The Fruits of Acceptance

"Acceptance doesn’t mean giving in or giving up. It means giving yourself completely to God’s plan for your life, trusting that He always wants what’s best for you, and will help you meet every challenge with courage.”

~ Anonymous

***

It is six in the evening. The predictable darkness of the night has just descended over our small riverside community of Santa Clotilde. Meanwhile, electricity’s arrival is announced by the eagerly anticipated ignition of the pueblo’s untiring generator. In an instant darkness is overcome by flocks of fluorescent light bulbs peppering the nocturnal landscape and shepherding people among the town’s precarious streets and walkways. The heat of the day is replaced with a cool, though sometimes muggy, cloak of relief. And the silence of the jungle is drowned out by the sounds of an invisible but perceivable electrical current made known in the lively, monotonous cumbia beat blasting from speakers near and far. As I take in my predictable and familiar surroundings, my evening stroll is soon interrupted by an unpredictable sound. Walking by the hospital, a mother’s cry dawns on my ears.

I enter the hospital and one quick glance from the nurse confirms the direction in which the grieving mother stoops over the still body of her child. My initial response is one of fear and doubt. Do I go to her? Will I quickly share my condolences with her and then leave her to grieve? Or do I mourn alongside her? I won’t know the right words to say…the right gestures to make. What if I make things worse for her? How can I possibly help at a time like this? Distracted by these thoughts flowing in and out of my mind, one look at the mother is sufficient to momentarily wipe away all my fear and doubt- my resolute feet begin to slowly move my hesitant mind and body forward.

Her daughter was ten months old. She suffered from the rare genetic disorder, Trisomy 18, more commonly known as Edward’s Syndrome. In their natural course, about 30% of these pregnancies will result in live birth and only 5-10% of children will survive beyond one year of age. Most children will have multiple bodily defects and health issues ranging from a small face and jaw, failure to grow, and debilitating heart problems. Taking these stark statistics and difficult realities into consideration, upwards of 75% of the lives of unborn children affected by Trisomy 18 worldwide will be electively terminated during pregnancy.

As her healthcare providers, we are aware of these statistics and these heartbreaking realities. Whenever the mother entered the hospital with her daughter in her arms, this child’s grim prognosis was always on the forefront of our minds. Our habitual response was a well-meaning act of concern, often centered on a carefully calculated reality that we ourselves could not fully understand. Her response was different- that of a mother to her beloved child- centered on the selfless love and sacrifice innate to their mother-daughter bond, a reality that only she knew and understood. That night of her child’s death, she shared with me a glimpse into that reality. It was only through sitting with her and placing my hand on her back that I could feel her pain. It was only through listening to her cries of sorrow that I could hear her suffering. It was only through watching her clothe her child one last time in the most beautiful dress and mismatched socks she found in her bag that I could see her love. It was only through prayer that our hope in this child’s new beginning could be truly known.

I am reminded of all of the people with whom this mother and daughter crossed paths during their short but impactful nineteen-month earthly journey together. A journey that started with a physically inseparable bond only visible to the outside world in the form of a mother’s growing stomach. A journey that took them from Santa Clotilde to Lima for a life-saving plastic surgery so the child could eat normally. A journey that brought them back home to Santa Clotilde where I was blessed to walk alongside them as the child’s earthly pilgrimage came to an end. A journey so unique and so difficult that I will never fully understand its depth and breadth of joy, pain, and sacrifice.

In the end, I am compelled to accept this mother’s witness to truth which was never void of love and her witness to love which was never void of truth: that this child’s life was worth living, and that this mother’s will made her child’s living possible. In her carefully-tended garden of acceptance, the fruits of truth and love bloomed unhindered. And as I walk back home from the hospital, a great and natural luminescence more powerful than any fluorescent light bulb invented by man makes its presence known. The moon in all its splendor slowly rises upward, casting its reflection on the vastness of the Napo River. I am reminded that no amount of darkness can put out the light.

“Do not accept anything as the truth if it lacks love. And do not accept anything as love which lacks truth. One without the other becomes a destructive lie.”

~ St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein)

Hardly a week goes by without seeing his smiling face. Some weeks I see him getting his blood pressure measured as he awaits his monthly office visit. Other weeks I see him walking around town running errands at the local shops and outdoor market. Every once in a while I find him playing ball with the kids or quietly strolling down the street enjoying his own company. Most Sundays I see him at Mass joyfully singing and playing the tambourine in the church choir. Occasionally he can be seen dressed in his altar server robe as he helps bring the real presence of the Word of God to his community in the form of unleavened bread. And in all of these occasions he is seen with a never-fading smile. Only once recently did I witness the absence of a smile on his face when he was hospitalized for treatment of viral pericarditis, acute inflammation around his heart. But not even an acute hospital stay could extinguish the fire that is his joy.

