Suffering Native Girl In Love With Jesus
December 26th 2007 08:36
“I’m so very glad to meet you, Marisita. Please have a seat so we can talk a while,” replied Anita.
“You’re very pretty, Senorita, especially for a doctora,” began the girl as she tried to manipulate her homemade crutches and get seated on the plastic chair that was provided in the makeshift clinic. “What is your name? Or, should I just call you Doctor?”
“You can call me Anita,” the doctor answered. “Anita Miller.”
The girl was quite talkative although somewhat nervous, looking around the little primitive clinic as she talked. Looking toward a man in the next room, she asked, “Is that Senor Miller?”
“No,” laughed Anita. “I’m not married so there is no Senor Miller for me yet. Maybe God will have a husband for me some day or maybe not. It’s Ok with me either way.”
Marisita continued her visual investigation of the temporary medical quarters, and Anita waited until the crippled girl was ready to talk again.
Finally, satisfied that the doctors had enough equipment to appear professional, she opened up. “Anita, I don’t have money.” She looked a bit embarrassed to confess this fact. “Maybe you will not help me?” It was a statement with a question in its delivery.
“Marisita, you need not worry about money here. I’m here as a volunteer to help people,” Anita reassured.
“How will you get enough money to return to your country if you do not ask people to pay for what you do for them?” was the teenager’s obvious question.
“Maybe you’re rich in America, verdad?”
“No, it’s not ‘verdad’; It’s not true at all. In fact, I am still trying to pay my government for the money they loaned me to finish my medical studies. I must pay for many years before I repay all that I borrowed.” Anita’s smile as she spoke assured the girl that the accusation of “being rich” was not offensive.
Getting a clipboard with forms and picking up a ball point pen from the folding table, Anita appeared ready to begin trying to serve this needy person.
“Let me ask you some questions, Marisita, OK?”
Straining to try to become a bit more comfortable in the hard chair, the teen answered, “Of course. You probably want my name and where I live, right? I am Marisita Morel. I live outside the city of La Vega.” She seemed somewhat hesitant to give further information.
While writing, the smiling doctor carefully phrased her next question to avoid bringing more discomfort to the physically handicapped girl. “Do you live in a house?”
Blushing, Marisita confessed, “Actually, we don’t. We did live in a house before, but it was among the squatters from Haiti, and the government police forced us and the Haitians to move away.” She paused as Anita wrote a few words on the paper. “Please don’t think badly of us, Anita, when you learn that we live under a bridge under a road.”
Anita tried to keep a calmness in the atmosphere since it was apparent that Marisita was not comfortable about sharing such information. “Isn’t it difficult for you to get into your home? I mean, you are crippled and have difficulty with walking. Probably you find it even harder to bend over to get to your place under the bridge.”
Eyes lowered, the teen girl tried to put a positive side on her situation. “My big brother sometimes carries me so I won’t stumble. It’s easier that way.”
Anita wanted as much of the truth as possible so she asked, “Sometimes? Does he sometimes not carry you?”
Fear showed in Marisita’s eyes. “To be honest, and you know that Christians are supposed to always be honest, my brother no longer carries me down the steep slope to our place under the road.”
“And why is that?”
“Please do not have bad feelings about me or my family, Anita!” Holding back the tears which seemed determined to surface, Marisita explained. “My daddy told my brother to go away and never return to us. I have not seen my older brother for more than a month.” Despite her efforts, the tears spilled out onto her cheeks, followed by short, muffled sobs.
Anita’s arms held the brave girl as she encouraged her to take time to compose her emotions. “Would you like some tea, Marisita?”
Marisita simply nodded affirmatively, a signal which prompted Anita to go to the pot of hot tea, add some sugar and serve the needy girl.
“It looks like you’re carrying a heavy load, Sister,” said Anita as she helped Marisita with the tea. Clearly, the girl’s strength was taxed. The lady doctor was obtaining more information than Marisita was providing. “Have you ever been to a doctor before, Sister?”
“Only for one time, when a medical team came to our little barrio. That was about three years ago,” she replied.
“Did the doctor tell you that you have some sickness called Spina Bifida?”
Marisita’s eyes lit up, “Yes, that sounds like the word he used to explain my problem. He said something about my backbone having something wrong. Also, he said that I will probably never get better.”
“That is my diagnosis, too, Sister,” agreed Anita. “The most that we can do is try to make you more comfortable. Do you think that your family can do something about your living space? Do you believe that your father could find a better place to live? That would be a start toward helping you to cope with this sickness.”
