God Took My Hand

Upon arriving at the Mustard Seed, I was immediately shocked upon walking into the all cement room. The cinder block walls, concrete floors, and dark blue and pink paint chipped colors. The smell was a combination of urine and bleach, and seemed so dark to me. It was dark yet simultaneously full of life. Children from as young as five up to fifteen years of age, all lying in beds or sitting in wheel chairs numbering close to forty or fifty. Some were silent, while some did all they could to get my attention. They were moaning, crying, screaming, arm waving, calling out to me, and some laughing and smiling as I glanced in their direction. There were so many in a small, cramped space, all with some sort of physical challenge or disability. Rows and rows of children, to my left and to my right. I was filled with self doubt, why was I here? What should I do? Where do I start? What have I gotten myself into? This was so different than any other room of children I had ever walked into. They were packed in like sardines. The group of twelve people I was with began to move about with trepidation as we took in what was before us.. I moved to my left, towards a row of wheelchairs. The first few children did not respond to my greeting. Blank stares returned my hello. Then I met David. His strained smile greeted me as I moved closer to say hello. As I knelt down I was then touched on the arm by Steven who was in the next chair. Steven was trying to grab my hand but couldn’t quite master the action. I put my hand in his and you could see the joy on his face. It was like God welcoming me to Jamaica.Neither David or Steven could speak, but as I spoke to them, we held hands the whole time. I could tell by the look in their eyes and their managed grins, that we were communicating on a much deeper level. One of the three staff members told me some of the children’s stories, how they ended up here. Most, if not all, were abandoned by their families. Some were found in the street, others brought here directly. I questioned what she meant by this and she explained they were abandoned because their families could not afford to care for all their children, especially a child with physical and mental challenges. You see, in Jamaica children are expected to contribute to the family to survive, and these children cannot. If you are poor here in Jamaica, in order for these children to survive, parents sometimes have to choose which children they will keep and which ones they must give up. There is not always enough food or medicine for everyone, and having no support from the government, it is in some ways survival of the fittest. Sometimes parents can’t bear the choice of who to feed and who not to, or worse yet, let die. As a result they take their child and leave them somewhere in hopes someone will find them and care for them. They feel it is the only hope. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing as I listened, unable to comprehend what I had just heard in my own mind. Those sentences jolted me hard, I was numbed and in shock, thinking of my own children. What if I had to choose? I immediately thanked God for never putting me in such a situation. I looked back at the boys as they showed their excitement at my being there as they continued to hold my hand best they could. They seemed so happy, so happy to have someone to hold and give them attention. The staffer went on to say that “this visit would be the highlight of their month.” She explained how they try to give all the children enough love and attention, but it isn’t an easy task. Between bathing, changing and feeding the children, there is so much need. “We are giving care, safety and love to children but they know we work here. Visitors like you come to be with them, and the kids know it.” The love we were giving that day was so desperately needed and desired. The children knew we came to see them and they loved our presence. I looked back to David and Steven, and hugged them tightly. After taking a picture together, I said goodbye, and I walked over to the bed areas.