12 Days in Africa

     “Adventuresome” Oh, some might have said this about me when I ventured from the Midwest to Alaska after college for my husband Greg’s first job - decided I loved it and stayed. I have become a skilled driver in snow and consider it summer when the temperature reaches 55 degrees. But as far as living a life of adventure, the past 26 years has been filled with nurturing a business from its foundation, loving my high school sweetheart-turned husband, raising two sons plus keeping my husband organized and in clean socks. My life had a lovely predictability until last fall when we dropped our eldest son, Trent, off at college.
Now, as the mother of any college aged kid will tell you, there comes a time when the opportunities to be involved in your child’s day to day life dramatically decreases. And while we mothers hear whispers of this chasm long before the day our mini-van pulls away from the university curb, we don’t really get it until we live it. When a child leaves for college it is the death of the family as we know it. As my heart broke from missing this son that we are so blessed to have shared 18 years with, other emotions began to surface. Surprising emotions and, dare I say, a stirring in my heart for Adventure. Not the Alaskan adventure you see on your television screens, but a God Adventure.
     I caught my breath as I sensed God was serious. His timing made sense to me (not that God needs me to agree with His timing). After three years of talking about going to Africa on a short term mission trip, I decided that I should experience this with my younger son Blake before he leaves for college next year. Added to that was a growing restlessness within me that my sense of purpose in being a mother needs a new outlet. With Blake on the brink of leaving home I was looking for something that would use this intense mother’s love along with the time and talents that God has given to me. Could God know the outlet that I needed? The outlet that needed me?
     In my mind’s eye I stood at a closed door with a sign on it that read “AFRICA”. And then I just knew. Some people refer to it as a “calling”; for me it was simply a door opening. But I knew who stood on the other side waiting for me to join Him in the work He had prepared for me a long, long time ago.
The many experiences on my two week mission trip with my 17 year old son changed my life. What follows is the most powerful moment of my trip after I walked through that door, and entered AFRICA.
     This happened during my first day volunteering at an orphanage. I call it an orphanage, but technically some of the children do have surviving relatives. These children choose to walk miles each day to the campus so they have a safe place to be and are guaranteed a meal. They have no food in their mud huts, and only own the tattered clothes on their backs.
During Devotion time that morning, our Pastor spoke of the orphanage visit, and warned us it would be difficult. He said, “You will see children happy with big smiles on their faces who want to be held and played with. I challenge you to look past them to the ones who are sick, maybe not as eager to share your day. These are the ones who need to be touched by God’s love today.”
     I took this to heart, totally oblivious that God was about to turn my world upside down. The coming experience would change my life and propel it in a very interesting direction.
Blake and I stepped out of the van, were immediately hit by a blast of hot air and surrounded by a multitude of children. Blake waded right into the mass, reached down, picked up and juggled three little ones then walked across the packed red earth towards a rickety jungle gym, like the pied piper for orphans, a trail of children following him.
     I picked up a toddler sized girl in a dirty pink dress, and looked towards the compounds’ outdoor structure, where several children were playing happily on a concrete pad covered by a tin roof. I saw an emaciated little boy, maybe five years old, alone, lying on the edge of the hard concrete, wearing a threadbare dirty t shirt and shorts, shivering, yet burning up with fever, his arms clasped together hugging himself inside his shirt. He was barely conscious. I sat down next to him, gently pulled his head and shoulders onto my lap, rubbed his back, whispering to him that Jesus loved him and was with him even now. He continued to shiver, but seemed to relax and find comfort in my presence, as he looked up at me with his imploring yellow eyes. All the while, the little girl in the dirty pink dress and another toddler clambered all over me, excited that I was watching them try to climb a support pole. I laughed and clapped at their efforts, and they delighted me.
     I sat with the sick little boy for over an hour. After a bit, he curled more into me, sighed and his shivering seemed to lessen. I eventually got up to see what Blake was up to. I was worried about how he was reacting to the overwhelming need of the children. My worry was wasted. I found him orchestrating a “running game”. At his shout, the kids lined up and raced each other to a finish line. He high fived every child as they ran across the line in the dirt.
     I watched his enthralled kids play their game for a few minutes. I cracked up as I saw a young boy poke Blake’s bicep, make a little bicep flex of his own, and grin up proudly at Blake. Blake looked down at the boy, put his hand on his chin as if considering the amazing size of the little guys bicep, poked the little boys flexed muscle in imitation of the his own recent action, then nod slowly in approval.
     After a bit I found my heart tugging me back to spend more time with the sick little boy. I looked around in alarm as I noticed he was nowhere to be found. The doctor who traveled with our group was ministering to several children at the far end of the outdoor shelter. I walked over to her and asked her if she knew what happened to the sick little boy. She told me that he literally just died of Malaria. I couldn’t believe it, I was most likely the last living person who touched him before he died. Had I known how sick he was I would have stayed. I was profoundly sad. It is unbearable to me that a little boy died with no family member holding him, no mother crushing his body to her breast as he left this world. The doctor told me she has the medicine that could have cured him, but by the time he entered her life, he was so sick that he needed an overnight IV. Whoever his responsible adult is would not consent to him staying the night for the free medicine, so he died. Her heart broke alongside mine. I cannot imagine a mother or father not fighting any obstacle to save their child’s life. Here was a family who saw this boy as dispensable since he was no longer contributing to the families’ survival by going through garbage heaps looking for items to sell on the street. It is very likely he no longer had a parent and was living with a distant relative who saw him as a burden.