Where is the rescuer?

“I will not leave you as orphans, I will come to you.” John 14:18

In the summer of 2005, I set out to see what HIV/AIDS looked like in a country where the infection rate was over 40%. I wondered what a pandemic of epic proportions looked like on the faces of everyday people. I wondered where God was in the midst of all of it and more personally where was I. Was I prepared to love the sick? To know them? To sacrifice myself for them? To see children alone? To see women who are selling themselves because there is no other way to feed their children? These are very scary questions for a suburban girl. Could I enter into the pain reserved for widows and orphans and still see a loving Jesus?

With all these heavy questions swirling around in my mind, I set out to visit a country I didn’t know much about with a God I was striving to know intimately. I wanted a real gritty, unglamorous-every day life-kind of look at Swaziland, so; I went alone. I left the U.S. without knowing where I would stay, what I would eat or who I would meet. In a bold move, I decided to let God put my faith into action.

This bold new journey led me to the government hospital in the center of Mbabane. As a result I now know what death and despair smells like. It is a horrible stench like urine, blood and vomit that has the power to knock you right over. That is how I first met Nondomiso, however at that time she was nameless. Just one more abandoned baby at the government hospital.

I really hate hospitals. I always have. They make me feel anxious and I am generally a hypochondriac. I must confess that I absolutely didn't want to enter that place. I really wanted to turn and walk away. Emotionally, I hate that hospital and I am really terrified of it. My heart beat so fast when I entered that place and I could feel tangible fear, but then I thought of the abandoned children, HIV ridden men and women. They can be in that place, so surely I could stand being there for an hour or two. Believe me I am no saint, I was at war with myself to even step foot inside a place that smells so much like death.

As I entered the children’s ward, I went over to two abandoned babies. One was less then a month old, the other was about 3 months old. Both were in the same crib and both were completely alone. They reeked of urine and spit up. The nurse who cares for the babies had to go back to her village for a funeral-- so many people are dying--so there was no nurse to care for them. Therefore the other mothers in the ward were feeding them when they cried, but they also had their own children to look after.

So, when we got there, these babies were filthy. We cleaned them, changed their diapers and just held them. I visited all the other abandoned children while I held this skinny, little 3-month-old baby. I noticed one little girl sitting quietly in her crib in the back of the room. She was about 3, HIV positive with sores all over her face and hands. She was in this metal crib with no toys, no stuffed animals, nothing. She just sat there staring straight ahead- alone. So, I tried to play with her- to smile at her- to notice her. By the end she was laughing with me and loving the baby.

Then as the baby began to cry, I got a bottle and fed her. She would only suck the bottle from the side of her mouth. They had been just putting a bottle in her mouth as she laid in her crib. No one was holding her when she ate. The loneliness of it all just devastated me. I fought so hard not to cry. I put my face about four inches from hers, held the bottle and stroked her face, and she finally looked into my eyes and began to really suck from the bottle. It was an incredible. We connected and love seemed to rest in that moment.

Then I spoke to her-I told her that Jesus loved her--that she was his beloved--I asked the Lord to be her daddy--to care for her and meet all her needs-- to inhabit her dreams. Then with the tears streaming down my face I baptized her and gave her to the Lord. I used my own tears as baptismal holy water and our eyes locked in a way I will never forget.

As often as I could, I went back to the hospital and put myself emotionally back in that place. I think it is actually harder to leave the hospital, than to arrive. Putting that child back into that dirty crib covered with foul smelling blankets felt so wrong--like I was abandoning her. It ripped my heart out each time. I often planned ways I could sneak her out of the hospital and take her to a place where I could love her.

On one of the days I had returned to the hospital I found the two abandoned little ones sleeping in the same crib peaceful like angels. Their faces had crusty formula on them and dried snot in their noses. Shortly after I got there, Cici, the 3 year old with HIV came over to me and grabbed my hand and smiled up at me. We spent the rest of the time holding hands and playing with small dirty toys. She laughed and giggled. It was the best sound.

Then the babies began to whimper. The nurses were busy running back and forth between hanging the laundry out to dry and feeding all the mentally handicapped who live there, so I offered to feed the babies. The two share the same bottle and share the formula inside. They both sucked down some food, very lethargically at first, and then when they felt me close breathing on their face, talking softly to them, stroking their hands and face, they sucked that bottle hard. I spent time praying for each of them and asking God to give them an angel to supernaturally care for them. It was such a spiritual experience. Almost indescribable, but each time I prayed for them they would look directly into my eyes. They seemed to understand. They both fell asleep and I carefully laid them back down. It was just as hard to leave them--maybe harder.

