Ashamed to Complain

“What is man, that You are mindful of him?”  (Psalm 8: 4a)

Tonight we read these words at our praise team rehearsal.   Indeed, and good question, and all that . . . Why should the Lord of Heaven and Earth care about ME?   And yet, if we are honest with God and ourselves, we do feel the tiniest bit worthy of His attention.   We are still hanging onto finding worth in being “good people.”   Surely He has noticed.

How do we know that we haven’t given up on the “good people” idea yet?   Because we complain.   If we truly felt unworthy of the goodness of God, then we would not complain.

Although I usually complain quietly, inside my head,  that doesn’t make it holier, according to the Sermon on the Mount.    Right now, in this moment, I am thoroughly ashamed of every single time I have ever complained, and I’m going to tell you why.

During the last couple of monthly leadership meetings, the daycare director has talked about a 2-yr-old girl who sometimes comes to daycare bearing signs of physical abuse.   A certain process is followed when this happens, but as is often the case in our neighborhood, if a gang member is involved, then the process becomes more “delicate.”    We were told at the meetings that the girl’s mother is eighteen years old, and she has a one-year-old son whose father is the gang member with whom they all live.   He doesn’t care about the little girl, so when he and the mom get into fights, he also hits the little girl.   We have been prayerfully following this situation as the process has been delicately followed.

So today I was with the Tennessee Medical Brigade at our ministry site in Flor del Campo, and I asked to see these children.   As it turned out, they were right in front of me with their young mother, Enma.   I am always surprised to discover that “evil mothers” look so normal, and in this case, very much like our teenagers at the children’s home.

As Lou Anne was examining the children, who had to be won over with many stickers and smiles, I was chatting with Enma.   This is what I learned:  At age five, she was dropped off at Social Services, and that was her final contact with family.   At age thirteen, she ran away from this center, which is completely understandable to anyone who has been there.  I would run away, too.   Since she has no family support, she ran into the arms of delinquents, who are always ready to exploit lost souls.  We “good people” do not like to get involved with young people like Enma; they might rock our lives too much.   “Bad people” figure out some way to use these wandering children to their advantage.

Anyway, Enma lives with a violent gang member and his family, none of whom care about her or her little girl.  They like the little boy because he is their own blood. 

Maybe, like me, you are thinking the story couldn’t be much worse.  I was already feeling sore in my heart when Enma showed us a growth on her arm and revealed that it’s malignant cancer.  She presented test results which report that she also has a cancerous nodule in one lung.   She was diagnosed in February.   However, the public hospital which tested and diagnosed her does not have any cancer medication, so they encouraged her to come back in June.   In the meantime, they said, they could amputate her arm.  

“I decided not to do that (amputate the arm), but I have been feeling pretty anxious,” Enma offered, “Because I know it (the cancer) is eating me up inside, and nothing is being done to stop it.   And I’m worried about my children, because I am all they have.”

Again, she is EIGHTEEN years old.  She has NO family support.  

I asked her if she had ever accepted Christ.   The tiniest hint of hardness came into her eyes, but she nodded yes.   No doubt she has been wondering where He has been all her life.   We “good people” go through bad times, but most of us can’t say that our entire life has been a bad time. Even Job had some good memories to fall back on. 

After she left, I took a stroll around our soccer court/medical clinic so that I could ask Jesus what we could do to show her His love.   Just that brief sketch of her life story had plummeted my heart into my socks.  

I wrote down the name of the private cancer treatment center here and asked one of our pastoral workers, Jenny, to call them to see how people get in to be seen.   By the end of the afternoon, our staff had arranged for someone to take Enma there TOMORROW for an updated diagnosis/prognosis.   I am very anxious to hear what they have to say about her condition, and once again I am overwhelmed by the prompt kindness of our beleaguered staff. 

As Lou Anne was examining the children, who had to be won over with many stickers and smiles, I was chatting with Enma.   This is what I learned:  At age five, she was dropped off at Social Services, and that was her final contact with family.   At age thirteen, she ran away from this center, which is completely understandable to anyone who has been there.  I would run away, too.   Since she has no family support, she ran into the arms of delinquents, who are always ready to exploit lost souls.  We “good people” do not like to get involved with young people like Enma; they might rock our lives too much.   “Bad people” figure out some way to use these wandering children to their advantage.

Anyway, Enma lives with a violent gang member and his family, none of whom care about her or her little girl.  They like the little boy because he is their own blood. 

Maybe, like me, you are thinking the story couldn’t be much worse.  I was already feeling sore in my heart when Enma showed us a growth on her arm and revealed that it’s malignant cancer.  She presented test results which report that she also has a cancerous nodule in one lung.   She was diagnosed in February.   However, the public hospital which tested and diagnosed her does not have any cancer medication, so they encouraged her to come back in June.   In the meantime, they said, they could amputate her arm.  

“I decided not to do that (amputate the arm), but I have been feeling pretty anxious,” Enma offered, “Because I know it (the cancer) is eating me up inside, and nothing is being done to stop it.   And I’m worried about my children, because I am all they have.”

Again, she is EIGHTEEN years old.  She has NO family support.  

I asked her if she had ever accepted Christ.   The tiniest hint of hardness came into her eyes, but she nodded yes.   No doubt she has been wondering where He has been all her life.   We “good people” go through bad times, but most of us can’t say that our entire life has been a bad time. Even Job had some good memories to fall back on. 

After she left, I took a stroll around our soccer court/medical clinic so that I could ask Jesus what we could do to show her His love.   Just that brief sketch of her life story had plummeted my heart into my socks.  

I wrote down the name of the private cancer treatment center here and asked one of our pastoral workers, Jenny, to call them to see how people get in to be seen.   By the end of the afternoon, our staff had arranged for someone to take Enma there TOMORROW for an updated diagnosis/prognosis.   I am very anxious to hear what they have to say about her condition, and once again I am overwhelmed by the prompt kindness of our beleaguered staff. 

When Enma said that she was worried about her children, I assured her that she is not alone:   “We are your family.  We are going to walk with you through this.   And your children will NEVER go to Social Services.”  That’s all I could promise, but I think I saw a tiny glimmer of hope.

All day I have been thinking about Enma, praying for Enma.  Tonight I texted Enma that we would be praying for her tomorrow, that God loves her, that we care about her.   She responded, “Thank you very much, Suzy.  I’m very thankful to God that he put me in your path because I only have God and all of you.  You gave me hope in my heart.  You can’t imagine my fear about leaving my children alone.  Thank you.” 

As I drove home from praise team practice tonight, I prayed, “LORD, I know you probably cannot keep me from ever complaining again, but please please please, fill me with shame when I do.  I have NOTHING to complain about.” 

At the end of praise practice, I shared the story about Enma with the young people in the group.   We prayed together for her and her babies.   I sensed that they also felt that their troubles had shrunk considerably in the light of Enma’s gigantic challenges.  

Please pray for this youngster and her little ones.   Who is Enma that God should be mindful of her?:  He has crowned her with glory and honor (Psalm 8: 5b), and not only is she “a little lower than the heavenly beings,” she might just be a notch above some of us “good people” in His eyes.   Yes, we are all equal before the throne of grace, but there is a noticeable compassion in Scripture towards “the least of these,” and it is not hard to think that maybe Jesus loves more where His people love less.  

Wondering if I will ever stop complaining,

Suzy McCall