Why!

Tired from a lack of sleep and an abnormally rough morning of teaching (or trying to get the kids to be still), I was laying in my bed reading my bible. The kids voices trailed through the window as they usually do between the hours of 6:00 am and 8:00 pm and I toned them out as well as I could. When you first arrive at Ekisa, you wonder how everyone knows exactly who is crying or laughing just by the sound of it, but now, I know. Their laughs and cries are all very distinct and certainly ones I will not soon forget. On this particular morning I heard a cry I didn't know. I flipped through the names in my head one after the other but I couldn't put a name with this awful sound. I was curious; who's cry was I hearing? And what on earth was someone doing to that child to make a sound so horrifying? I set my bible down, crawled under my mosquito net, and headed into the living room to put a name to the cry. Sitting on our furniture (it is not exactly worthy of the name "couch") was a Ugandan woman holding her tiny child. This little girl, maybe of three or four years, had on a smart pink dress (smart here in Uganda refers to something being beautiful or pretty), one pink little sock, and had sweat dripping down her face. I quickly put that horrifying scream to this little girl. Teeth clenched, fists white, limbs stiff, she was in so much pain. Our nurse was cleaning a huge open wound on her foot, flesh hanging out, fluids of all different colors oozing from it. Without thinking, I sat next to this sweet sweet girl, grabbed her sweaty, clenched fist, and held it in mine. What else could I do? Nothing. She was already being treated and held by her mommy, all I could do was hold that tiny fist in my chubby, white hand and pray over her. "God, please take this pain away. She doesn't deserve this. Give it to me, I deserve it more than this innocent girl ever could. Lord, please, please." I was almost mesmerized for the next five minutes. My perspective began to shift... instead of her clinging to me, I began to cling to her. I was angry, my face was a white slate, my mind was still. I was knocked back into reality when the screams slowed, and the tension in her little fist faded away. Like a robot, I quickly retrieved a wet towelette to wipe the sweat from her face and arms, kissed her forehead, and slowly walked back into my room through the messy medical supplies, wet clothes drying, and muddy shoes straight to the bathroom. I'd never felt that way. My mind was spinning, my hands were shaking, and my heart was beating as if I'd just run a 5k in 15 minutes. I slammed the door shut, my body falling onto the back of the door. I slid to the floor. Tears began to stream, not slow, but fast. They weren't tears of sorrow, they were tears of anger. I stamped my bear, clay covered foot against the cold, wet tile floor. All I could do was be angry, I wanted to scream at God. "Why? Why? Why? She didn't do anything." In my whole life, I had never truly felt anger towards God. I've been blessed, and cared for. There were never any deaths in my family, or horrible things that happened to me. I had never been so outraged at the God I had, only minutes before, been praising while reading His word.


These questions of Why began to be all I could think about. Why does God allow for some things to happen, or cause them to happen? Why can't everything just be fair and easy? Why do innocent little girls have to undergo such pain and suffering? I've been reading a lot in scripture about the why questions and at first I was frustrated because I wanted a verse of piece of scripture that said "Things like this happen because...." But there were none. The reality is: we don't always know why. I know for myself I always try to find God's purpose in it all. Like, "Oh the witness of this kid's suffering led to the foundation of a Christian organization that prevents this kind of thing." Or something to that effect. But that isn't always the case. We can't always see the big picture of things. But you know who can? God. With all of our why questions, we have to take a step back and realize that our Lord is compassionate. This word has lost it's impact. The definition of this word is this: a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune, accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering. God doesn't do it for fun, to just sit back and see it happen. God suffers along with us, he desires to alleviate the suffering! 

Although I can't always see the reason for suffering or certain situations, I know that God can. And thats all that should matter. He is compassionate. He sympathetic. He is right next to every screaming child, screaming with them, His hand on them. This I must keep in mind.