Journal Entry: 9/12/09

It was 4:30pm. We were supposed to be going to the tailor to drop off my curtains. I am finding that plans change rapidly here. Instead, I was driving with my friend to her friend’s house just down the road. We walked inside the walled courtyard and greeted their friends, the little girl’s mother and father. There were many people sitting along the wall of the yard. We extended our condolences and sat down. At first glance, there didn’t seem to be much grieving. I know there are striking differences between our cultures. But surely….surely….a mother could not contain the grief that must come at the loss of a three year old daughter just two hours earlier.

There were many people coming and going. They would greet, sit for a few minutes, then leave. We sat there for 20 minutes or so when her mother asked if we would like to go see her. I followed my friends as they made their way to a little concrete room around the corner. Inside there were dishes and some food items and a chair in the corner. Her little body, void of life, was lying in the floor next to the wall, wrapped completely from head to toe in an old pagna. My friend bent down, prayed and wept for the little girl who was her namesake. They had just visited her at the hospital last night and again this morning and had been praying for a miracle from our God. Her healing came a different way than they had hoped. Some things are just beyond understanding. I wept for the little girl. I wept for her mother and father. I wept for my friends. And I prayed that somehow, some way, God would use this day to draw these people to Himself and be glorified.

We left the little room and passed by the women who were waiting to bathe and prepare the tiny body for burial. We returned to our sitting places on the wall. Her mother got up and went around the corner. Finally, I heard her wailing. I was relieved. A mother here does grieve. Then I noticed several people getting up and going around the corner. My friend leaned over and whispered to me that people were going to make her be quiet. You can’t cry. Tears are like acid and will burn the dead...this is what they believe. A few minutes passed and the mother returned to her sitting place just a couple of places down from me. My eyes met hers. I could see the sadness permeating her heart. I offered a small smile and hoped she could sense my sincere sorrow for her loss. My heart hurt so much for her in that moment.

It is the culture here in this predominantly M*sL*m world that the family would feed all of the visitors. We wondered if that would still be the case for this family since the father was C*th*l*c but the mother had come from a M*sL*m background. It was not the case. The burial was imminent. It wasn’t long before the pr**st stood and asked the crowd to follow. Not everyone was getting up to move. My friends and I got up, however, and began to follow the small crowd around the front side of the building. We walked down a path that looked freshly cut through the waist-high grass that covered the back of that walled area. We approached the back corner of the lot, just 50 feet or so from the small concrete room we had been in only an hour before. I saw the small hole that had just been dug in the ground. It was about 3x4 feet and 3 feet deep in my estimation. A small mound of dirt lay beside the hole. After the crowd had gathered around the hole, a man laid down a torn piece of cardboard on the top of the mound and put an old pagna over the top of it. One of the women who had just been bathing her little body walked up then and laid her on top of the cardboard. She was now completely wrapped in a clean white burial cloth. The sun shone through the trees in such a way that I could see her little foot through the cloth. My weeping began again. This little girl had not yet received the b*pt*sm that is typical of this r*l*gion, so the pr**st began the rote pr*yers that are pr*yed asking for entrance into heaven. Only those who knew the corporate responses to the pr*yers seemed to be among the crowd. As they spoke, my friends and I pr*yed silently among them. The others, including the little girl’s mother, had remained behind. I learned later that it is the M* custom that women do not attend the burial site. Children are not held in as high regard as adults here, so a child’s burial is different.

After some time of pr*yer, the pr**st took a bunch of long leaves that had been wrapped together with twine and he sprinkled the hole with water from a basin another man held beside him. Then the basin was taken to the father who did the same. He was followed by, what seemed to be, others who felt lead to make the same offering. Two men then picked up the little body and gently placed it in the ground.....not even a wooden box did they have for her....just a white cloth between her and the ground. The pr**st took a handful of dirt and placed it on top. Others...again it looked like those who may have felt lead to do so...followed suit and placed a handful of dirt in the hole. Once everyone finished, several men made fast work of returning the dirt to the hole. It was done. And the images from this day are forever etched into my memory.

We returned to our sitting places on the wall. After a few minutes, a spokesman for the family thanked everyone for coming. Our presence, he said, gave great comfort to the family. We were thanked again and given the road. I found myself pr*ying that the Father would make His presence known to those we were leaving.

I believe this little girl is in heaven with J., but I was reminded today that a large majority of those around me will perish without ever having heard of the Hope and Salvation that He came to bring them. It is why we are here. May we be faithful stewards of the time He has given us here.