24th
The Last Time I Cried…
I just spent last week visiting our WMF staff in Kathmandu, Nepal.
They put me up in the guestroom at Karuna Ghar (“Home of Compassion”), our WMF Nepal children’s home for girls. It’s been open for nearly six years and is such a place of peace and hope.
It had been nearly two and a half years since I visited Nepal. There were a few new faces. One of them, a little girl named Christine.
When I say “little” I mean it.
Though she’s 11 years old, I know 3 and 4 year-olds bigger than her. In addition to suffering from a form of dwarfism, Christine’s right hand bears two striking deformities. Her ring finger and middle finger are webbed with skin bonding them together, as are her index finger and thumb. Essentially her right hand is a pinky finger and then two more thick fingers formed by the other four fingers and webbed.
In Hindu South Asia, your right hand is central to all activity. Culturally the left hand is considered “dirty.” You never touch anyone with your left hand, and you certainly don’t eat with it. The left hand is the hand you use to carry trash or clean yourself after using the bathroom. Your right hand is the hand you use to eat, extend to another person, offer and receive gifts with, and, of course, is the hand of “honor.
Christine’s painfully aware of what makes her different. She seemed to always try to hide her hand. She’s self-conscious about it.
Of course, she’s beautiful just the way she is, and I tried to communicate that to her throughout the week. Whenever I could, I’d take her by her deformed right hand and walk with her, hold her right hand as I’d climb the stairs of the children’s home with her, or sit and watch Hindi films with her and hold her right hand.
In Nepal, because of her differences, Christine’s a social outcast in many ways. In fact, because of her deformities she was more or less abandoned by her family. That’s how she ended up at Karuna Ghar. The Rai family gladly took her in and has treated her as one of their own daughters.
While in Nepal this week, I had anywhere from four to six staff meetings each day—some lasting 3-4 hours. Whenever I could, I’d pop up on the roof of the children’s home or hang out in the backyard and play with the kids.
During these times, Christine and I quickly became friends. I’d jump on the swing set and swing with her, or simply sit and try to talk with her (that was funny because she doesn’t really speak English and I certainly don’t speak Nepali), and sometimes just hold her (since she’s so tiny she just climbs up into everyone’s lap).
Now, over the past 14 years with WMF, I’ve literally met and interacted with hundreds if not thousands of children all around the world. I love them all. Really. Occasionally Phileena and I will meet a child we know is special—a child we have a deep connection with. That’s Christine.
On Thursday, when I said goodbye to all the great peeps in Kathmandu, the Karuna Ghar children and our WMF staff community gathered around me in a small room to pray for me.
After the prayer I began the sad series of goodbyes. One by one, I hugged each child, made a cross with my thumb on each of their foreheads, and then said a prayer for them.
I got through the whole crowded room and then little Christine walked up to me. She fell into my arms and began crying. Rubbing her little hands into her eyes, tears just poured down her sweet face while sobs shook her tiny body. She climbed into my lap, buried her head under my neck and then threw her arms around my shoulders and wouldn’t let go.
For probably 45 minutes I held her as her sobs turned into frail little groans and moans. It was terrible. Having a tough time not crying myself, I tried to reassure her that I’d be back soon, in four months actually. That I’d keep her close to my heart and in my prayers. And that we’d have years and years of making memories to come.
Her tears kept coming.
It’s been a couple days and I can hardly stop thinking about her. Sitting on the Korean Airlines flight from Kathmandu to Seoul I could hardly hold back my own tears. I must have looked pathetic.
Christine has stolen my heart. She’s the reason why I do what I do and have made the sacrifices that I’ve made.
When I left Nepal I told Silas and Gautam that I’d do all I can to help find the money to help pay for a surgery to have Christine’s fingers separated.
I’d love to open that opportunity up to any of you who read this. If you could help out, even $5, anything, I know it would mean the world to her.
And hopefully we can raise MORE than just what it will cost for the surgery to separate her fingers so that we could also pay for any plastic surgery to ensure her hand is as beautiful as the hands you’re using to navigate the internet through your keyboard right now.
And if we can raise even more than the cost of the operation, or however many surgeries it’s going to take, then we’ll be sure to use anything else we raise for her education and any costs that Karuna Ghar will incur to care for her.
WMF makes it easy. Click on this link to use your PayPal account or click on this link and print out this response card. Just make sure you make a note that your gift is for “Christine in Nepal.”
And if you can’t give, say a prayer for her. I know God has great things in store for her tender little life, and will use her beautiful hands to touch and heal the world.
