God in Our Midst: Part 3 - Be Faithful

Remembering this “God in Our Midst” truth is not a part of my (or our) human nature. In fact, it often sadly lies buried in some file cabinet in my mind until a particular situation causes me to stumble onto it. Such was the case with this little baby boy who fell in the fire. Throughout those trying days, it was easy to see God’s footprints…it was easy to call out to him for wisdom and help…it was easy to view the situation from his vantage point...it was easy, but only for a time. I’m sure you know the story all too well. The tide of time washes in and before you know it, the Divine footprints sink back into the sand of our consciousness. Such was the case only a week after our trip to Bahir Dar, as my initial reaction to unwelcome news revealed that the “God in Our Midst” truth had already been buried under…well…under “life” I guess.

It happened while I was drinking an orange soda with Dema in the little town closest to us, after bringing some more sick people into the pharmacist. By chance, Dema’s phone rang with a call from the Bahir Dar hospital. The administration lady who was overseeing the baby’s treatment was calling with our first update since dropping them off. Because the volume on Dema’s phone was up so ridiculously high, I could hear most of the conversation as this lady, in a very frustrated tone, described the past eight days. As promised, the doctors had watched the baby’s progress and became increasingly concerned about the possibility of gangrene in the baby’s left hand. The littlest finger had been burned the worst and had already fallen off by itself. Now the doctors were requesting permission to amputate the other fingers (and possibly the whole hand, after more observation). However, my heart dropped when I overheard that the baby’s father was “imbi ale.” This phrase is used of doors when they are “stuck” or of animals when they act “stubbornly.” Most often with people, it is best translated as “refuse” or “reject.” Now, “imbi ale” is a strong word, but apparently from what the voice on the phone went on to describe, the baby’s father was exceeding its normal force. Many doctors, nurses and even some friends in Bahir Dar had talked with him about the need for amputation, but he would only respond with increasingly hostile rejection, creating quite a stir in the hospital. His anger was spilling over mostly onto his wife as, of course, this was blamed on her (for he was not living at home when it happened). Let’s just say that his threats revealed to all the hospital staff that the baby’s life was not the only one in very real danger. My mind drifted off the conversation as I knew the fine line between such threats and their fulfillment.

My cold orange soda didn’t quite taste as nice after Dema hung up the phone. Why had I gotten involved in all of this? Why had I given up my Sunday to run to Chagni’s clinic? Why had I canceled my Monday and Tuesday work and invested my time, my vehicle, my fuel, and my money for covering hospital costs? What was the value of risking and then dealing with the car accident hassle? We had warned the father of the need for amputation, which was the only reason we were speeding off to Bahir Dar, since all other treatment (dressing, antibiotics, etc.) could be done at the smaller clinics nearby. My frustration and anger spilled out as I updated Larry on the case later that day. Hearing myself vocalize such questions revealed to me their source – my selfish human nature. Had God not been in our midst? Was He not still? Must everything make sense or go according to OUR plans with successful outcomes that justify our labor?

The next day, Andrea and I thought through any other ways we could help. It was obvious now that amputees are not welcome in Gmz culture because they are simply seen as a burden on the society. For the same reason, a lazy person who doesn’t work, isn’t given food. So, this baby’s father was thinking that he was saving his child (and himself) this status. But what about Habtamu?  He is a strong believer, who at the same time is unable to have his own children. Why not have him and his wife raise his one-handed nephew as a way of demonstrating God’s love and grace? Then we thought about the orphanages and adoption agencies that we have contact with. Surely, a family could be found for such a child! If only we could get the parents to agree to such an arrangement, then we could go ahead with the amputation. Though good ideas in our mind, they have yet to get off the ground because Gmz people do not just give their children away. Instead, the father was given an ultimatum and upon his refusal, the baby was discharged from the hospital and returned home. Last we heard (from about one month after the accident) the baby is still alive, though we don’t know any details, and are somewhat afraid to ask.

When I was a Youth Director with Campus Life, I had a sign on my desk that simply said “Be Faithful.” It stayed there for three years as a reminder that I was called to be faithful simply in loving and sharing Christ with the High Schoolers of my hometown…leaving the results to God. In this situation, we were faithful in providing the care we could and are willing to do more if opportunity arises, but ultimately, we leave the results to God. After all, He has a history of restoring shriveled hands, broken minds, and stubborn hearts.