He heals the brokenhearted and bandages their wounds.” Psalm 147:3
Today has been very difficult. One of my Sunday school children died, his name was Sebit and he was 7 years old, the son of one of our employees, Elizabeth. She cooks for the national staff and pastors every day. Sebit was tending to the goats, a typical chore for a boy his age, when he fell from the bridge that crosses the Tonj river. He died instantly when his head hit a rock.
The culture here is so hard to understand at times. Danger lurks everywhere and allowing your children out of your sight for a minute is quite challenging. Death seems to linger in the streets and in the air. At times it feels there is no escape; it’s so common place and accepted as part of life.
I spent the afternoon and evening with Elizabeth, weeping, praying and trying to make sense of it. Outside a group of men worked tirelessly digging the small grave and making a bamboo coffin. Inside the small dark mud hut at least 15 women crouched on the floor, some were silent, some lamented while grief hung in the air invading us all. Wails could be heard approaching as more people received news of the tragedy. Anguish wracking through the bodies of relatives as they drop to the dirt, writhing in sorrow. A silent prayer, “Holy Spirit help us to know what to say and what to pray. Nothing feels helpful and worthwhile in this moment.”
I witnessed the love and care of this small boy as neighbors and family bathed the body, wiping away the blood and evidence of death, clothing him in his Sunday school best and wrapping him in crisp white linens. All that remained was a shell for his spirit had departed. The Sebit that ran and laughed and took care of his young brother in Sunday school last week was no longer there. HE was gone. Gone to be with his Lord, for that I am confident and grateful; grateful for the opportunity every week to teach these precious little ones about Jesus.
“Goodbye Sebit, we love you and we will see you again one day in heaven sweet one.”