Shaking her head negatively, Marisita’s expression became increasingly pessimistic, her shoulders slumping more than they had been, her eyes searching the floor instead of looking hopefully into Anita’s face. “I do not believe it will change for the better, Doctor. My family probably thinks that I am more of a burden to them than any of the other children, even more of a problem than my brother that they sent away.”
“Is anyone in your family here with you today?” asked Anita.
“No. My missionary friend brought me here in her Land Rover car.” Looking again into Anita’s face, the handicapped girl asked, “Why did you call me ‘Sister’ when you talked to me? You know my name is Marisita. Are you an evangelico, too?” (pronounced ‘ay-van-HELL-ee-ko’)
“Yes, of course I am, Sister Marisita,” announced the doctor. “That’s why I came here. It’s what God chose for me to do with my ability, come to places where people need help and do whatever I can for them. I’m only sorry that your physical problem is still in the research stage in my country. I really have little to offer you. As to your other question, I am a Protestant Christian and very evangelical. That means that I am what you refer to as an evangelico. I became a born-again Christian when I was your age, and I rejoice that God has found a way to use me.”
“You are so lucky, Anita. Maybe I should instead say that you are so blessed. You are American, well-educated, and even rich when compared to me and my family.”
“It’s true that God has blessed me greatly, little Sister.”
“My situation is bad, though,” cried Marisita. “I began life with my body like this. I was born into a poor family with many bad features in their lives. I had hoped that you and your medical mission could help me, but you can’t. What is there for me to want to live for? Nobody wants me; I’ll never find anyone to love me and to love him in return; I have no future except the suffering that I’ve known all my life.”
In an effort to console and give hope to this grieving, suffering child of God, Anita opened her Bible to Job 19:25 through 27. “Marisita, can you read this for me? It’s from the book of Job. You know about Job, don’t you?”
“Yes, he was the former rich man who became afflicted and suffered for a long time,” she answered. “I read about him sometimes, especially when my mother becomes angry and tells me that I am foolish for accepting the evangelico teachings. She wants me to be like most of the Dominicans, embracing the Roman Church ideas.”
“I understand, Sister. Job also was mocked by his wife for his belief in God. She told him to curse God and die,” offered Anita. “Here, read this for me, please.”
Marisita read from Anita’s Bible, “I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: and though after the skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another.”
“Do you know what Job’s life was like at the time he said those words?”
“I think he had lost everything, even his children and his farm animals, and even his wife was not helpful to him,” suggested Marisita. “Come to think of it, Job lost more than I ever had. He had been quite rich and lost everything. He even lost his health.” A slight smile enlarged to become an open-mouthed laugh. Marisita began laughing rather loudly. “I’ve never been rich, and I never had good health. Actually, Job had more reason to complain than I have. I can never miss what I never had, wealth and health. I don’t know how it would feel to have a lot of valuable things and lose them. And, I don’t know how it would feel to be very healthy and then become crippled such as I have always been.”
“That’s the best I can offer you, Marisita,” said the doctor. “Try to keep it in your mind that the rich man became very poor and the same man lost his health. Yet, in the midst of all of these negative issues in his life, he was still in love with God. He found that knowing God personally was the most valuable element in all of his life.”
“Thank you, Doctor Anita, or should I call you ‘Sister Anita’? You gave me much more than I expected. I have a new love for my Savior. I feel like singing; I’m so happy!”
Getting out a worn, old hymnal from her travel bag, Anita suggested, “We can sing together. Here’s one of my favorite songs.”
‘All the way my Savior leads me
What have I to ask beside?
Can I doubt His faithful mercies?
Who through life has been my guide.
Heavenly peace, divinest comfort,
E’re by faith in Him I dwell
For I know whate’er befall me
Jesus doeth all things well.
For I know whate’er befall me
Jesus doeth all things well.’
‘All the way my Savior leads me
Cheers each winding path I tread,
Gives me strength for every trial
Feeds me with the living bread.
Though my weary steps may falter
And my soul athirst may be
Gushing from the Rock before me
Lo, a spring of joy I see.
Gushing from the Rock before me
Lo, a spring of joy I see.’
‘All the way my Savior leads me,
Oh, the fullness of His love.
Perfect rest for me is promised
In my Father’s house above.
When my spirit clothed immortal
Wings its flight to realms of day,
This my song through endless ages,
Jesus led me all the way.
This my song through endless ages,
Jesus led me all the way.’
Marisita beamed, “Yes, it’s true. Why didn’t I see it earlier?”
“What is true, Marisita?” asked Anita.
“Jesus does all things well. I am so glad that I found Him and enthroned Him in my heart. This crippled body will somehow find ways to honor and uplift the One who means everything to me.”
ByFaithOnly
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