As mentioned at the end of my last post, there were moments that I had the privilege of experiencing in the midst of not knowing why I was here. In the midst of feeling naked and uncomfortable, these little glimpses of heaven sustained me.
As I washed Clarene’s club feet with Chlorhexidene to prep for surgery later that day, I couldn’t help but remember Jesus washing his disciples’ feet. I scrubbed and scrubbed, squatting on the bathroom floor while her feet dangled off the toilet and worship songs echoed in from the ward next door.
I opened my little notebook of Malagasy phrases and words to try being understood. All I got was belly-busting laughter from the mamas and papas at my attempt. I didn’t care whether I was making sense or saying it right, all I cared about was that I made them laugh.
I looked down and a little brown baby stood at my feet, arms uplifted towards me. I’m not a mom, but there is nothing more precious that a child asking to be held by you.
When I see mamas and papas sleeping under the patient beds, all I can think is that they must trust us. They trust we will take care of their baby while they rest. We hope and pray that they see that we care. If only some of the babies would stop screaming at the sight of white people 🙂
As I play memory games with Sandrins, who you met last post, I swear I can understand her. We are speaking different languages, but for some reason we just speak back and forth as if we are communicating, and I just feel like I understand her. After feeling so culturally isolated, it’s a welcome conversation, gibberish it may be.