September/October 2000

A Change of Heart

by Terri Lee Nelson

Butterflies worked their way into my chest as the bus snaked around the mountain roads. Everywhere I looked I could see God's work in beautiful scenery -- jagged mountain peaks with lush green plants growing tall from the volcanic soil of Ecuador.

As the bus lurched to a stop, people were lined up waiting for us to arrive, each with a physical need uniquely their own. A prayer welled up from deep within my soul. I wanted to help with their physical needs -- who wouldn't, when you saw the desperate conditions in which they lived.

I also longed for five minutes alone with God. Our mission team was great, but with more than twenty-five people it was sometimes hard to find time alone with God. I wanted to commit the day to the Lord, to pray for those I would come in contact with during the course of my day, and presently, for how my head and stomach seemed to be swimming away from me. Unfortunately, I had a bad case of motion sickness thanks to the rough mountain roads we had driven over to arrive in Jamie Roldos, an impoverished barrio in the Andes Mountains overlooking the capital, Quito.

Someone must have alerted Phil Beshany, the doctor from Jacksonville, North Carolina, because he came back to my seat as others were leaving the bus. "Terri, why don't you just lie down in the back of the bus for a bit? I'm sure you will feel better soon," he said. Starting to protest against his advice I shook my head, but he said, "We still have to unload the bus and get set up, so take all the time you need." I nodded in defeat. He sounded just like my own father, so kind and compassionate.

Suddenly alone on the bus, I slowly made my way to the back seat and collapsed. Tears filled my eyes, and I quickly brushed them away. I should have quit watching the scenery out my window when the butterflies first started dancing in my stomach, but I didn't want to miss a single thing from this unique experience. I didn't want to be stuck on this old bus feeling sick and sorry for myself. But, for the next fifteen minutes or so, that is just what I did.

With my tears finally spent, I lay down to rest. Through waves of nausea, I prayed. "Dear God, please relieve these waves of nausea quickly so I can get back on my feet again -- please! I feel miserable, but I know that some here are feeling worse than me. How selfish I am. Forgive me, Lord. I know that you will watch over those two special girls, you know the ones I mean -- the one the first day who was a victim of incest from an older cousin and the one dressed in pink from yesterday that had to deal with similar troubles. My heart cries out for them.

"I pray you will gather them closer to you, protect them, and please, don't let them be hurt anymore. Also, even though this is selfish, please don't let me have to deal with those circumstances again, I don't think my heart could stand another trial of that magnitude. Please keep my little boys safe, let them have a good week back home. Please forgive my grumbling and complaining. May your will be done."

The bus jarred, and I woke with a start, mad at myself for having actually fallen asleep. It was 9:30, and the clinic would be buzzing with people. I cautiously sat up, expecting the nausea but found none. I whispered my thanks and ran inside, anxious to make up for the lost time.

I quickly organized my cubicle so I could start seeing patients. My sparsely furnished cubicle consisted of two skinny wooden benches, a chair and a large window sill that I put my medical supplies on. When I was ready, I went to find Andrea, my teenage interpreter from Quito, and of course, to find my first set of patients for the day.

Two little girls, sisters, with their jet black hair and doe eyes looked shyly at me as they entered my cubicle. Their complaints were few -- a stomachache from worms they thought. They also wanted children's vitamins, a very common request the past few days. After the modest exam, I asked through Andrea if there was anything else. Each quietly shook their head, no. When I told them they could go to the pharmacy the older of the two sisters looked devastated.

"God, what am I missing here?" I prayed to myself as I sat back down, looking hard into those beautiful brown eyes. All I saw was fear. "Oh God, please, not again." Suddenly, as though a blindfold was lifted, I saw the look I had seen on two other girls over the past two days. I decided it was best to question each girl alone. I sent the younger one to sit outside my cubicle, the older one looked at me with tears beading up in her eyes.

Through the interpreter, my questions and her answers started. "Why are you so sad?" I asked, not sure if I was ready for what I felt was coming. Through tears she said, "My mom makes me work."

"What sort of work do you have to do?" I asked. Avoiding my eyes, she looked down at her feet and said, "She makes me clean for many people." I looked at Andrea, who looked just as surprised as I did with that answer. Touching the girl's hand, I told her that I also had done those tasks as a child, but I didn't cry about them. Then holding her hand in mine, I asked her if someone was mean to her when she worked. The tears flowed quicker as she nodded her head, yes.

"Will you trust me to help make it better?" I asked. Again, she nodded her head, yes. For the next ten minutes I just hugged her, talking softly to her, even though I knew she didn't understand my words. Then, through Andrea, I told her what I suspected, and again she shook her head, yes. As her body trembled with this secret confession, I let my tears flow freely, too.

