"To be alive at all is to have scars."

 - Winter of Our Discontent, John Steinbeck

Boy a lot I could talk about right now. A strange few days have come and gone.

I volunteered to head to our big base in South Sudan in a place called Yei, to help prepare for our first annual SP Sudan ministry conference. We flew all of our expat and many national staff to Yei, for three days of spiritual refueling, good food, and a break from the bush that many probably needed.

For me it was three days of chaos, as I carried a fair share of the burden of hosting and managing details. I spent most of my waking hours on my feet, keeping an eye on our water supplies, making coffee, arranging accommodations and bedding, so on and so forth. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, while thoroughly wearing myself out.

Friday afternoon, the final of three days of the conference things took a turn. It became one of those days... One of those days that tend to stick with you for a long time. I've had two others like this. 

The first was in Bolivia in 2004. Two small boys sat beside me in church. The older held the younger's head in his lap and swatted flies away from the untreated sores all over his scalp. They were dirty and disheveled, poorer than the others in a poor country. As they walked off, our missionary host told me there was nothing we could do for them right then. I cried and tried to understand. That day changed the course of my life.

The second was 2007 my first month in Sudan. After three or so rough days out in the bush, me and Pastor Morris Kartena arrived a village by foot, because our vehicle couldn't make it past a river. I was exhausted and wanted to finish our work so I could go "home" to our tent and drink a coke. Instead we found a woman with cerebral malaria, unresponsive and dying as the village waited for the end. I still hate myself for the five minutes it took me to act. But we carried her to our truck 15 minutes away and started the three hour drive to the hospital. I spent the whole ride racked by anxiety, not sure if I was doing the right thing by abandoning the job I was hired to do, not sure if we would make it in time, not sure if I was killing her as the car bounced along the rocky and rutted roads. After we got her to the hospital and checked in, I called my mom and wept. That day I realized that life is not what I thought it was. Two days later I received word that the woman had died.

Then there was last Friday. I grabbed a truck to drive our pilots who'd just arrived to their guesthouse a quarter mile away. I saw a boy bleeding in the road, covered in dirt. I was told he'd been there for a few hours, and had "falling down disease". Code for epilepsy. He was sitting up but unresponsive. I sent word for our nurse Heather, dropped off the pilots and returned. I helped hold him as Heather began tending his wounds and sores. He cried in pain and tried to hit Heather, not understanding that we were there to help. 

And the moment of decision came. What could we do? Bandage him and leave him beside the road? Take him to the police, where they would put him in a cell and hold him til his family claimed him? If he has a family that is. If we took him to the hospital, we also needed to provide him with food, bedding, and someone to help him go to the bathroom and to bathe him. We couldn't adopt him for life, but what other solution was there? And again the same feeling of helplessness took hold, as on those other days. I could not fathom the hopelessness that is this boy's life. The worst part is this:  the easiest thing to do is to walk away and wash our hands of it, and this is tempting. Don't let the pain in. Out of sight, out of mind. Leave it and go back to a life of comfort. Ignorance is bliss. 

But that's wrong, it can't be right, it can't be morally permissible. All the boy needed is love. And care. And medicine. And family. Who can provide it. Who can care for him. Stream of consciousness. We can throw money at the situation. But for how long? Forever? And that is the easiest thing to give. What about the time, the love, the daily effort. In a country with no safety net, he will slip through the cracks. The hospital has no answer, the police have no answer.

What of the church. The local church is our only outlet. But are they willing, are they able, do they have that kind of love to give. But that was our solution. Pastor Simon who works with us found a woman, Rose. We bathed him and gave him clothes to replace his filthy rags. Took him to the hospital and took care of the initial physical needs. Found out he speaks a Ugandan language a little bit, though is probably mentally unwell along with epileptic. His name is Peter. We left him with Rose, who committed to staying with him as we search for his family. Who may or may not exist. Who may or may not care for him, even if they do. And I don't know what happens from here. I didn't go and see him yesterday. I don't know if I'm going to go right now. But I think I need to. And if he has no family then I pray to God that the local church rises to the occasion and provides a home for this boy, whose needs are well beyond those of a regular child. None of the orphanages are equipped to handle him, which leaves few options.

God help us, this is a cruel world.