Thin Line

Today we left the orphanage at 5:45 a.m. to go to Nos Petits Freres et Soeurs, St. Damien's Hospital.  This is the hospital Rudy had been treated at before he came to us here.  Rumor had it that they only took the first 25 patients to arrive, and we had two that needed some special tests.  We arrived at 6:10 to security guards who didn't want to let me carry my purse and bag onto the grounds.  It had coloring books and beanie babies for the kids.  I hung onto it.  We walked in the barely-there light along a palm tree lined drive.  The security guard walked us to some beautiful stone steps, and we were guided into a huge open area with a covered roof.  We were greeted by 'bon jou's', and we took our place on some folding chairs.  I quickly counted heads, and found that we were the 17th to arrive.

I surveyed my surroundings.  A stone altar with a huge cross hanging over it was just to our right.  I began to think of Rudy's mom. (For Rudy's story go here, here, here, and here)  She sat in these same chairs, desperately seeking help for her ill son.  Did she arrive this early, or even earlier, like these other mothers?  Was she filled with any sense of hope when she brought him to this hospital?
A bit after the altar lay a pile of long boxes.  As the dim light grew a little brighter, I realized they weren't boxes, but coffins.  Small, child size coffins.  Oh sweet Jesus, if Rudy had stayed here to die, one of those would have been his.  Tears welled up in my eyes.  Were those same coffins laying there when Rudy's momma sat down?  Did she plead with Jesus that one of them would not be for her son?  I looked around at the other women.  None of them seemed bothered by the small coffins.  As the full light of day broke through, I could see that the coffins were made of cardboard.  Some wrapped with brown tape to match the brown of the paper.  They had small rope handles.  I felt like my heart would break sitting there.  I couldn't tear my eyes or heart away from that pile of somewhat haphazardly stacked coffins.
A priest came out and prayed and blessed the mothers and children waiting to be seen, and then promptly at 7, a nurse appeared to begin the process of assessing each child to determine where they would go.  Did Rudy go to the gravely ill group or the malnutrition group, I wondered.  We were ushered to the waiting room, and I tried so hard to focus my attention on the two little ones with me today.  I succeeded most of the time, but found my mind wandering to Rudy's mother.  Was she overwhelmed like I was?  Was she fearful that at some point in being shuffled from one place to another, that someone would deem her child unworthy of treatment, or that she would loose the little paper number you cling to to ensure your place in the line?  Oh so many questions without answers.
On the way home, there was a horrible traffic jam.  Not unusual, but we could see that there had been an accident.  A dumptruck had smashed into a much smaller car.  Traffic had been moved to go around the collision, guided by a single large rock, but just as we went past that, there sat a tap tap, cab blackened with fire, and a motorcycle driven into the wheel well of the tap tap.  Driven so far into the tap tap that only the back seat and tire of the motorcycle were visible.  We came to a stop, and there were lots of people standing around, but no one who looked injured.  I was surprised at this.  There were no emergency vehicles, or ambulances to carry away the injured.  The remnants of a woman's goods for sale were strewn around on the pavement.  As we started to drive, I gasped and caught my breath.  Another motorcycle lay on the ground, this one with a body under it.  Covered in a crisp clean white sheet.  Blood soaked through the sheet where the man's head was.  A few feet away lay another man under another sheet, his body entangled in his bicycle.  I couldn't believe what I was seeing.  People milling on the sidewalk, talking, and two dead bodies lay in the middle of the road, covered by sheets.  There were no flares, or cones, or police directing traffic away from the scene.  No yellow tape roped off the area.  Nothing to signify that horror and death lay just feet away.  My thoughts were startlingly clear.  Here, there is the thinnest of thin lines between life and death.  In the U.S., everything possible is done to shelter me from the reality of what is behind the yellow line.  If you can't see what's behind it, you don't have to face the reality.  And if you don't have to face the reality, you can go on living a safe, comfortable, life where things like blood soaked sheets and tiny cardboard coffins don't exist.
Today, I desperately want that life back.  The one where I could drive past an accident, be sad for the people in it, pray for them, and continue on down the road without giving it another thought.
Oh what I wouldn't give for just a little bit of that blissful ignorance back.  But then I'm reminded of the desire of my heart, my prayer to Almighty God lately.  That He would bind my heart to His.  That I would love the way He loves, and give the way He gives.  That by being bound to His heart, mine would break for the things that break His heart.  That in all things, my heart would be so bound to His, I would cease to remember and desire the very thing I'm wishing for tonight.
Oh God, forgive me for not trusting you in this binding process.  That when you allow my heart to break, you allow those breaks to be used to let your love flow through them, healing me and making me stronger in You than I was before.  Bind my heart to Yours, Father.