I gently rubbed her cheek with my hand as we spoke. My heart was in one big knot. I couldn't understand how a mother could make her two beautiful daughters, who were only six and nine years old, work as prostitutes. Through our tears, all the details came out. She said her younger sister also had to do that, but doubted she would acknowledge it.

When our eyes could no longer cry, I told her I needed to examine her to make sure she didn't have an infection. Being as gentle as possible, I did a visual exam. It was evident that she had been violated many times. Thankfully, no signs of infection were noted.

After her exam was done, I gave her a special toy -- a large beanie baby that had been donated -- and I gave her another hug. Hand in hand, we walked outside. She needed someone who spoke her language and knew her country's customs to deal with this situation. We found the pastor of the church we had attended in Quito. After explaining the situation, she hugged the girl and took her hand. I went back into my cubicle ready for the next round -- dealing with the younger sister.

Her eyes were downcast, her bot-tom lip quivered, and she was having a hard time keeping the tears at bay. I wasn't getting anywhere with my questions. I finally told her I needed to examine her like I did her sister to make sure she didn't have an infection in her private area. Her tears began to flow, and she nodded her head. She also said she was very sore, pointing down to her privates, but refused to say why. I did a quick visual exam. She had also been violated many times, but unlike her sister, she had a raw private area and a bad infection.

After the exam, I explained that I needed to see the doctor and get her some medicine to make her bottom feel better. I quickly left and found Phil. I told him the situation, and he was as troubled as I was. I felt a rage within me I had never felt before, and I confided in him that if I saw the girls' mom, I didn't know if I could control myself. Thankfully, God knew how this would affect me, because the one who brought the girls to the clinic was their grandmother. She was a calm, gentle lady whose love for the girls was very obvious.

Phil ordered an injection of Rocephin as well as oral antibiotics. I asked Molly Ketner, our triage nurse, if she would give the shot and let me just hug this little girl. She agreed, and we came back into the room. Explaining what we needed to do was hard. I found the prettiest doll buried in our bag of toys and gave it to her. She clutched the doll to her chest as I drew her into my arms. I held her close as she received the shot. The tears flowed again, and she clung to me for a long time.

I carefully brushed her bangs from her eyes -- those eyes that were filled with anguish. My heart was breaking. I reluctantly let go of her, wishing I could keep her in my protective embrace. I took her back to her sister, knowing that they would hear God's word and receive something I couldn't give them.

Heading back toward my cubicle, I longed for a hug from my own children. My mind struggled with this unfortunate situation. "How can I be thankful in all things as the Bible says? I know I don't need to be thankful for what happened to them, but thankful that they came for help. The youngest one is the same age as Thomas, my youngest son. It makes me mad that someone who should love them would send them out to be hurt so badly."

I really needed another quiet time with God -- my head was full of questions. I went into an empty cubicle that was being set up for lunch. I lay down, thankful that I could shut my eyes in silence. Soon, the little room was filled with hungry workers.

Getting up, I headed outside. I stayed outside in the cool breeze, letting my mind heal from this morning's experience. I walked over to the fence that encircles the small church we were working in. Most of the people waiting outside the fence would never make it inside to receive care -- physical or spiritual. I wanted to help them all. If only the day would last until each one was seen! I got my camera and started to take pictures of those patiently waiting. Not a harsh word was uttered during the long wait. No matter how long we worked, people just kept coming.

Finally, I felt refreshed and headed back to see as many people as possible this day. It really helped me to observe how beautiful these people were. Even though they had no "things," not like I have "things," they seemed to have a peace that comes only from God. I will never understand why, of all the providers in our mission team, I was the one to examine and uncover the secrets of those little girls. But God knows why he had me see them and why my heart felt like it was going to burst with sadness.

"God, I know you will watch over them when I am gone. You know what will happen in each of their days and nights. I trust you, Lord, for only you can help take away their hurt. Only you can give them the true joy that a child should have. Only you can heal them. Please bring them to you so they will know you, too. Help me, Lord, since I can't understand this frustrating ordeal, have peace about it.

Eventually I went back in, feeling God's peace renewed in me, giving me a fresh vigor for the day. I was ready for whatever came my way.

Before I went back to work, I received the most joyous news. "Your little girls," one of my co-workers said with a smile on her face, "prayed before they left, and the pastor will follow up with them when we are gone."

With a changed heart, I went back to doing what I knew I should have been doing the whole time -- following where God would lead me and knowing that, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." 

Terri Lee Nelson is a registered nurse who lives in Minnesota.

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