Friday morning I arrived at school
a little late. Being that it was my day off, I had planned on it being a
relaxed day. After a long week of being in the mountains without our career
missionaries, the extra responsibility had taken enough energy that an effective
work day was out of the question. But a short hike to the river, for a little
recreation, would be well within the realm of possibility. But on this day, I
learned not to start counting your minutes at the river until you have started
swimming.
An afternoon of fun was near enough
to taste when I heard someone yelling from the clinic. She was saying that they
needed help carrying a sick patient to the lowland hospital. I knew all too
well what that meant; especially at this time of day: a long hike, probably missing a meal, and the
only swimming I would be doing was in the shallow creek, where I would likely
slip and fall while carrying the patient.
As we organized, my quick change of
emotions got the better of me and I didn't show the patience of a good leader. We
needed to be on the trail as quickly as possible and we still needed to find
someone to show us the way to this village where the sick patient was, about 3
hours away. Since I was not in the best mood, I was relieved when it was suggested
that we should pray before we left. I
prayed for the Holy Spirit to be with us, I claimed the promise in Nehemiah
8:10, “Do not sorrow, for the joy of Lord is your strength.” God in His mercy
showed me that I needed to apologize for my previous actions and words. Knowing
that His Spirit is one that brings joy, peace, and reconciliation; Carrie,
Kaylin, Ellen Grace and I could move forward knowing He was with us.
Arriving at the first village, we
found and kindly coerced Isak into showing us to Enibung, the village of his
sick sister-in-law. She had given birth the night before, but had not delivered
the placenta. As you probably know, if the placenta is not delivered the new
mother can die from blood loss. (Cultural
Insight: In this animistic culture all things are believed to have an effect on
the spirits whether for good or bad. Because the placenta can kill the mother if
not delivered, the animistic explanation is that it is bad and could possibly
anger the spirits. Therefore, in order to prevent anything negative from
happening when the placenta is delivered, it is quickly buried or at times eaten
by the father.) We knew that the mother was spiritually at risk not because
of the spirit of the placenta, but because of fallen angels all around keeping
her and her family locked in spiritual darkness. With Isak in the lead, we
headed into the deep jungle on what would prove to be a very hard journey.
We wanted to know how the patient
was doing, so at a point along the trail we tried to call Isak’s brother-in-law,
whom he suspected would be in Enibung. Through broken service, we could barely
make out what he was saying, but we thought we heard him say she was already
dead. We hoped we had miss heard him, but even if we hadn't we still needed to
go for the newborn’s stake.
We hiked our way up and down the
steep ridges and valleys covered by towering trees and thick tropical
undergrowth. After continuing like this for roughly 2 hours, we decided to find
a place to rest. As we approached the last group of houses before hiking down
the final section, we stopped to pray. In situations like these, one learns by
practice to breathe and pray. After lifting our hearts to heaven in prayer, we
knew our Heavenly Father was in control as we descended toward Enibung.
When we arrived at the house we
were not welcomed in the manner I expected. Instead of seeing urgent faces
relieved that we had arrived, they just greeted us and stared. As I drew closer, I heard crying coming from
inside the house. The look on the elder’s face and the tears rolling from his
eyes told me what had happened before he ever opened his mouth. He then slowly unfolded
to me what had taken place.
He said everything was normal the
day before. The mother, his daughter, had been healthy and strong before the
birth without a single problem during her pregnancy. She had given birth around
4:00 the previous afternoon, but she had not delivered the placenta and by
midnight she was suffering from severe pain. It was then they decided that at first light they would
carry her down to the lowlands and look for help. But by morning it was too
late. She died an hour before sunrise.
The family had gathered and had
been mourning the entire day, but this had not quenched their grief. In the
past, I had seen how other Palawanos dealt with death. They all seemed, on
varying levels, to be emotionally numb to death. I supposed it was because of
how often it happens within their people. But what was happening to this family
did not fit into my prior assumptions and I was a little caught off guard to
see everyone—the children, her widower husband, even the elders appear
distraught and hopeless.
I still had not heard the fate of
the baby and preparing myself for the worst, I carefully asked the elder if the
baby was still alive. Raising his eyebrows in confirmation, he motioned to a
bundle of cloth lying on the floor in a corner of the house, a distance from
the other people. I breathed a sigh of relief and Ellen Grace asked permission
to check on the baby. I was surprised that they consented. (Cultural Insight: On many occasions newborn babies are handled for a minimal amount of
time after being born. Even after the placenta is delivered and they have cut
the umbilical cord, the baby is not nursed and rarely held for nearly half the day.