At the end of my time in Swaziland I had been invited to dinner by a missionary couple in the area and as the dinner was wrapping up, I felt someone approach me from behind, when I turned around I saw Claud-- (another missionary who I had met). I was shocked to see him there as his ministry was about an hour from there. I quickly asked him how he found me and what was going on and he said with a broad smile-"We are adopting your baby." I was shocked and I just sat there trying to take in what he was saying.


He had been at the hospital on Wednesday to hold the babies and to play with some of the sick children. At that time he learned that a Swazi couple had stepped forward to adopt the baby he and Mary were inquiring about. They were somewhat disappointed, but were excited to see the baby leave the hospital with a loving family.

When they got to the hospital, Claud picked up the other baby I had baptized with my tears and looked in her eyes. As he held her, the Lord said, "This is your daughter." Claud thought he was surly experiencing some wishful thinking and dismissed the thought. Then a couple of minutes later two other mothers in the room said, "It is nice to hold your daughter, isn't it?" Claud was flabbergasted and very surprised by their comments. Then about an hour later the social worker they had previously spoken to walked into the room and said, "So you have found your daughter." Claud was so overwhelmed. This was all not known to him before he arrived at the hospital. God worked it out and then lead Claud there that day at the exact right moment.

He then went home picked up his wife Mary and they prayed together and then picked up their daughter. When they found me that night and told me that the baby was now going to be their daughter. I just started weeping and couldn't stop. I was so thrilled to see God answer my prayer for this little one.

The last Sunday I was there I attended a local church where I had come to know several families. So, as I arrived at church, I noticed that “my baby” was there in her Sunday best. They said they had named her "Nondomiso" which means praise.

When I saw my baby, I couldn't contain myself and jumped up from my seat and rushed to the back of the church, where I reached my arms out to hold Nondomiso. As I felt her little body next to mine, I suddenly noticed how clean and fresh she smelled-no more foul odor of urine, spit-up and sour milk. It made me think how beautiful we all must smell when God holds us for the first time after Jesus washes us clean. I sat down in a nearby chair, put my face close to hers rubbed her tummy and asked her,” Do you remember me?" As I began to speak, Nondomiso smiled from ear to ear and giggled. Immediately, I choked up, my eyes filled up with tears and I knew that we had both shared a moment with Jesus.

Later that night I asked if I could have her sleep in my room so I could take care of her all night. They were delighted as they were excited to have a full night's sleep. I fed her, sang to her, talked to her, prayed with her and genuinely loved her. Part of me really felt like this was my child and at those moments my heart would fill up with a mixture of joy and pain, because I knew that I would have to leave her--that she was not mine to keep. It is hard to even communicate to you the deep place I felt that pain. But, I resigned myself to fully enjoy her for every second I was privileged enough to care for her.





Nondomiso’s story often brought me to the question--Why does God allow children to be abandoned? To ask…where is God in the midst of this ugliness? If God is so good, why all the pain and injustice? Why is the most powerful being in the universe absent from his beloved creation? The anger builds from a deep place inside and feels so righteous. If we were God, we would certainly be a better rescuer. Love, equality and justice would reign.

One nagging thought though...aren’t I, as one who wants to follow in the way of Jesus, to be God’s hands and feet? So in asking where is God amidst all this suffering—aren’t I really asking where am I amidst all this pain? Remember the story of the Good Samaritan. The priest walked by the injured man on the other side of the street angry that crime and injustice happened in his part of the world, yet he did nothing to alleviate the pain God allowed him to see. Am I like that? Would I rather blame God for the ugliness of this world as I pass by the injustice I see on the other side of the street or will I make their problems, my problems and give all that I have to see them healed?

What suffering, pain and injustice have we seen? Will we walk by on the other side of the road pretending that it is someone else’s problem or blaming God for being a negligent savior or will we give all we have—our time, talents, resources—to be the rescuer God created us to be? God did provide a healing solution to the pain of this world, he created disciples, he created me and he created you.

If you are looking for a way to be the rescuer God has created you to be, please click on any of the links on this blog site.