Bethany Kids

Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them,
for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven."
Matthew 19:14

Up through the bowels of the hospital and down a long, lighted hallway is the pediatric ward at Kijabe Hospital, called Bethany Kids.  Early Wednesday mornings I cross the road outside our gate and then the lower parking lot and head there.

Most of  the little ones admitted here have a serious, life-threatening disease or have been in a horrible accident or are waiting for (or recovering from) surgery.

Passing down the rows of beds you will see lethargic babies with hydrocephalus (enlargement of the head due to water in the brain) and other deformities, others with scary diseases like malaria and meningitis, children with metal pins protruding from their heavy casts because they have been hit by cars or pikis (motorcycles), and burn victims covered with rolls of white bandages. 

Oddly, there is very little crying. Mostly there are only the sounds of mothers talking to each other and the occasional news report on the TV.

Each mama stays with her child in the same bed. She feeds him and changes him and washes his few clothes. Despite the differences in tribe or nationality or socio-economic status, there is fellowship and community. I don’t think there is a greater bond between two mamas than the pain of having hurting children. 

I enter quietly and begin going from bed to bed greeting each parent in Kiswahili. Usually I sit or kneel next to them and ask a few questions—what is your name, where is your home, is this your first born or do you have other children and finally, may I pray for you? 

Then I hold a hand (or two) and we lift up the worries and fears weighing on our hearts. Sometimes we have no language in common except the words “Jesus” and “amen.” But it is enough. And as we humbly pray together I can sense the overwhelming presence of the almighty, compassionate Lord. And in that moment the hospital ward becomes a sacred, holy place.

For some of these children the future is bright—the bones will heal or the scars from surgery will fade. But for others the outcome is unclear or even too clear. In Kenya there is little or no help or support for families with mentally or physically handicapped children. Babies and children die, parents and families grieve.

Yet today when I turn to leave there are many asantes (thank yous) and Mungu akubariki (God bless you.)

Na wewe, mama. You, as well.

- Kathy