"Let the Children come to Me.."

Have you ever ached so deeply in your heart over something that you thought it would never beat again without the weighty pressure of a thousand bricks hanging over it? Have you ever been so desperate and helpless, searching for an answer but unable to do anything and then feeling responsible for invisible results? Have you ever seen children neglected and laying out to die as if nothing were wrong?

I will never forget January 28. Late in the afternoon, just as the sun was becoming more yellow and casting it's long beams across the waving palms and dusty roads, I took my motorbike out to a village on the outskirts of Khon Kaen with Jenny and Andreas. We were planning to visit a family that apparently had three sick children, an autistic mother and a manipulative grandmother. However, there were no preparation stories that could have truly made my eyes and heart ready for what I was to encounter. 

As I walked toward the home, I saw a tiny handmade hammock on the street in front of the house, dangling in the open air. Walking closer, I saw an awkward hand reaching out and then heard the saddest moaning come up from a little three year old boy. His face lit up when he saw me but there was such a desperation in his body. He didn't even know how to lift up his head and when I reached for his hand, his unused and untrained crippled fingers couldn't even grip my touch. He laid there with only a sheer, red, sleeveless shirt covering his body and his skeleton-like bottom settled on the blackened fabric from all the waste he's been laying in for who knows how long. Tears immediately pierced my eyes but I choked them back, understanding that I was probably the only person to love on him and not wanting that precious moment to be soaked with sadness, so I smiled and stroked his face as he foamed at the lips and tensed his body like he wanted to get up and run, saying "hello handsome" in the sweetest tone I could manage while watching his eyes glitter to the attention. Other local village kids ran around, trying to steal my focus but I could hardly notice them. They even came up and shouted angrily at the boy in the hammock like he was some stray dog or inhumane nuisance. Was it always like that?

I stood, bracing myself, and entered further into the home. There was another hammock in the entrance, cradling a bundle of such fragile bones that I thought they would snap if I even tried to hold them. An eight year old boy fidgeted inside, trapped not only in the fabric of his resting place but also by the infant-like form of his body that had never been given the chance to grow beyond tiny whimpers, a limp neck and clenched fists. His eyes were big and screaming, "Help me! Please save me from this hell and give me hope!"

Next to him sat his autistic mother with her third child crying in her arms. He didn't cry typical childish tears for food or pacifiers though. His cry was painful through his yellow-like skin and blue shirt which had turned a brown color on top from vomit and drool. As his mother smiled for my photos, naive to the state of life she or her family was in due to her own childlike and autistic mind, he hung half naked from her arms. I was shocked. Every fiber of my being wanted to take those children, hold them, teach them to walk, sing to them when they cry, kiss their wounded souls. All I could do though was weep. And I did. 

I don't know how to end this post other than to say "to be continued.." Please pray that the heart of the family will soften and they will recognize that these children need immediate help. The mother and grandmother both suffer from mental illnesses and the father is too controlled by them to step up and do anything about the children. 

The Bible says, "from the mouth of infants I have ordained My praises.."

This boy is eight years old..