An unexpected Friday

It was a Friday. In January. I didn’t expect it to be the most challenging day of my life. Or one of the most privileged. I am learning to expect the unexpected. And, that God answers my prayer of give me opportunities to share your love.

I was in the kitchen about to start cleaning and tidying the shelves, when Samantha came to tell me she had just met a couple of ladies, from our mountain, in the street carrying a grass mat. They were on their way to the local health centre where a little girl had died. We looked at each other and then Samantha asked me whether we should go to the health centre to pray. I knew the answer was yes, after all we had both been praying for opportunities to reach out to the local community, but somehow cleaning the shelves seemed an easier option. I put a wrap of cloth over my cleaning trousers and we walked steadily in the morning sun; past the clump of tall trees where the sunlight dances through the leaves; across the schoolyard where we had to ask a Moto driver to tell the following school children to go back to school; next to the grand Catholic church; and finally along the red dirt track to the health centre. We prayed, God use us for your will.

The health centre was bustling with people: clustered outside one door there were women arrayed in colour with new babies on their backs or suckling at their breasts; a group of old men with sticks waiting at another door; and then the children’s rooms. We were outside. Looking for the ladies with their grass mat. We saw them under the tree. Their men at a distance solemnly gathered. We quietly asked the story. One of the Mamas had lost her 18month old* daughter. Melissa. They had come to collect the body. Over the last two days, two other families had lost children: a 12year old and a 15year old. How? Why? No one knew. Heaviness and sadness hung in the air. There was an unspoken understanding that this was normal. Reality. Children commonly die in Burundi. Families have the expectation of death and prepare by having more children. God it shouldn’t be like this I cried out in silence. Let there be life instead of death.

We wanted to help. We wanted to pray. We were compelled by love. Love from the One above, to love those before us. Knowing it would be a long walk home, we asked if they would like us to drive them and after a family discussion they agreed. Samantha and I went to collect the car, walking back along the red dirt track, next to the Catholic church, through the schoolyard, alongside the tall trees, praying the whole time for life instead of death. We started our journey again, this time in the car. I don’t remember noticing the trees, or the schoolyard, or the church and the red dirt track. We turned the car around at the entrance of the health centre and I moved from the front seat to the back. The family came. The men first. With the rolled grass mat covered in cloth. With Melissa inside. They passed one end of the grass mat to me and climbed in alongside me to help with the weight. The women filled the rest of the seats. Two small children sat on their mothers’ laps, sensing the sadness they stayed quiet and still.

I hadn’t expected this. Unreal, but oh so very real at the same time. I started praying for life. Jesus breathe life.

The car drove on a bumpy dirt road, through fields, amongst tea plantations, crossing a rickety wooden bridge and slowly up the hill. We arrived at a cemetery. This was a shock. Where was the family home? We had driven the family to the funeral of their daughter Melissa. They asked us to join them. We walked at the back of the small group down the mountain. The sun was intense. There were so many freshly covered graves. The red soil was so bright. Most of the graves had simple wooden crosses on top, but some just had twigs crossed together and tied with grass. Shirtless men continued digging more graves while the family gathered and sang quietly as Melissa in her cloth covered grass mat was placed in the earth. Samantha and I sat on the gently sloped hill at a distance from the family. How to pray now? Tears stung my eyes with a numbness within.

As we walked away, the next family arrived carrying their 12year old wrapped in a cloth covered grass mat. God, no more childhood death in this village, on this mountain…

We all got back in the car and this time we drove the family to their village on our mountain. There was a heavy silence in the car, but we continued to pray for this beautiful family. God fill them with your Love. You are the greatest Comforter. We quietly said goodbyes and hoped the lingering handshake and tighter than normal embrace of a hug would demonstrate love, because words failed to come.

I did clean and tidy those kitchen shelves on Friday afternoon, a distraction, a purpose, but then the tears came. The grief. The pain. Why God, why was there not life instead of death? And then I realised, for Melissa there was life, a heavenly life, a life eternal. I wanted God to raise the dead. This time, it looked like Melissa going to heaven and we had the privilege of walking with the family and sharing Love.

My prayer continues to be:

‘Heal my heart and make it clean
Open up my eyes to the things unseen
Show me how to love like you have loved me

Break my heart for what breaks yours
Everything I am for Your kingdom’s cause
As I walk from earth into eternity’

Hosanna, Hillsong United

Papa God, may your Kingdom come, may your Will be done on Earth (here in Burundi, in my community, at home in the UK…) as it is in Heaven.

*Due to language barriers we thought Melissa was 3years old, but later found out that she was 18months.