The thought behind this is best described as survival of the fittest—if it is
strong enough it will live. They believe even if the baby does die during that
time is was meant to happen. Secondarily, it is much more difficult to take
care of a baby without its mother. The family would need to find a
woman who is nursing and willing to nurse an additional baby—a hard
thing to ask of anybody caring for a dependent newborn; especially in a place
like this.)
Nearly 24 hours had passed since
the birth—long past the traditional waiting period, and still he was lying
there as if left to die. The best way for me to make sense out of this was that
the family had lost all hope; having only a little hope to start with. It was
as if they thought that since the mother was gone, it was only right for the
baby to die with her.
The nurses began treating the baby.
The priority was to get its core temperature back to 37°C. This proved to be a
hard task and required Kaylin to hold the baby against her belly, skin to skin,
to share her body warmth with him.
The afternoon passed by in quiet
conversation. The men sat just outside the house while the women were mostly
inside. The husband at times would break out in tears; causing everyone to hang
their heads in silence. The hours drew on as we sat and talked. The longer we
talked the better I understood the emotions that these people were feeling. I
tried to imagine myself figuratively standing in their shoes. I began to see
things from their point of view. Within their understanding there was no hope
and to them, no reason for there to be any hope. There was no hope of ever
seeing their loved one again. To me it was unimaginable, but to them it seemed
easy to believe the baby may be better off dying with its mother. I saw it from
their stand point but still did not understand the depth of their grief.
As I sat outside I saw a familiar
face leaving the house. I could not place it at first, but I remarked to
somebody that I recognized her, and when he told me her name I remembered how I
knew her. This woman, the sister of the deceased mother, was the woman who lost
two children in one week to typhoid. Her oldest died while I was carrying her
to the hospital and the youngest a week later. This happened, just a few short
months before. (You can read the rest of that heartbreaking story in a earlier
post: There’s a Time for Everything Under the Sun, May 3, 2012).
Seeing her face brought back in
vivid memory the confusion and despair I felt when I watched her child die.
That same look of sadness, I saw on her face then, was on her face now. All of
a sudden, I got a taste of the sadness that these people were experiencing.
Everything inside of me, my hope, my happiness, my peace, seemed to just sink
down, leaving me confused and nearly
despondent.
The rest of the afternoon passed
before us; Kaylin treated the baby while Carrie and Ellen Grace saw anyone else
who needed help in the village until it was dark. Before leaving, we gave
instructions for taking care of the baby and we left him in the care of his
grandmother. I tried to encourage them as best as I could before I prayed with
them.
The hike home seemed much longer
than before, but we arrived back in Kementiyan just before 11:00pm. That night
rest came easy because we were all thoroughly exhausted. Not so the next
morning; my thoughts were heavy trying to process what had happened the night
before. I prayed about it often during that Sabbath, but it was as if peace
would not come to me unless I could somehow understand. No matter what I read,
I could not find an answer that met the questions in my mind.
The next day, Sunday, I spent most
of my time sitting in the school doing the work that I was not able to finish
on Friday. Around mid-afternoon, Kaylin came to the door of the school asking me
to come to the clinic to help with a patient. Willing to have a break in any
form, I went with her and she described the situation on the way.
There was a father and mother in
the clinic with their child. The child’s head was swollen to nearly one and
half times its normal size. The nurses had tried their best to convey to the
parents the urgency of taking their child to the lowlands. They explained to me
how they described the risks to the parents and what could happen if he did not
receive specialized care. But no matter what our staff said, the parents were
not willing to take their child down to the lowlands. The last thing Ellen
Grace said, with tears welling up in her eyes, was that it seemed as if they
did not love their son enough to take him down to the lowland hospital; like
their child’s life had no value to them.
It was my turn to talk with them
and see if there was some way to convince them that they needed to take their
child down the mountain that afternoon. I prayed for wisdom to know what to
say.
I walked into the room and saw the
child for the first time, his head was swollen more than I imagined to be
physically possible. Mom and Dad both looked exhausted, as they sat next to the
bed that held their unconscious child. I introduced myself, made small talk,
and slowly led into talking about their child. The story that followed made my
heart ache.
This wasn't their first child to
suffer from an unexplainable illness, the year before they had lost their firstborn.
When he had gotten sick, they had brought him to the lowland hospital but had
no money to pay for the medicine. (In the health care system here the patient’s
caretaker is responsible for retrieving any medicine ordered by the doctor.)
They had unsuccessfully sought for help among their family. Then, they asked for
loans from rich acquaintances but found nobody to help them in their time of
need. She told me, through tears, how she sat in the hospital for 10 days and
watched her child die. They had hoped that someone would help them but there
was no one. Now, tragically, it was happening again.
