Upon arriving in the clinic on
the first day, I was overwhelmed to the point of tears. It is hard
to describe the emotion that overtook me at that time, but there was
a sense that these were gentle, kindly people without malice waiting
for us to help them.
The air was heavy and the hallway
was hot, and there was a smell of humanity and crowding which was
unavoidable. There were only benches made of wood to sit on, and not
enough room for everyone, so the floor was used, or they stood.
There were no windows for light, just what came from the
fluorescents overhead, and the floor was tile on cement, and dirty.
The Pohnpeians are a people with
a large heart. When we would pass by them in the hall, we noted that
many had been there for hours, sometimes all day waiting to be seen.
But there was no anger in their faces. They would look up to us and
smile widely, often with a greeting of "kaselelie" and a slight
bowing or nodding of the head. Some would wait all day, only to be
sent away with a promise that they would be at the front of the line
on the next day.
They have so little. We have so
much. And they wait to see us with the hope that something good will
make their lives a bit better. They eagerly but patiently wait to
receive whatever we have to offer.
I thought, "How could I become
indignant at waiting in some line at home or in a line of traffic
where I might lose a precious five minutes at most?" And I think
back on the many "tongue lashings" I’ve received at my clinic at
home for making some of my patients wait to see me.
Here in the hall, the faces look
different. There is so much hope in their eyes, they render the hall
a sacred place—one where I feel that the ground is holy, and I
should take the shoes off of my feet. Just the same way that I would
treat any of the least of these, my brothers, I would be judged to
be treating the King of the Universe.
Is this what it was like for
Christ to come? As the masses pressed in around him, he must have
felt such compassion for mankind—in such need, and so wanting even
of the basic essentials of life and character. He must have longed
to gather them and make them whole from the inside out and
completely restore in them the image of his Father. It must have
pained him to see the depths to which the Deceiver had plunged them.
It was this sense that we all
were of one family, in one common condition, this identifying with
each of them, that brought the flood of tears that we held back so
as not to be noticed. The willingness that I had to offer such a
poor, small bit of aid to these of my family was only a fraction of
the great magnitude of kindhearted, gentle, deep regard that my God
has for me. The thought—oh the thought of it—breaks my heart. And I
cry.
Thank you God, for loving me more
than I can ever love. Thank you for a glimpse of your regard for
these precious ones. Forgive my indifference, and slowness to
understand you. And make these people see, much more clearly, as a
result of my being here.
