When I started writing this post, it was going to be an explanation of my week with Samantha, and the night I got sick, but God gave me so many words to speak about Samantha, that I didn't want to short change any of them by combining it with the details of my night of sickness, so instead I have two posts :)
Thursday the 20th of June, might have been one of the most challenging days of my life.
This week we were paired with a child to work one on one with the the Victory Home. The less mobile children at the home tend to receive less attention. The caregivers usually only have time to tend to the basics needs of the kids, and when volunteers come to the home the children up and moving around are more readily available to seek attention, and often playing with them is more enjoyable than sitting in one of the rooms. It was for that reason that we were paired with less mobile children, to give them love and attention that they often miss out on.
We were also given physical therapy exercises to work on with the kids. Many of them need to stretch out their limbs in certain ways after being in the bed so long, or holding them certain ways due to handicaps or illness.
I was paired with Samantha*. She is blind and autistic. She is seven years old, but doesn't talk and can't really walk on her own. This is due to her handicaps, but also to the lack of attention she can be given. There just isn't the man power needed to give all the kids the physical therapy they need.
I spent time with Samantha, talking to her, singing to her, rubbing her back, and walking with her around the room. If I'm honest, it was hard, and at times pretty disheartening. A lot of the girls on my team were paired with less mobile, often immobile kids, but ones that laugh with you and smile with you. Samantha is somewhat mobile, so it was nice to see tangible results in our exercises, but it often seemed as though she could care less that I was there.
Due to her autism, and the fact that she is often left to her own devices, Samantha has patterns that she repeats throughout her day. She likes to sit on the edge of her bed and rock back and forwards, letting her heels tap the edge of the bed as she moves. She then likes to put the left side of her face flat against the cool, polished stone wall and slide back and forwards. At some points in the day she'll lay flat on the floor face down, feeling the coolness of the floor and tapping a rhythm. She'll also move her head side to side, almost humming as she does, in a rhythm, over and over. The worst of all, is when she's frustrated she'll rock back and forwards, hitting her head on the end of the bed. I've learned that when she works through her patterns, not to interrupt, unless she is hurting herself. When she hits her head from frustration, I pull her away and rub her back and sing to her. Other than that, I don't interrupt. When she finishes her patterns, we walk some more.
As time went on I could better see that she appreciated my presence. I learned how to read her, and what I could do to calm her down when frustration overwhelmed her. I also became very protective of her. Often other kids would get too rough around her and she would get caught in the cross fire. I made sure to serve as a barrier to her when those things happened.
Though I was learning to see when she appreciated my presence, it was still hard. I didn't really feel useful. I knew the patterns of her habits, but I didn't understand them. I still found myself frustrated and confused when she hurt herself.
Understanding came in two waves. The first being my leader Megan.
She told us in morning worship, that she saw so much of our relationship with God in the actions of the kids at the homes. That when the kids cry and fight us while we stretch their limbs its so much like the way that we fight when God stretches us. We don't see that the person in control is only doing these things because they know that in the long run this is what's best for us, we just see that it hurts and we don't want to do it. Samantha hits her head on the bed, over and over, hurting herself, and no matter how many times I pull her away and sooth her, and speak love over her, I know that eventually she'll just do it again. In much the same way God watches us hurt ourselves by sinning, over and over again, and no matter how many times he pulls us away from our sinful nature, and speaks love over us, He knows we'll just do it again. But the Beautiful thing? He still pulls us away every time, and loves us every time, despite knowing that eventually we'll do it all over again.
This made me view the way I deal with Samantha differently. I gained understanding of Samantha herself after I fell sick.
If you read my previous post, you know all about my night of horrific sickness. I was helpless. I spent a big chunk of my night praying. Praying that sickness would pass. Praying for my fellow sick teammates. Praying for relief. Praying for patience. And then in the midst of throwing up and sheer frustration, God brought Samantha to my mind.
First let me tell you about Thursday morning. Samantha was especially frustrated. She was in a different room than usual, with more kids, which was throwing her off. There was just so much happening around her. It was really hot in the room and the other kids in the room were fighting for my attention. The whole thing was utterly overwhelming for both of us.
Samantha started doing something that I'm told she sometimes does when she is hot and frustrated, but I hadn't yet seen. She'd spit up in her hand and wipe it across her face and arms. Over and over. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not a germaphobe, but this was outside my level expertise. I didn't know what to do. I'd clean her up, only to watch her do it all over again. She was especially fussy and agitated. The other kids in the room were trying to climb into my lap and talk to me, and ask me question, or get me to help them. I was one person trying, suddenly, to do the job of 12, and if I'm honest, I cracked.
I waited for one of the other girls to come into the room, so I wasn't leaving anyone unattended, then left as quickly as I possibly could. I'm not a cryer. I'm especially not one to cry in public, but I was overwhelmed, and I could feel the tears threatening to break through. The thing about a home for 77 kids, is that there isn't a private spot to have a quick cry, so I settled for a spot between two of my teammates. I sat down, and they let me try to fight back the tidal wave of tears without pressing me for too much information.
That night I got sick.
Fighting a fever, in India, in the middle of summer isn't an experience I recommend to anyone. Ever. As I lay on the couch, a bucket in hand, trying desperately to get as close to the fan I could, I ended up just sinking to the ground, laying flat against the polished stone floor, soaking up the coolness of the surface. And I though of Samantha.
I found myself pouring water on my face and my neck, spreading it, trying desperately to cool down. And I though of Samantha, trying to cool herself down.
I was trying every tactic I could to distract myself, to keep the nausea and the sickness from creeping back up. I would tap out rhythms and patterns, over and over, to keep my mind busy. And I thought of Samantha and the patterns she lives by.
I wanted desperately for it to just be daylight. To make it past the night. For it not be dark outside, and I thought of Samantha, whose world is always so dark.
Thursday the 20th of June, might have been one of the most challenging days of my life.
In the morning I was stretched and beaten, and overwhelmed by the fact that at times I simply don't know how to be enough for these kids. In the evening, I was physically drained and broken, and emotionally humbled as I realized that it was just a glimpse of how Samantha feels daily. Broken, drained.... and trapped.
In the morning, when sickness subsided, and my body slowly started to repair, I was reminded of one of the songs that had been playing at the home while I was sitting with Samantha.
I am not skilled to understand,
What God has willed, what God has planned,
I only know at his right hand,
Stands one who is my savior.
Being at the home I am often crippled by the overwhelming fact that I'm not enough for these kids. No matter how much any of us want to be, we will never be enough for these kids. I can't bring Samantha peace, or heal her broken body. I don't understand why she's been dealt this hand, while I've been dealt mine. I don't know. But I do know that God is stretching me. He's stretching me in real, tangible, and difficult ways, but through it is is giving me an understanding of who is he is, and who these kids are. I do know that at his right hand stands one who is my savior, and while I can't be enough for these kids, he is always enough.
Unrelated Picture of Ongole, but hey, its beautiful.
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