“Take chances, make mistakes. That's how you grow. Pain nourishes your courage. You have to fail in order to practice being brave.” Mary Tyler Moore

An excerpt from my journal dated September 24, 2010: 

“Today at the Dili Health clinic as I was waiting in the cramped, stuffy, hot waiting room to get my X-rays done, I saw Jesus in an injured little boy who entered the waiting room with his dad. He had a makeshift cast on his left arm that was in a cloth sling. He was hunched over and coughing uncontrollably, visibly in pain and distress. After his dad filled out the paper work, the boy came and sat right beside me on the bench. Between coughing spells he looked up at me with big, brown eyes and a tear-drenched face as if to say, “Help me please!” I had no idea what I should do. I wish I could say I did what I longed to do-gave him a reassuring pat on the back and told him everything would be okay. Instead, I just sat there in fear of breaking some unknown social norm. It was not as if I knew that boy, and I didn’t work in the clinic. Who was I to step in and try to comfort him? What if I scared him instead? 

As I looked around the waiting room I couldn’t help but notice everyone else was also staring at the boy, probably also longing to help him in some way but not knowing how. I realized that this fear I had, and this frustration I felt in not knowing how to help was not something unique just to me. It was a feeling shared by everyone in the room. I am not sure if reaching out and comforting a strange boy in an East Timorese medical clinic waiting room would have been socially acceptable, but I believe that compassion trumps social norms, and therefore in the future I will let my heart, not my pride, guide my decisions when it comes to comforting and helping others. I won’t make this mistake again.”

An excerpt from my journal dated November 15, 2010:

“Today at the Venilale Health Clinic I was working dispensing pills as usual, when 2 little girls (aged 12 and 9?) peeked their heads around the corner and grinned at me. I am used to kids shyly smiling at the “malae”, but these girls' faces lit up as if we were old friends. Did I know these kids? My mind raced as I tried to figure out my connection with these girls. For the next 10 minutes I saw them peaking at me from around corners and through windows, always with big smiles on their faces. When I actually talked to them and said, “Boatarde”, they laughed in delight and smiled even bigger. Were they here to be treated? They seemed too cheery and upbeat to be sick. I later noticed the younger girl had a big white bandage around her thumb. Surely she would have it examined, right? Why was she in such a good mood?

Soon, the older girl was called in to see Sr. Carolina, and her mom accompanied her. The younger girl with the bandaged thumb was summoned to the “wound care room” where the nurse began removing the dressings. Before he began, the girl was smiling big and broadly, as usual. As the nurse began removing the dressings, she held her hand out as far as she could and turned her body to the left and hid her face behind her shoulder so as not to see what he was doing. As soon as he removed a layer of the dressing, she would turn back around to peak at what had been uncovered. There were several layers to the bandage, so this occurred several times. I had been told she had cut her thumb, so I was anxious to see the damage. Each successive layer that was removed brought me greater and greater anticipation. How bad was it? Would I be able to handle it? What if I fainted?

At this point the nurse said she would have to soak her finger in water before he removed the rest of the dressings because he didn’t want to cause further damage to her finger. She ran off to do so. Drats. This was just like a commercial break at the most suspenseful part of a movie on tv.

After about 5 minutes, the little girl returned and sat back down hesitantly. Her mom was still preoccupied in the other room with her older sister. This time, I decided to sit down beside her instead of just standing and staring from across the room. She was obviously very anxious and in a great deal of pain, so I did something I was too afraid to do 2 months ago-something I longed to do but was unsure was “okay”. I patted the girl on the back and put my hand on her shoulder. I wanted her to know I was there for her. I told her she was very brave. I may have been too scared or intimidated to do that two months ago, but I vowed I would not make that mistake again. There are plenty of mistakes I have made more than once (hey, some mistakes are just too fun to just make once, right?), but this was one I vowed I would NOT let slip by. I think my presence was a comfort to her. She was obvious very curious and interested in me while she was waiting to be seen, so I knew my presence wasn’t a nuisance to her. I’m not sure if I was much help, but I hope I was at least comforting to her. At one point the mom came in the room, and I stood up to offer her my chair. She insisted it was fine and motioned for me to continue sitting there. I stayed with the girl as the last dressing was removed and saw the injured finger- it was pretty gruesome. Her entire last metacarpal of her left thumb was completely missing. The area was very red, and-was that a BONE I could see?! The girl turned and looked in fascination. If it was me I think I would have puked!

I asked when this had occurred-5 days ago. I wondered how she had cut her finger, how it had not gotten infected, how she wasn’t screaming in pain and what the family did when it first happened. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get answers to any of these queries. The nurse deftly bandaged her finger, but before he finished I was called to the other room to help Sr. Carolina once again. I waved goodbye to the little girl and headed off. I didn’t even know her name, but I felt like I made a special connection with her that day. She returned a few days later to have her bandages changed, and when I saw her that time I lit up too, as if I was greeting an old friend. I still don’t know much about her, except that she lives nearby and her name is Bendita. Isn’t it weird how you can feel a special connection with someone you barely know?”

Moral of the story: if you are still alive, it is never too late to right a wrong. God is good. He gave me a second chance, and this time I was prepared to follow through on my promise I had made to Him. I wonder what He has in store for me next?