How I hate the masks.  I’m talking about those medical masks that doctors often wear.  I’m a part of a ministry called, “Mother’s Care” of which I’m the only male.  They wondered aloud if changing the name would draw more guys in.  Did I have a problem with it?  I told them that I’m my own ministry, “Father’s Heart.”
     To recap, on Wednesdays, I go to the hospital with “the moms” to minister to abandoned babies.  Of course, you must wear the mask.  It’s to protect babies from your germs, and you from the babies’ germs, I suppose.  Honestly, we know the babies get each other’s germs all day long because of the obvious poor health care that exists in this hospital.  At least this way we know it’s not our fault.
     The downside, other than being uncomfortable, is that masks tend to de-humanize you.  Being a 6 foot 3 man scares some of the kids once in a while, but the blue mask makes it worse by taking away your comforting smile and facial expressions.
     I must confess that sometimes I’m a little intimidated myself by the little patients I visit.  Don’t get me wrong, changing diapers and getting baby puke down my lab coat is not a big deal.  Been there, done that.  But their conditions shake me up sometimes.  
     Marina is a good example.  She’s not really a candidate for adoption.  She’s all bones, pale skin, severe facial deformities, very little hair.  One hand is entirely wrapped up, I’m not sure why.  I’d guess that her mother was probably a pregnant drug user.  As a result, some things didn’t develop right, some things didn’t develop at all.
     Marina might be around two years old, she’s long enough I think.  On the day I went to pick her up she looked so frail.  It felt like she would crumble in my hands.  I could feel her backbone.  She does smile though and you can see a couple of teeth.
     I wondered if she could sense my timidity.  She lifted her arms when I went to pick her up; a very good sign.  Then I did what I normally do.  I held her against my chest and sang to her while I looked into her eyes.
     “Jesus… Jesus… Jesus… There’s just something about that name…”  That was the song that came out this time.  I sat in the plastic chair with her on my lap.  Sometimes, I even dance a little with the older ones.  You know, to that little Nutcracker song, and only when nobody’s watching.  But not Marina, I didn’t think she could handle too much.  
     My big hand dwarfed hers as I stroked her fingers and sang.  I noticed that she didn’t have any thumbs.  She used one finger like a thumb to latch around my hand.  I prayed my prayer of wavering faith, “It’s not really fair for her to start out this way, Lord.  Who’s going to look out for her?  What’s her future?”
     But I kept singing.  “Kings and kingdoms may all pass away…but there’s something…”  Marina looked at me, reached up her good hand and ripped the mask right off my face, keeping a tight hold on it.  She wanted to see my whole face.  She wanted to know where the singing was coming from.  She wanted to see the real me.
     “Thank you, Marina.”  I said and held her up to my scratchy cheek.  Inge says there’s more important things than germs.  I kept the mask off for her the rest of our time.  
I don’t always get answers to my prayers, but I’m glad I can go to God without a mask.  I don’t have to fake spirituality when it’s not there.  I like the guy in the Bible who said, “I do believe, help me in my unbelief.”  Jesus took care of him.  I can’t help but think about the masks we wear in front of each other, trying to be safe, trying to be cool.  Wearing if for “their own good.”  How I hate the masks.

¶ 2:25 PM

 Markus said...
Kathleen,

That encourages me to know that you were blessed enough to send it out.

Markus  

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