By means of Timehop and Facebook Memories, we are able to view our past posts and pictures. Some parts we may not want to relive or even remember, but some are sweet and bring nostalgia. For me, this week has brought up the greatest week of my year, every year for the past four years.
Four years ago, I went on a mission trip to Jamaica for the first time. I had heard of the power this trip carried but I was nowhere near prepared for the immense joy and wonder I experienced. Four years ago, I met the most amazing man I think I'll ever have the pleasure of meeting. Mr. David was 94 at the time and both of his legs were amputated. His family had dropped him off at the infirmary seven months prior to our meeting, and then gone to the US. Talking with Mr. David, he told me stories from when he was in a gang, when he was too poor to afford shoes, but that he didn't have to worry about that anymore because he didn't have feet, and showed me a picture of his young granddaughter tucked in the book of Psalms in his weathered Bible. Although he had clearly been through great turmoil, Mr. David never showed any resentment, and served as the most raw example of God's love I'd experienced, even to this day. The infirmary was only down the street from the beautiful waters of St. Ann's Bay, but Mr. David had never seen the ocean. Until the third day I knew him. Myself and a couple of friends rolled his wheelchair down the dirt path straight to the water. I think because I've grown up near the beach, that maybe it's lost some of its wonder, because I was surprised at how Mr. David reacted. As we grew closer and closer to the water he became nervous and anxious, and when we arrived at the water, he was silent and cried. For an hour we just sat there watching the icy blue waves crash up onto the concrete, occasionally splashing us. I had never seen such joy. For awhile, Mr. David stayed silent. Until finally, he started singing Amazing Grace. What a true heart of God, in the midst of pain and strife, would praise Him. I sat in awe of Mr. David and his faith as he sat in awe of the masterpiece of God. Mr. David loved singing, so he continued singing "my Lord is sweet, my Lord is sweet, my Lord is sweet, my Lord is sweet." I have a recording of him singing on my phone that is one of my favorite treasures. That same trip, I was baptized. It was because of my time with Mr. David that I became sure of my faith and I knew that I wanted the contagious joy that Mr. David had. I was baptized in the same icy blue water that splashed upon Mr. David and I, which to me felt like Mr. David was right there with me. I was nervous waiting to be baptized; I actually backed out right before, but then I thought of all that Mr. David had gone through, and that if he could be so authentic and public in his faith, so could I, and then I found myself walking down the slippery steps into the water. My Lord is sweet.
Three years ago, we ventured into a new mission field north of where we'd been before. Because we were further away, I was only able to see Mr. David once. I walked into the infirmary nervous thinking maybe he wouldn't remember me, but as I rounded the corner to his bed, his eyes lit up and I was greeted with a big smile and a loud "Kimberly!" Although it had been a year since I had last seen him, it felt as though it was yesterday. Immediately I burst into tears. My Lord is sweet. Mr. David asked about my family, and remembered minute details I'd even forgotten I'd told him. I brought him the first of a few pictures, a picture of us taken the year before, as well as a watch and a red baseball cap. We sang some of his favorite hymns, he read to me his favorite parts of the Bible, and he told me he prayed for me everyday. Just those few hours I spent with Mr. David gave me the encouragement I didn't know I needed at the time to carry through what God had planned for me in the following week.
The next day, we did Vacation Bible School for the first time at Parry Town Primary School. The school is located in a very poor part of Jamaica, and the first day, we had no kids. We had to go around the neighborhood, walking up to houses to find children to invite. The community thought what we were doing cost money, but we reassured them it was free, and then more kids showed up the next day. At the end of the first day, I overheard someone talking about an autistic girl who couldn't come. In our recruiting children to come to VBS, someone had stumbled across a family with three kids, an eleven year old boy, a younger boy, and a six year old, highly autistic girl. The mother didn't let the autistic girl come to VBS because she didn't think she was allowed, so the next day, I went to the house and promised that I'd take special care of her, and that we were more than happy to have her. Her mom was very hesitant but let us take Regina after I vowed to never leave her side. Day one with Regina was, needless to say, difficult. A child with natural high energy, as well as autism, I had my work cut out for me. As I was chasing after her, an older lady from the school pulled me aside and told me Regina was not welcome at the school. This lady told me Regina was "broken" and should not return, and that her disability was too much to handle. I felt like this was my fault. I felt discouraged, until Regina's older brother found me at the end of the day and started crying thanking me for caring for his sister, because no one had been so kind in showing her attention before. My Lord is sweet. For the rest of the week of VBS, Regina and I walked proudly past the old lady who said Regina shouldn't return, making sure to always wave.
Two years ago, I went back to Parry Town Primary School and immediately ran up the hill to Regina's house. I was overwhelmed when the family came out and recognized me, and I will never forget when Regina ran out and hugged her "best friend." I loved more than anything getting to know that family, becoming an honorary member, and someone they trusted with their precious daughter/sister. Regina's behavior got better and better with every day, she no longer needed to be in her own space, and could energetically participate with the other kids for longer periods of time. Everyday, Regina and her two brothers and myself would walk up the hill to their house and Jamaery, her older brother, would pick a hibiscus flower for me. My Lord is sweet. Saying goodbye at the end of that week was by far one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.
I visited Mr. David again that year, and brought him another picture and talked about life. He shared some of the most insightful and genuine wisdom I've ever heard and I am so grateful for our conversations. When I left that year, it felt like a goodbye for a long time.
Last year, I didn't go back to Jamaica. It broke my heart not to return to the Douglass family, or to Mr. David. I sent gifts for Regina and her brothers with a friend going to Jamaica, and stuff for Mr. David as well. My heart hurt when I got the news of Mr. David. At 97 years old, he passed away. It brought me peace knowing that he was eager to meet his loving Father, but it stung knowing he wasn't on this earth anymore.
I thank my God every time I remember you. Philippians 1:3
My Lord is sweet.
This year, in looking through the pictures and reliving the memories of the past years, I am more than grateful to have met such incredible people. I get updates on Regina and her brothers from friends on the trip, and Regina's behavior has improved immensely. This week will always hold a special place in my heart. It hurts not to be with Regina and her family; and although I am envious of the people who get to go experience Regina's playful love and hear her contagious laugh, I look forward to the time of year when my Timehop and Facebook remind me of the greatest week of my life. My God is so good to have lead me to Jamaica, into the paths of a 94 year old man and a 6 year old girl. No arrangement of words can allow me to say how much Mr. David and Regina and her family mean to me, and the influence they've had, and continue to have, on who I am. My Lord is sweet.