Just as his genetics are visibly different, so too are his joy and love of life even more noticeably distinct. Though his human body lacks certain faculties, his being is whole. In his physicality, he experiences human pain and suffering as he sits in his hospital bed with the terrible cough that has kept him up all night. In his psychological expression, he shares his love in the gentle embrace of a hug whenever we cross paths and brings joy to others with his almost-permanent and infectious smile. In his social reach he relies on others for many functions of daily living, but others also depend on him. In his spirituality, he bears witness to the simplicity and universality of reasoned faith and the potentially dangerous complexity and egocentrism of a faithless pursuit of knowledge. And in his whole person one sees more clearly the soul within his body, a body less tainted by false or superficial appearances and less bound by fleeting worldly attachments.

His name in Spanish means “anointed.” Though some may merely see a man with Down Syndrome, I have come to see a person chosen and set apart for a specific purpose. And as I recall him sitting next to me at Mass this past Sunday, looking at me with his joyful smile, and singing at the top of his lungs uttering words I could not fully comprehend, I am grateful for the fearless love that brought him into this world. Witnessing the fruits of this man’s words and actions in me and in others, I am compelled to accept the truth: God has a purpose for his life.

“There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear…”

~ 1 John 4:18

***

Though life can be busy here in the jungle, I am very grateful for the opportunities outside of hospital work in which I have been invited to participate.

An Unbalanced Force

Christ has no body but yours,

No hands, no feet on earth but yours,

Yours are the eyes with which he looks

Compassion on this world,

Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,

Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.

Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, yours are the eyes, you are his body.

Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

~ St. Teresa of Avila

Though I never anticipated revisiting the subject of physics after that grueling summer course in college, I have recently been reminded of Newton’s First Law of Motion and how it continues to play out in my life. However, instead of hypothetical problems and lifeless formulas consisting of letters and numbers, I am confronted with real-life situations and living variables made of persons, places, and things. And in light of this dynamic physical and metaphysical universe, physics takes on a whole new meaning.

For those of you who also threw your physics book out the window after the last day of class and don’t remember, Newton’s “Law of Inertia” is often summarized as: an object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.” Most of us know inertia is real- that standstill resulting from a setback, that paralyzing force designed to hold us down and prevent us from encountering the unbalanced Force that will free us from inertia’s lifelessness. At the same time, the uninspiring and monotonous movement and lack of direction of “going through the motions” places us on a never-ending and destination-less trajectory of hopelessness. It is only in letting go of ourselves that we come to know and love more fully this unbalanced Force that changes our speed, our direction, and ultimately our destination.

*** 

Christ has no body…but yours.

One morning a call comes in from one of the rural health posts six hours up-river. Time already has us falling behind. A middle-aged woman recently turned mother has been bitten by a venomous snake. Though she was bitten yesterday evening, she only now was able to find her way to the health post. The time gap grows even wider. The health post has no snake anti-venom and they request we bring some vials to give her as we pick her up to bring her to the hospital in Santa Clotilde. Shortly after, we set out on the “hidroambulancia,” or the ambulance boat. As we pass miles of lush forest canopy and traverse the winding Napo River at a pace of 40 km/hour, no amount of engine revving can make up for the lost time. An unbalanced Force continues moving us forward despite the opposing current of the river. In passing each riparian community along the way, I am reminded of all of the patients who have traveled this same path in hope of healing. Six hours later we arrive in the small town of Angoteros.

When the boat finally comes to a stop I am told the border with Ecuador lies just a few hours away. But my geographical curiosity is suddenly overcome with worry as a group of men run down the hill carrying a motionless woman on a stretcher. We are informed that she has been vomiting blood and is no longer responsive. A quick check of her vital signs tells us she is “stable.” However, “stability” takes on an entirely different meaning on a narrow speed boat in the middle of the jungle five hours away from the nearest hospital. Equipped with two liters of normal saline, four vials of anti-venom, and one vial of adrenaline, we set off on the journey back to Santa Clotilde- no continuous heart monitor, no laboratory tests, no stocked pharmacy, no blood bank, no heart defibrillator. As night begins to fall, so does my hope in her survival. With a spotlight in one hand and the steering wheel of the boat in the other, our driver skillfully navigates the now imperceptible river which seems to blend seamlessly with the pitch black of the night sky. We arrive at the port at Santa Clotilde and work our way up to the hospital. It’s not long before the nurse finds our patient pulseless. My eyes sweep the room just long enough to know that words are not necessary to communicate what we all know to be true. Her lifeless body, the troubled face of her husband, the bewildered expression of the nurse, and the silent posture of one of our medical volunteers say it all…

Inertia quickly breeds sentiments of failure, anger, and frustration. What could I have done differently? Why does the government not provide sufficient amounts of anti-venom for the rural health posts where people continue to die from life-threatening and time-sensitive snake bites? Does the government not care about the most vulnerable of its people?

