February 14, 2012

          On a day most people are celebrating their love for their significant other I was woken up early by a call informing me that the burial for little Mercy was going to be taking place. She was a student at our school and in the 1^st grade. It was not the 1^st burial I have attended but my 1^st for a child. Honestly, I didn’t want to go..I really didn’t think it was something I could handle emotionally. But I knew I had to, for one its somewhat expected and its something the Lord calls us to do, “mourn with those who mourn.”

            I left the house around 8:15 and waited down by the shops until about 8:45 for my ride. When we arrived to the cemetery I saw about 4 other large groups passing to bury a friend or loved one. As my eyes scanned my surroundings I saw high grass about 6 feet tall where many of the burial plots were.  I saw no headstones as we passed along the mud roads full of potholes and tons of water. A group of teen boys who were covered in mud walked by carrying shovels and were being followed by two mangy looking dogs. Apparently, their job is to dig the graves.  After waiting about an hour the family and the mourners for Mercy made it to the burial site. I was told that they had to pass by the children’s hospital to pick up the body on their way to where we were.  We all got out of the car and walked to a small clearing in a field, walking cautiously to avoid the many puddles of water and slick mud. We stopped just under a cluster of small trees as the large pick up truck approached carrying the body and about 25 mourners in the back. They had packed in the back standing and sitting on the edge of the truck bed to fit as many people as possible.

            I was told that the area we stood in was specifically designated for children.  I surveyed the land of rounded mounds of dirt and my heart grew heavy and the tears began to flow almost immediately. Death is hard enough to deal with, but when it’s the death of a child for me at least it seems so much more difficult to accept.  I guess because it’s so “unnatural” in my mind for a mother to have to bury her child. When I look at a child I see someone full of dreams, full of potential, full of life.  But unfortunately death comes even to young. I am reminded of the fact that no one is promised tomorrow..we don’t know how much time we have or even how much time our children have on this earth. It made me see even more the importance of the gospel message to the children God has placed in my path.  There is just as much urgency to proclaim the good news to them, as it is any other. The verse, Psalm 90:12 comes to mind, “ Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” My heart is broken but I fell a fresh burden for the young hearts and souls of the children the Lord has brought me here to serve.

            After reflecting a bit I returned my gaze to the truck carrying the mourners just in time to see a small coffin being carried off. It was a small 3-foot box made from thin wood, which had been varnished in a medium maroon color. Where the seams of the wood met there was a black thick band of glue. As the men carrying the coffin passed by me I was overwhelmed with grief, to the point that I had to close my eyes. I didn’t want to look anymore. I didn’t want to face this harsh reality. I wanted to be anywhere but there. I just shook my head as the tears flowed uncontrollably. In my mind I was saying, this isn’t right God..it just isn’t right. I then prayed and asked God’s comfort to be upon the family and that he would strengthen me and help me to learn a lesson from this moment. When I opened my eyes they were placing the miniature coffin under the cluster of small trees. A group of woman from the mother’s church sat huddled together on the ground singing worship songs and songs of comfort softly.  Then the pastor came forward, standing over the coffin and gave a short sermon in the local dialect. As I looked again at the coffin I noticed 8 small, thin nails patruding from the lid. I soon realized that the viewing would be taking place under the umbrella of these trees.

            Moments later, one of the members of the woman’s church group came up to the coffin and knelt. She slowly lifted the top off and inside was the child wrapped in a blanket, swaddled like a newborn. She carefully uncovered Mercy’s face and tucked the blanked tenderly around her face. We were then instructed to come forward to view the body. I still could not get over the small size of the box and I hesitated to join the queue. Eventually I passed by and it took all within me not to fall to my knees weeping. I watched with eyes full of tears as her older brother passed by (he is also a student at our school in grade5) and then her mother. The moment her mother saw the body she blacked out and fell to the ground. She had to be carried away, still unconscious, not able to handle the level of grief that consumed her.

            Next 2 men jumped down into the grave that had been dug and the coffin was passed down to them to be situated properly. Once they ascended one man walked around with a shovel of dirt through the crowd. This was a gesture of respect in which he was offering family members the opportunity to throw a handful of dirt down onto the coffin. No one was able to do so. He returned to the grave and the hollow echo of the dirt hitting the top of the box still resounds in my ears. Soon after, 5 other men joined him shoveling the dirt to fill the grave and eventually making a rounded mound. The pastor then came back up and stood before the grave. He called family members one by one to place small bouquets of flowers upright atop the gravesite.  Once they finished the teachers and staff of Lighthouse were called forward. We stood and/or kneeled around the mound of dirt, placing our bouquets with the others choking through tears as we sang a song a comfort.

          Psalm 22:19, “But you, O Lord, be not far off; O my strength, come quickly to help me.”