the face of AIDS

Etched in my memory are faces- the faces of women lying hopeless on their beds. They laid there, tormented by pain that would never be comforted and tortured by fears that would never be calmed. They laid there under the cover of dingy blankets in a ward that reeked with the unsettling stench of death and decay. A small group of us went from bed to bed, listening as each woman whimpered and whispered. They told us they were alone and afraid. We leaned in close over their listless bodies and prayed for each one. We prayed that the God of all comfort would draw near and make Himself known. We prayed that the Great Physician would intervene and bring healing to both body and soul. We left those ladies with some fruit and a gospel tract in their own tongue. But more than that, we left them in God's hands.

Etched in my memory is the face of a young boy suffering the consequences of someone else's sin. His room was lonely and cold. But the sickness couldn't hold his smile hostage. All we could offer that shy little guy was a small bag of sweets. He grabbed that little bag and held it close to his chest. It might as well have been Christmas! But just across the room in stark contrast to that lively little guy lay a lethargic little girl- too weak to move. It broke my heart to see someone so young suffer so much. In moments like those, prayer seems so futile. But it's moments like those that I have to remember that my God is a faithful Father and He calls His children to cast every care on Him in full assurance that He cares.

Etched in my memory is the face of an infant. Through big brown innocent eyes, that tiny little baby had already seen and experienced a fallen world. That child was already part of a reality that only exists in my nightmares. The desperate cries still ring in my ears. It doesn't seem fair does it?

Statistics became a reality when I saw their faces. AIDS takes the lives of about thousands of South Africans each day. Thousands of people facing an eternity somewhere. AIDS has a face. AIDS has a family. AIDS has a story. But who is listening?

I saw the face of AIDS at the government hospital we visited, but I saw the end result at a cemetary in Hammanskraal. Grave after grave gave testimony to destruction of that disease. Row upon row upon row of graves barely inches apart. Dozens of freshly dug graves will be filled by the weekend. Plots in South Africa are very different than the ones we have in the States. Mounds of dirt are outlined with small rocks and topped with dishes or jugs of water, nothing fancy, just graves. The people believe that when their loved ones awake from their sleep they will need food and water. Some "better off" people had granite tombstones like we would be more familiar with, but most had only a hand written marker giving testimony to a life. The lives of some were long but the majority lived only a handful of years, some just days. One area of this particular cemetary is dedicated to small children and babies. Those tiny little graves hold the remains of children who didn't live to be even as old as my nephew. Marked with baby bottles and teddy bears, those little graves are enough to make you cry.

One of the guys on my team noticed an aloe vera plant placed on top of a grave. It reminded him of the story of the rich man and Abraham. The rich man who had everything in this life had nothing in the next. He was in agony. He called for Abraham and pleaded for just one drop of water on his tongue to sooth his pain. But there was no relief. The suffering man then begged that someone would warn his brothers and spare them the same eternal torture. Oh, what people would do for a drop of aloe from that plant! I wonder how many of those souls would cry out and beg that someone warn their loved ones. So often I get wrapped up in my comfy cozy little world and forget that I have the good news of the Gospel. Millions around the world die everyday and many will face a Christless eternity in Hell. What am I doing to get the Word out?