Yesterday began as a normal ministry day in Malaysia. I woke up to have quiet time on the roof of our living accommodations but was quickly convinced to relocate by the persistent drizzle that seems to linger in George Town. Once Papa and I had logged our quality time, we were ready for breakfast.
Myself and several other teammates crossed the usually bustling street to a 24-hour restaurant located on the corner nearby. On this day, however, when we walked outside the street was eerily empty. Void of it’s typical buses, motorbikes, cars, and people we were given a brief respite from the usual, chaotic symphony of the city. I should have know there would be something different about the day.
Our breakfast of choice while in Malaysia has been Indian pancakes and this day was no exception. Side note, Indian pancakes are fantastic. The cook takes dough, molds and flops it onto the pipping hot stove surface, cracks an egg into the center and them folds it up to allow the dough and egg to cook themselves into a delicious meal. Upon my return home, this is one food item I will seek to replicate.
Given the time, we took our items to go and walked amidst the colorful Little India. Countless shops open up to the street with clothing, flowers, blaring music, and so much more that it can be overwhelming to the senses. The crew continued the trek to Love Lane, yes you read that correctly. Our primary objective for the day was to help serve food to the homeless individuals who frequent Kawan Center. We help butter bread, chop veggies, and serve the meals. An interesting observation about buttering bread: bread is required for such an activity. It was this fact that brought me to one of the most heartbreaking moments on my Race to date.
One of the individuals that helps run Kawan, Ed, led myself and teammate, Lizzie, to fetch bread from the nearby bakery.
I didn’t see her the first time.
While we waited to collected the baked morsels, Ed explained that the bakery had been donating older bread to the center from the beginning. Ed has continued to demonstrate tremendous faith to us. On this particular day, there wasn’t enough bread. His comment was that someone would likely show up with extra. It has happened on multiple occasions.
I saw her this time.
Lizzie and Ed had both mentioned observing a woman sniffing glue on the way to the bakery which I had somehow missed. I was not spared the heartbreak on the return trip. She lay on her back, rolling side to side, shirt pulling up over her belly, breathing in from a small bag. There are no words.
At first, I was numb to the sight and remained so until Lizzie and I had a conversation during our vegetable chopping duties. She made a comment that struck me: “What do you think drives a person to first sniff glue?”
What indeed?
I do not know this woman’s story. What I do know is that Papa never wanted that for her and still doesn’t. Was she enticed by the potential for escape? Did the statement, “Here, sniff this” draw her in?
It feels like too much to consider. In fact, it’s painful to think that her existence is wrapped up in that. Not in a condemning way, more out of mourning because she is a child of Papa’s and I know how much He loves her. All I can say is that the next time I find myself in a circumstance where I am invited to smell something, the invitation of “Here, sniff this” will have an entirely different meaning.
Papa, please continue to break my heart so that I may have a greater understanding of the intensity of love that you have for your children with each passing day. Amen!
