Junior

It’s like “being breathed on by an enormous animal: humid, sticky and very hot.”[1]

Only in my opinion, it’s much more enjoyable then an enormous animal’s breath would be.  We flew over the Atlantic Ocean, over Paris, over the Sahara, and into the tiniest airport in tropical wet Liberia, West Africa. If you’ve ever flown into Chicago before, you can visualize the gorgeous grid of lights that decorates the city from the airplane window at night time, but there are no such lights in Monrovia. This city of 3 million people is unrecognizable from an airplane window at night. Their recent Civil War destroyed the country’s infrastructure.  We stepped out of the plane.  There were 11 people in our group, and it was a new experience for 7 of them. 7 pairs of precious eyes took in their first glances of the Liberia.  The Liberians greeted us with smiles and their famous handshake. (They really do have a thing for handshakes.)

The team very quickly recuperated from culture shock, and simply became the voice and hands of Jesus in a place that desperately needed light and intervention.  Several days into the trip we met a little boy named Junior at THINK, a place for Abandon Kids, Runaways, and abused kids. In Liberia, some parents are forced by the pressures of poverty to make unthinkable decisions for their disabled babies.  Many parents simply don’t have the resources to sustain a disabled child, so they are left—on road sides, in hospitals, in fields, and on doorsteps.  (It’s not excusable.  It is explainable.)

And so this is how we met Junior.

We didn’t expect it.  We knew to expect about 25 young women from the Safe House for abused children, but when we walked into the compound for the first time it was bath time for the disabled children.  I took a deep breath and walked towards them. There were 6 naked little bodies, some rolling and flopping around in the large shallow buckets of water, half of them screaming.  So naturally, I greeted them, and little Junior, the only smiling face in the bunch, stretched out his pruny crippled hand to shake mine.  I smiled at him, and took his hand in mine to shake it.  My heart felt God’s love for him.  I almost cried right then.

I let the women finish bathing them while we toured the place and met all the Safe House girls.  A couple hours into our activities, I noticed that the disabled children had all been place in their designated spots, and had not been moved. From our conversations with the women and our observations we learned that this is what happened for the majority of their waken hours.  12-14 hours a day: Prince would be tied to the porch. Praises contained in a highchair in the corner. Plastic rolling around on the floor.  Junior rolling around on a make-shift small trampoline because he couldn’t walk.  The women who worked there were wonderful strong women of God, but they had no training for how to take care of disabled children.  The children were bathed, fed, and then left alone for most of the day.  This special day was a drastic change for most of them.  Many of those children were picked up, cuddled with and played with that day except for two.  Junior stayed on his trampoline the entire day, and Praises stayed in her highchair the entire day.  I sang with them, tickled them, danced around them, but I didn’t pick them up because I was scared.  He was completely soaked in slobber. She smelled strongly of urine and made loud scary noises.  I didn’t pick either of them up. None of us did.

I came home that evening, and someone asked me how my day was.  It all hit me at once.  I was overwhelmed, and I had been an incredible coward.  I started to weep as I spoke, “How can I come all the way from America to minister to these children, and let some stupid slobber and urine keep me from really showing love to them? Jesus would pick them up.  Heck, Jesus picks me up.  Tomorrow I am might reek when I get home, but I will love those kids, and I will pick them up!

From that point on the entire team, was beautifully and courageously involved with all the kids.  No child was left out.  One day, as we took a lunch break at THINK, Dimitri looked at me and said, “Danielle, I smell horrible.  I think I have urine all over me.”  My best response was, “That’s called a good day, Dimitri.”

It’s the truth.

“Who is like the LORD our God—the One enthroned on high, who stoops down to look on the heavens and the earth? He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the garbage pile.”

Psalm 113:5-7

God answered so many prayers for us at THINK.  We saw miracle after miracle.  On the last day Jesse prayed that Junior would stand and take his first steps.  Dave, however, did not go to THINK until the last day, and he didn’t know Jesse’s prayer.  We sat eating our Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches for lunch, when little Junior scooted into the room on his little behind.  Without analyzing, Dave compassionately stood him up on his two feet, and began to let Junior balance himself.  Junior found some stability on his own skinny two legs when Jesse walked through the door.  Jesse soft heart knew that God had heard her prayers, and God was responding.  She said, “I can’t believe it.  I prayed that Junior would stand and walk today.” So I got down on my knees, stretched my hands out to him, smiled at him and said, “Come here Junior.  You can do it.” Jesse’s prayer was answered in two beautiful wobbly steps.

“… I will rejoice in the Lord; I will exult in the [victorious] God of my salvation! The Lord God is my Strength, my personal bravery, and my invincible army; He makes my feet like hinds’ feet and will make me to walk [not to stand still in terror, but to walk] and make [spiritual] progress upon my high places [of trouble, suffering, or responsibility]!”

Habakkuk 3:18-19 (Amplified)