Peanut M&M's---

Today, three of my favorite gals and I headed off ship to enjoy a day in the sun before 2 of them leave this coming weekend. As we sat poolside with our sunscreen lathered on, books in hand, and hummus at side we began chatting. This story was told to me through my friend Beth who is amazingly wise and has such a heart for the Lord and her work. It brought such powerful emotion up in me, and I hope that you can feel the weight of her words and this beautiful story across the ocean. 

Mr. S that I told you about in the last post has been integrating fairly well to the D ward world. He most of the time just sits in his little area around his bed with his mom, and takes in the action with his big beautiful brown eyes. A few times he has crossed the ward to see what the commotion is on the other side of the wall, but for the most part stays to his own territory like a skittish little bird. Beth has been able to love him so well over the last few days, and has made some progress with him feeling comfortable. On Saturday she asked him if he would like to go upstairs to enjoy some fresh air with the other patients during our hospital wide Deck 7 time. To her disappointment he said No, but she understood his hesitation so she decided to see if he would consider going the next day after he built up a little more courage. Yes, he said, tomorrow he would go. Sunday afternoon rolled around and as it approached 230 she saw him hop into bed and pull the covers over his head. “Ohh no” she thought, she knew this tactic all to well. She saw straight through his teenage boy mind, and desperately wanted to change it. So instead of just letting him be a typical teenage boy she thought of a better plan. She went to her room and grabbed a bag of peanut M&M’s. She approached him and his mother holding the candy out like bait. She asked S if he was feeling up to going outside, and that if he was, he could share some candy with her. (What she also mentioned is that she was a tad concerned if he would be able to eat crunchy M&M’s with his tumor. But in her wonderful mind of a pediatric nurse, she remembered he had chewed a multivitamin that morning---so M&M’s should be just fine!) Quickly S looked from Beth, to his mom, to the M&M’s and back to Beth with a nervous look in his eyes. Beth says that Mom stood up instantly, as if to say “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get some candy!” To her joy, S decided to go also, but he took his piece of fabric along. She took them 4 flights of stairs up, out into the sunshine, and placed three chairs all in a row for them. She said he sat there for awhile, only eyes peering out of the cloth. Next, he started to take it down a bit after he realized no one was looking at him, and then a bit later after realizing there truly was no one there to shame him, the whole thing came down. So there they sat-- Beth, S, and his mom. The three of them in a little row, munching on M&M’s. They were sitting for a few minutes taking in the beautiful view, when our lady who had the basketball sized goiter removed picked up her chair, walked over to them carrying her drain, put it next to them and sat down without a word, staring off into the ocean. Next the man from bed four who just had the second part of his surgery to remove a large facial tumor did the same, he stood, hobbled over and sat down silently next to them, looking out onto the horizon. Next the two mommas from beds 9 and 13 came with their chairs, lugging their two year old boys alongside to sit in the row with the rest of their D ward family. A few more gathered, all without saying a word. All of them silently came, ready to support S, who had taken such a brave leap and came outside with the rest of them. In my mind I see them all, just sitting around him as if to say “you mess with him, you mess with all of us”. They all could have stayed away, but instead made the choice to move their chairs to make him feel welcome, loved, and supported. It’s such a beautiful picture of what community looks like here. S, who has been ridiculed and outcast for 3 years has spent 2 days in a tight living situation with 20 other people, and they are already in silent but powerful ways wrapping their loving arms around him. They each know his pain, know his struggle, and are there walking alongside him in it. I am just so thankful for what we have here, and know how rare it is. Never in the western world would you head into the hospital for an operation, sleep in the same room with 20-30 other people, all share one toilet, and leave with new friends-- stronger, encouraged, and maybe feeling your worth for the first time. This place is a constant wonderful reminder of God’s unfailing, unchanging, unending love for us. That he loves each of us,  knows our needs, and knows how to create little ways to make us all a comfortable place in his world---and sometimes it all starts with one bag of Peanut M&M’s.