this room was for the infants, newborns, and children with special needs and bedridden. the first greeting i received when entering this room was from my friend, amanda, who was sitting next to a pretty girl that i would assume was 3 or 4 years old. i greeted her, and will refer to her as “e” for this. she had one of the worst cases of hydrocephalus i’ve seen: in person, on t.v. in photographs. her head was filled with fluid, skull expanded to the size of beach ball. making the presentation of this condition all the more painful to observe was that her body was grossly undeveloped, with her body alone weighing most likely no more than 15 pounds, i would guess that her head weighed twice this. my original thought of seeing her and believing she was 3/4 years old was shattered when my friend amanda told me she was 18. the tears that had already gathered in my eyes and began streaming down my cheeks soon pooled into a steady flow as my heart raced, and mind grasped for an understanding. a combination of the last two weeks of visiting orphanages with anywhere from 80-600 children, the constant site of children with no shoes, open sores, malnourished bellies, iron deficiencies evident by looking into their eyes and seeing solid yellow where we would see whites of ours, babies sleeping two to a crib, children sleeping 2 to a twin bed, some on the floor, wearing clothes so tattered and worn that we (americans) would choose a trash can for them as opposed to donating to a thrifts store, all led to my pleading heart begging for answers, my mind lacking understanding. knowing that His thoughts are not my thoughts, and neither His ways are my ways, just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so His ways higher than mine (isaiah 55) i still wanted to understand, comprehend why there is still orphans, these conditions that they must live in. “christianity is the most populous religion in the world”, i muffled screamed, continuing on “so why is this still happening?! why are they still here?!”. i sat next to “e”, not knowing what to say, what to do, but lay my hand on her, stroke her arm, and quote jeremiah 29 over her. i prayed this over her. i spoke the truth of solomon’s words over her, “you are all together beautiful my darling, there is no spot in thee”. i spoke truth over her, that she has a Heavenly Father, an Abba Father, that loves her, that is preparing a place for her. i told her that one day, when Jesus embraces her in His arms, He will give her a perfect body, that will live in a mansion on streets of gold. that she is being called to a land of milk and honey. the pressure from the fluid around her brain had caused her to become blind, and i saw her eyes darting around, moving rapidly as i spoke to her, as i prayed truth over her. i prayed that the Holy Spirit would take the words He spoke through me, and translate them to what she could understand as they reached her precious ears.
after i left “e”’s side, i cradled babies in my arms, babies with bones protruding from their bodies, with sunken in cheeks and yellowed eyes. these babies which lied in cribs lined up side by side, row by row, too many for my two arms to hold. they lied there, with blankets that reeked of urine covering their tiny bodies, pillows beside their heads, with bottles propped on them. too many babies, too few sisters to feed them, too few of us too. to be fed a bottle and not held. too small to even hold the bottle with their own hands, yet, not even anyone to hold them. we tried desperately to hold every precious baby, to kiss each cheek, to rub each head, to stroke each arm. all i could do is pray and speak scripture over them. my words are so inadequate. His are so powerful. i spoke truth over them of redemption, of how they will one day be sitting at the feet of Jesus, and i will be in the back, i told them of how the last will be first and first will be last, how the poor will be rich, and sick made well.
Lord, these are Your arms, Your hands, Your words, i drink them like milk and honey-they are so sweet to me and i will speak them over Your orphans. these are Your orphans, Your children, Your heirs. Your ways are higher than mine, and i do not understand, but my faith in You tells me that You have them perfectly in Your hands and You have a place for them at Your feet.
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