Hopelessness and Hope

I've mentioned before that through the gracious gifts of several people in the U.S., and a great partnership with another Christian organization, we've been able to personally distribute 60 wheelchairs to needy children and adults in Ixtapaluca and beyond.

Some children, however, need a different sort of wheelchair, a specialized, technologically advanced chair to accommodate their body.  Ninfa, a lady in our church, told us about such a case in the Los Heroes neighborhood, the area next to where the second church is located.  Through conversations with Miriam, a recipient of one of wheelchairs, we came in contact with another organization that donates specialized wheelchairs to qualifying recipients. 

So this past Tuesday morning at 7 a.m., Mayra picked up a needy family and took them into Mexico City, near Viaducto and Troncoso.  On the way, and on the way back, she heard their story.  Their little girl, Isabel, was born apparently healthy, but soon after suffered from high fever and went into convulsions.  At the hospital she had several spinal taps done, and suffered severe brain damage.  According to the mother, the doctors apparently offered to amputate her daughter's arms and legs, stating that she would never have use of them.  "If my daughter is to die, let her die whole," was the mother's response.  Isabel did not die. 

I've not be able to get those words out of my head since Mayra told me this story several days ago.  What a difficult thing.  How hard.  Caring for a person with about 25% of her brain functioning, and several physical limitations.  How hard!  The whole world most groan under such suffering.  The noise of our reality becomes muffled in the presence of such struggle, such hopelessness.

In a most unlikely place the gospel becomes so ragingly clear.  God is not absent in such cases, but closer than ever.  He does not gloss over human need, but embraces it.  He does not deny suffering,  but has promised that somehow, glory will come out of it.  His glory.  Somehow.  In hopelessness, hope remains.

A whisper reminding us that we view as through a looking glass, that our perspective, most days, is limited and even flawed.  We begin to become enamored with this world, with its comforts and petty pleasures.  A shout, reminding me of what is really important.  That this grey-scale world will one day be transformed into something radically different.  Something good.  Really good.  

I am reminded of one phrase from Jesus.  Blessed are those that mourn, for they will be comforted.