Another inexplicable illness had,
for the last five months, slowly been taking the life out of another one of their
children. The day before, he started having seizures and was drifting in and
out of consciousness. Earlier that day, they carried their son up from the
lowlands and brought him to a place where they heard they would find help. They
found help at our clinic and the staff were able to stabilize him. But to her
these people, who were supposed to help her, wanted her to return on a
seemingly impossible hike, to go back to the place where she lost her last
child. She said that she could not return to that hospital when she had no
money and no other help. This was the end for her; she had done everything a
mother could do for her child and it appeared that was not enough to keep him
alive.
What I thought I heard from the
nurses before made me think that two stubborn, heartless people were too lazy
to carry their child and that all they needed was a little encouragement. But I
saw now that I was sorely mistaken. These parents were beyond discouraged. They
had no hope that things could improve. Based on what they saw and heard,
nothing good could come from this. Their experience told them that things would
happen the same as before if they returned to the hospital. The only bit of
hope they had was in coming to our clinic. And now she was hearing that we
wanted to send her back there. She had reached the depth of despair only a
parent could know in such a situation. I prayed for help.
I acknowledged that before there
had been no one there to help and that I felt bad that she had lost her child.
I encouraged her. I told her it was different now because we were going to do
everything in our strength to help her. She did not respond. It was if she did not
hear what I said and still seemed hopeless. Then I said that we would have
someone meet them at the end of the trail and transport them to the hospital.
Once they were there, they would not have to worry about money; we were going
to help in whatever way they needed. I wanted to make sure she knew that we
valued the life of her child as much as she did, but that we did not want to
stand by as he got worse waiting there in our clinic. I asked again if she
would be willing to take him down to the lowland hospital, but she didn't answer. I could not understand why or how she could not see the importance of
what I was trying to communicate to her. Her child could die if he stayed in
our clinic overnight. Here we were trying to help her, but it was as if she was
utterly hopeless; not even the promise of our help would convince her otherwise.
I could see that they were both
exhausted and I didn't want to tire them any further. So I asked her if she
would be willing to take him down first thing in the morning, and we would have
someone to meet them at the bottom to help. This time she heard me and nodded.
She lifted her head and with a broken voice expressed her gratitude for us
helping them. I guess before she could not wrap her mind around the idea of
walking down the mountain again. But tomorrow seemed possible and almost
hopeful. She again said, “Thank you, you are great to help us like this.”
I asked her if she knew who Jesus
was and she nodded. I told her that we were only following His example. That
while He was here on earth, He spent His time helping people and that by us
helping her we were being like Him. She did not smile, but through her tears
her face conveyed she knew there was hope.
By the grace of God, their child
made it through the night and was carried out the next morning. That family
started a very long journey that day, further than the three hour trip out of
the mountain. A journey that, to this day, they are still traveling. Their
child tested positive for tuberculosis and had to be treated for that before
the cranial edema (hydrocephalus) could be addressed. Please pray the money will be provided for
Gabriel’s needed surgery soon.
Both of these families in this
story were in situations that would bring any of us to our breaking point. That is exactly what happened to me. My heart broke to see these people suffering.
God touched me with the weight of their grief and sadness. It seemed to be an injustice; but no matter how
I reckoned it, I could not make sense of why that mother had died and why
little Gabriel was in jeopardy of losing his life. I tried to prove what I knew
was true—that God was a loving God and He allows these things to happen as a
part of His plan. For the following week or so I struggled to understand. I
read to find the answer and prayed for a revelation that would show me a reason
for this happening, but none came until one morning when I sat down with Pastor
George.
I needed help or maybe just someone
to share my struggle with. I told him all that I have told you and expected
that he would have an answer that he had gleaned from his years in the mission
field. He shared with me, that he had struggled with the same things. Hearing
this, gave me hope that I had found the answer to my problem. But he said he never
found an answer either. Then he share with me some very simple, yet profound
advice. He said, “This is why there is faith.” He continued, “Christians need
to have a faith compartment to store these things that we just can’t seem to
understand.” I thought about it and he was right; that when there is no answer,
faith is the answer. It is, “the
evidence of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1. Words that are all too easy to say
in a memory verse are all one has to hold onto when sight and feelings are
saying something completely opposite. An increase in faith is what I pray; not
just for me but for the two families in this story. I pray for a faith that
will bring hope.
This ongoing story has showed me
just how dark life can appear without hope and often how I forget the hope we
have. I, too, am guilty of counting our hope ordinary. But Mercy has shown me
that the worth of the greatest things in life only comes into view when we see
what life is like without them. Oh, what despair a family must feel when the
life of a newborn seems worthless in the darkness of its mother’s death! Oh, what discouragement does a mother feel
after losing one child, and when it seems the second is about to share the same
fate? Only God knows the depth of the
pain they must feel, for are not these all His dear children?
