One of the most beautiful expressions of a fathers' love was witnessed in a humble block home. A man in his wheelchair reached up to pray a blessing upon his 17 year old daughter who was in labour. For months she has carried the burden of this unborn child. Every visit we had, her head hung low in shame and tears would flow down her cheeks and every time she looked at her sick, crippled father, the regret only grew deeper. She felt ashamed, regretful embarrassed and an inconvenience. The phone call came in yesterday afternoon that the labour pains had started. I volunteered to be on standby as a support.
I felt so helpless as I drove her down the bumpy road as fast as I could. Coaching her to breathe during each contraction, I was reminded of the birth my children. My husband was amazing in getting me to where I needed to go. And I knew that I would be in good care upon arrival. So far from the reality I faced with this precious young girl.
Upon arrival at the hospital we tripped over a construction site only to find a long corridor filled with patients waiting to be seen. The tiny room where they took her vitals wreaked of urine and feces. I gagged as I stood on the sideline waiting patiently for them to move her along. We were directed to sit in the hall on an unstable wooden bench across from 4 other young teenage pregnant girls. They were there for simple checkups. My girl clenched her fist tight with every labour pain as I gently stroked her back. I was confused. Why was she not being attended too. A lady a few feet away writhed in pain and a young 3 year old boy screamed on the floor clasping his broken arm. I didn't know where to look but down. Dirty cotton scattered the floor and the little curtain that hung in the doorway was bloodstained and grimy. The sound of pounding cement and jackhammer might of drowned out the noise of the pain inside. But I still heard it. It was chaotic and felt like a bit of hell. I had to get out. I couldn't stand the suffering. I stood to look out the tiny window fighting to hold back every tear. "Lord please don't ever let me forget this experience", I prayed. The comforts of home seemed too far away in that moment, but I knew I would climb back in my car and head back to it. But so many people don't.
After hours of waiting, the doctor sent her home. False labour. He said she was too early. With purchased medicine we climbed back into the car to go home. I wasn't completely confident over the diagnosis, but trusted God had His hand on these precious lives. Two days later I received another message only this one with the news that she welcomed her baby girl into this world.
As I visited the other day, I watched the family surround this young mom with joy, love and support. I love that we serve a God that loves us no matter where we've been and welcomes us stained by sin and raises our chin and tells us He dearly loves us.
