How long has it been since you cried? I don’t mean a few tears, I mean an all out emotional cry that when you finish it leaves you tired, but yet feeling peaceful. I can’t remember the last time that I did; I guess it must have been when my grandfather died when I was a sophomore in college. Isn’t that strange, so much heart ache, pain, and suffering all around us and we have become immune to it; “Does it really matter to me? I am doing fine, besides I have a lot going on at work.”
Is that why we are immune? I moved to Honduras more than a year ago. It has been great. Living here has helped my to think that I guess maybe we are immune to these pains of life because we have so many organizations in the good ‘ole “U.S. of A” that look out for those less fortunate so that we don’t have to. You all know that most of those things don’t exist down here; I don’t have to tell you about that. The suffering continue to suffer, the hungry continue to be hungry and the poor continue to get poorer.
I love seeing a person on their first, second, or third trip to a third world country, Honduras, get a tear in their eye when they talk about the child, the one that they could not understand a word of what he or she said, but the loving hug that they gave to a kind North American that will change that caring and giving North American’s life forever. I remember that, how much I was going to help those poor people, and then realizing how much I was helped by that trip. I miss the heart that I had that was like a sponge, the heart that felt pain for the forgotten child on the side of the road, barefoot and in his underwear, playing with an old bicycle tire, the heart that felt pain for the little boy on the corner begging for money for his handicapped brother only to take it home to his alcoholic father, or for the little old lady in the mountains with a broken hip and the only thing that can be done for her is give her a bottle of Tylenol… I can go on and on, I am sure you can too.
My heart has gone cold, can you blame me, so many to help. Where do you start? What do you do? Can you even help them all? In my efforts to stay focused on my mission or on this project or the other I have become immune to the suffering that abounds in this part of the world. Oh sure, many kind & giving people in the U.S. have sent me special funds that have been put to great use whether it be diagnosis of a tumor on a little boy’s back, cancer treatment for a young preacher’s mother, or a simple trip to the clinic so that little Ines can get his severely cut thumb cleaned up before it rots off. I am so thankful for the many people that made these and many other small projects of love possible. Although I was directly involved in all of them I never felt a connection, I mean, it’s not my fault I can’t get involved with all of them, right? I don’t know, am I just rambling? Am I trying to make excuses for not caring? No, wait, I do care, if I did not I would not be here, I know that.
You know, it is just really hard to understand the many things that make up God’s plan for each of us. We don’t have to understand his plan, but we do have to accept God’s will, and not ours. Wow, that sure is easy to write not nearly as easy to practice. Many of you received a letter from me about a month and a half ago asking for prayers for a young friend of mine, Makela. I was shocked to find out that six days after Christmas her Leukemia returned. Her hair was almost back to normal; pretty soon she would not need to wear her little bonnet anymore. Back in January things did not look very good for Makela; I was so excited when she came home from the hospital after starting a very aggressive chemotherapy treatment. He hair that had taken so long to grow back quickly began to fall out again. Her mom would carry to her to church; she was too weak to walk the two blocks. What a great smile she always had. I thought often about trying to find an organization that could get her to the U.S. for the much-needed bone marrow transplant that is not possible in Honduras.
“I have been really busy though, I don’t even know where to start to find a way to get her to the U.S.” I told myself. That was not good enough so I continued to talk and told myself, “Surely one of the two hundred some recipients of my letter about Makela would know a way to get her treatment,” and yes, the response was great from so many people, so many churches praying, so many individuals praying, so many people searching for a way to get Makela to the U.S. after all, that is all I can really do, right? After saying good-bye to Makela Sunday afternoon, February 24, and giving her some much needed vitamins and protein drink mix that had been so generously sent by a caring sister from the U.S. I wished her well on her trip that afternoon back to Tegucigalpa for another transfusion of platelets and chemotherapy. I made her laugh when I told her to not get into trouble going out to the night clubs while there. I gave her mom 500 Lempiras, about thirty U.S. dollars to help with the travel expenses and then I headed home.
Makela is an amazing little girl; I have seen her in the hospital too weak to speak and then the next week in her house laughing. She is so strong; she prayed to God that he would make her get better. Her mom bragged about her little daughter’s faith that her God could make her well. Makela’s mom, what a woman, Reina is her name. Her husband is an alcoholic, rarely accompanying the family to the hospital, and when he did go he spent the day in the corner cantina. Reina spent weeks sleeping in a straight chair in the hallway, days without anything other than a sponge bath, all so that she would be there whenever Makela cried her name in fright. Makela won’t be coming back to Choluteca with her big smile and her chubby cheeks, sister Reina won’t be spending any more long cold nights in a hospital straight chair, I won’t have to make any more excuses to my conscience of whether or not I am doing enough. Makela won’t spend any more painful nights in her hammock in Limon de la Cerca; she has gone home to see Jesus. He answered her prayers, all of our prayers; he cured her from all pain, all sickness, and all suffering. This afternoon, Thursday, February 28, 2002, ten years old Makela Rios made her last trip home… Getting back to that crying, tonight I cried. After receiving the call around 8 PM I cried; little Makela never had a chance. Was there anything else that we could have done? I have spent so much time consoling brothers and sisters here in Honduras about the loss of a loved one and how that it is a time to rejoice, it sure is a lot easier to preach that when you are not talking to yourself.
Thank you so much for all of your prayers and the time that was spent looking for a way to get Makela to the U.S. It was not in vane, and it has definitely helped me to see that there still are people that are not immune to the suffering of others. Please continue to pray for her family and all of those suffering around the world.
Adios from Choluteca.
Jarrod