A Child's Song- submitted by Ellie, a nurse in Mexico

June 2011

     Our precious Javier should not be alive. He’s emaciated, takes only sips of liquids and can’t cough hard enough to expel the secretions that block his airways. He is endstage Muscular Dystrophy and without a hint of fear, tells us he wants to go with ¨Papa,¨ how he calls his heavenly Father.       
     Those of us who love him are ready to release him. We’ve watched him get weaker and weaker, been amazed as he survived one pneumonia after another, twice at the threshold of death. God is perfecting this son through suffering and few believers exhibit the likeness of Christ as does this faith-filled adolescent. “He is such a joy!” Mary remarked. “But it’s getting so difficult for him!  She and her husband, Dirk, have cared for him since his release from the hospital, per family request. Day and night they turn him, hold him prone while secretions drain out of his mouth, offer him liquids, pray. And the boy rewards them with one blessing after another, an unexpected joke, a loud “Amen!” after every prayer, or just with his peace that surpasses all understanding. 
     Saturday when I was visiting, Javier was having a rough time. He had had a coughing spell that exhausted him, his body ached, and he did not want to be on the couch. Mary had washed the bedsheets and hung them to dry, so Javier was in the living room. He didn’t like it.
     “Solo treinta minutos!” Mary told him with her delightful Dutch-accented Spanish  Every few minutes he opened his eyes and spoke as loudly as his frail lungs would allow,
     “Cama!”
He was telling us he wanted to go back to bed, but even in his discomfort no teenage rebelliousness hardened his voice. The gentleness and respect with which he made his desire known was like listening to Christ say, “I thirst!”  “Want me to massage your foot, Javier?” I asked.
     He didn’t like to be touched now; everything hurt, yet he never tired of having his feet gently stroked. So I took his left foot in my hands and began to rub the bottom with my palm. Soon he quieted and fell asleep but I didn´t stop, partly not wanting him to wake up and find I’d failed him, but more because it was like ministering to Christ on the Cross. The foot was pale, elegant, contracted downward, with even a small scab on the ankle like a stigmata. I rubbed it, toes to heel, over and over, until time lost meaning. The Spirit of God in me mingled with the Spirit of God in Javier and we shared in universal suffering and comfort. I could have stayed there forever.
      On Monday Enrique and I visited him together. Javier always loved to hear Enrique lead worship so we brought his guitar. “Do you want Kiki to sing?” I asked 
      “Si,” he answered without hesitation.
       Enrique began in his wonderful way to play the exact right songs that led us into the presence of God. Javier’s eyes were closed but he sang along, so softly that at times we could not hear him, only see his lips move. But certain lyrics moved him and he’d open his eyes. With concentrated effort he sang certain praises louder and each time he did so, Dirk, Mary, Enrique and I all cried for the beauty and holiness of it. “How beautiful you are and how pleasing!” we heard God say to His special son. (Song of Sol. 7:6) Javier’s worship was a perfectly-aged wine offered to the divine palate.“May the wine go straight to my lover, flowing gently over lips and teeth.(Song of Sol. 7:9)
     And the Lord drank and was pleased.

July 12, 2011

Javier died this day. He was 16. His younger brother, afflicted with the same disease, died two days later.