As these thoughts and feelings collide violently in my mind, an unbalanced Force makes itself known in a kind and gentle peace. The priest enters the room, rests his hand on the woman’s forehead, and begins to pray- as the woman receives her final blessing on this earth, my heart falls deep in my chest and my tears begin to flow over the brim of a small and fragile vessel. I am reminded that though her body has died, faith is still alive.

No hands…but yours.

The following week I find myself walking alongside one of our hospital custodians as we visit a family in the nearby neighborhood. During the month of May in which we celebrate and honor Mary, our mother, members of the Church go to a different house each evening to pray the Rosary. Gathered in candlelight around a visible and tangible sign of our heavenly Mother, we come together in prayer and song in the presence of the unbalanced Force that unites us all.

And as I look around the room I see hands of different ages, shades, and sizes gently holding each passing bead. Hands that in themselves contain lifetimes of untold stories, all bearing witness to the one story we share in common. With our hands we are united by an unbalanced Force that moves each finger along the string of beads. After a time of prayer we finally come full circle- we are reminded of this Force that has no beginning and no end.

No feet…but yours.

A few weeks before, the often quiet streets come alive with the sound of the high school’s marching band. As the band descends toward the river to welcome our visitors, a transparent case containing a relic of blessed Luigi Tezza emerges from the boat. In a procession through the town, the treasured remains of a man who dedicated his life carrying for the sick in Lima bears witness to the life of service in which we are called to participate. The visit of the “Apostle of Lima” connects us to our Peruvian religious sisters’ foundational past and to our collective future as partners in caring for the people of the Napo.

In learning of this prospective saint’s earthly life, the hospital and the community are inspired to follow in his footsteps. We are reminded that to be a saint is not to live an extraordinary life of our own creation, but to live our ordinary lives according to the will of our Creator. And when we gaze upon the small fragment of this man’s foot with reverence and conviction we recognize that he, too, walked this very earth, an earth often too weak and too broken to resist the hopeless inertia that stands in its cyclical path. Carried forward by the same unbalanced Force that moved him, we are reminded that we do not walk alone.

No eyes…but yours.

Another rural health campaign brings us to the river community of Diamante Azul. Here a group of three physicians, a licensed nurse, a midwife, a counselor, and a religious sister provide care and health education to a group of about one hundred patients. In some rural communities, a whole year goes by without a visit from a nurse or doctor. The long chain of patients lining up outside is a testament to this reality as patients take advantage of the opportunity to seek care for their long-neglected health problems. About halfway through our visit, a young girl walks through the door. The yellow of her eyes and the size of her stomach grab the attention of all in the room. Any hopeful momentum gained throughout the morning comes to a worrisome halt as we all come together to figure out how to care for the sickest patient of the day.

Further investigation reveals a spleen that stretches ten centimeters below her ribcage (a normal spleen generally does not extend below the ribcage) and on ultrasound, severely enlarged blood vessels threaten the entry to her liver. She suffers from an untreated disorder that has now caused a fatal liver disease with risk of bleeding from the engorged vessels in her body. Her grandfather tells us that years ago only days before she was scheduled to receive a liver transplant that would have potentially saved her life, she was abandoned by her parents, one of whom was her organ donor. Again, inertia eagerly invites us to anger, discouragement, and hopelessness. But with one look into this child’s eyes, a different Force invites us to action. Amidst the concern, uncertainty, and fear present in the superficial yellow of her eyes, a bright smile breaks through. And in the carefree smile of this child, an unbalanced Force makes known a deeper joy, security, and hopefulness. She and her grandfather join us on the boat ride back to Santa Clotilde, and inertia never enters our equation.

   

*** 

Though man discovered the “Law of Inertia,” he did not create it. And after witnessing all of the unbalanced manmade forces plaguing our world, I can only imagine where a manmade law of inertia would leave us- frozen still, weighed down, squeezed tight with no clear trajectory in sight. Fortunately, the “Law of Inertia” was instead created by One who has our common good in mind. We were never meant to stay put in our worldly comfort or in our worldly desolation. We were never meant to walk aimlessly in constant anxious motion. We were never meant to merely “go through the motions,” moving through life without momentum at a steady, unchanging pace. Instead, we were gifted an unbalanced Force. This unbalanced Force in our lives moves us forward, gives us hope, and is always and everywhere present. If only we open our eyes to see Him, our ears to hear Him, our hearts to feel Him, our minds to know Him, the lifeless force of inertia will never overcome His greater, life-giving Force. I wonder if its Creator knows the “Law of Inertia” by a different name: the law that guides the true motion of our body, our hands, our feet, and our eyes- this law that is the Way of Faith, Hope, and Love.