Wesley

One of many stories written by me about my experience in Western Province, Papua New Guinea.

“The mud!” I cried out to the air, “I cannot take the mud anymore!” We had just walked at least a kiIometer in knee deep, slick mud.  My temper was flaring along with my self-pity.  I was not just knee deep in mud, I was knee deep in me.  

I am ashamed to say tears rolled down my face as I sat alone at the back of a bamboo slatted clinic, asking God why on earth He wanted me in missions? In Papua New Guinea?  It was the first time I’ve cried facing the astonishing poverty here…. And it wasn’t even about the poverty.  

As selfish as it sounds, I think it was easier to cry for me than them.  If I cried for Western Province, PNG and all I’ve seen, I knew I would never stop.  It is my job as media to tell their story, so I will.

You see, it wasn’t long after my tears of pity that tears of pain and anger washed my eyes, spilling over.  I had spent the morning with our clinic workers following up on baby Umi, a starving three-month-old YWAM Medical Ships (MSA) found on the last outreach.  It wretched my heart to see her condition, her mother’s hopeless eyes, hear the story of her father’s loss, but I was at least prepared for it. 

What I wasn’t prepared for was Wesley.  The minute my eyes fell on this child I knew I was staring into the face of suffering.  I moved forward to talk to Wesley who lay limp in his mother’s lap in the clinic. His eyes followed me, but his head slumped to one side.  He was too weak to hold it up.

With very minimal use of only the right side of his body, I knew this three-year-old boy was starving to death right in front of me.  His tiny knees were larger than his thighs.  I could see every bone in his body.  He became real when I felt the touch of his hand.  

I had to look away, so my eyes shifted to his mother.  She wouldn’t look at me.  I saw the same vague, hopelessness across her face I had seen in others.  The light had gone out.  The suffering, too great to feel anymore.    

My chest tightened.  Somewhere inside of me welled up both incredible sorrow and anger. Not anger directed at anyone, just an overwhelming sense that injustice sat in front of me in its rawest form.  

My mind rebelled.  “This is not right! This is NOT right!” I wanted to shout it until my lungs were sore.  I wanted to shake people and tell them.  No child should starve to death!  No child should have their life stolen from them! 

No, it shouldn’t happen, but it is happening.  It is real.  It is unjust.  It is far from okay. But, it is real.  Wesley is real. 

Tears rolled down my face today.  Mud stained my feet.  My heart broke.  

I can’t shut my eyes to it. I can’t stop feeling.  The minute I do, I stop being effective.  We were able to help him and share hope.  I know the reality is, Wesley may not see next month.  I know the reality is, his mother’s eyes may never shine again, but I can’t help but hope the impossible can happen. 

This I do know, if we go, we can make Wesley’s story a rarity.  If we don’t go, if we close our eyes and stop the tears, Wesley’s story will just become another sad statistic we shake our heads at and walk away.