To live in America is to live in blessing. I have a roof over my head, food in my stomach, clothes on my back, access to descent health care and a great education. As a teenager, I thought I had it all and often took advantage of that fact. My future was shining brightly, and I felt I had so much to offer the world. That is, until I went on a missions trip with my youth group to the Philippines. From the moment I first stepped out of that plane to the moment I visited a hospital, I realized that what I had to offer really wasn’t very much.
Our first mission’s job was to visit a local hospital. I expected it to be like any hospital in America; white, clean, quiet and bustling with busy doctors and nurses. Our guide/translator led us to the room where we would be spending our time visiting with sick patients. As I walked into the tiny, one window room crammed to overflowing with sick and injured children, I was instantly overwhelmed with emotion. Here I was, sent to offer them some kind of hope and yet I felt so helpless. The room was dirty, loud with the cries of children moaning in pain, and smelt as if I had walked into a sewer. It was all I could do to keep myself from covering my nose so I wouldn’t offend them.
As my guide led me to the other side of the tiny room, I saw that most of these children were lying on what looked to be merely plywood covered with one small sheet. There were even those who had to share one of these makeshift ‘beds’. All of the sudden the smell seemed to get worse as if a gush of wind had blown into the room. My guide sat me down next to a bed with a big mosquito net draped around it and I finally was aware of the source of the offensive smell. A tiny frame of a body lying there in front of me, I could not tell if it was a male or female as this child had tried to commit suicide by fire. My guide informed me that ‘she’ had in fact done this to herself because voices told her to. I sat speechless for several minutes not knowing what I could say to her that would offer her any kind of hope. The nurse who was fanning her to keep her cool from the massive burns, stared at me as if to say ‘go ahead white woman, astonish us’. It wasn’t until I felt an impatient tap on the shoulder from my guide that I snapped out of the trance of feeling helpless. Finally, I knew what to do, it wouldn’t be astonishing, but it would be the most sincere thing I have ever done in my life. I stood up and leaned in to take her hand in mine, the nurse gasped, as she didn’t expect me to touch her. Surprisingly her hand felt cool but shriveled like melted wax. I quietly asked her if I could pray for her, the only thing I felt I had to offer her. The sound of my guide asking the same question in a language she would understand filled my ears. Then the answer, ‘Yes, she would like you to pray for her’ in broken English. So, I prayed, the most passionate, heart-felt prayer I think I have ever prayed in my life.
To this day, I don’t remember the words I uttered in prayer that day, but I will always remember that whatever I said had some sort of effect on her because I watched one tear escape her eyes, burnt beyond recognition. I walked away feeling as if she had given me more then I had given her. She had made me realize how blessed I really was and that whatever I chose to do in life I would know exactly how lucky I am. I am more than lucky…I am blessed.
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