what. a. day.

I spent the entirety of the morning in the special ward holding one baby. Just one. Her name is Martinia (that's her there!), and she is currently sick. One of the sisters plopped her into my arms and said, "Hold her. She just wants to be held." And so I did. She kept clinging to me and would cry any time I moved or shifted.

So I was have these beautiful thoughts--"Oh God, You hold onto me too, and You won't let me go." I just sat and held onto her and she tossed about fitfully and made little fretful sounds, and this was for an hour...or two. Eventually it was time to feed all the kids, and one of the mamas handed me the rice-papaya-banana mash all the special needs kids eat for their late-morning meal. Martinia wasn't really in any shape to eat, and she was resistant, but she wouldn't have any other food in her body until the 2:00 meal, so I had no choice but to force her to eat. I continued having those lovely, airy-fairy thoughts about what great love it was for me to just hold Martinia and feed her.

Then she threw up on me. And before I could even fully register the fact, she threw up on me again.

Mother Teresa has said, "The miracle is not that we do this work, but that we are happy to do it."

I wasn't happy. I was affronted. I had just spent the morning holding this baby and feeding her and as payment...I now had mash-chunks all over my front and I reeked of papaya and baby throw-up.

As I stumped over to the sink to clean myself off, I thought once again the pitiful limits of my love. That the condition of my soul is such that I love to the extent where it "feels good"--holding a sick baby and cuddling her, but when love gets ugly I get upset. God was prodding me, "Are you willing to love when it gets ugly? Are you willing to deal with crap?" He was prodding me and I was looking back at Him stonily. He poked a bit more--this time with a little wryness, "You know, Denise, how many times have I just wanted to hold onto you and you've more or less thrown up all over me."

Alright. You win.

Apparently, though, this concession wouldn't stop God from pushing me closer to the edge. On our way home, a drunk and disorderly sort of man, smoking and clearly not in his right senses began to follow and accost us. At first he was quite taken by our American-ness, and then he became even more taken by my Asian-ness. "You're beautiful, Japanese. Take me to Japan. I love you," he kept slurring in my face, stumbling along next to me. My nose was wrinkling with distaste, but God pretty much jabbed me in the side--"It's getting "ugly." Are you going to love this fellow?"

So I died to myself a little more and petitioned God for strength to love this man wholly, despite his messiness and dirtiness. Lord help me, I'm no less messy or dirty--just perhaps in different respects--so teach me to love, not by holding people at arm's length, but to embrace them fully, as You do. Loving Your way is an ugly business, as You so wonderfully displayed on the cross...but there is no Truer Love.