How God Used One Woman in Africa. Part 1

Below is a story written by my special friend Traci VanSumeren who was recently in Africa. How our paths had crossed on Facebook is a miracle, and one that I know was of "Divine Design". Over the months as Traci traveled the world in missions with her team in World Racers, she would share her experience with me when she could. Therefore, via her blogs, e-mails, and pictures, I was able to travel along with Traci in a spiritual way. A journey of experience that would one-day collide with my own, when Traci would finally make it to Africa. For it was in Africa that God did His greatest work in me last year, which had forever changed my life. How God would work in Traci was unknown, but one thing I knew was certain as I tried to prepare Traci to understand is that in Africa, God “does” change lives.
Sometimes it is one person, while other times, many, either way; I knew even though this young woman who had already traveled the world, to many places never before seen, that it would be in Africa she would be changed forever. When Traci would boldly step up to do whatever was needed despite the odds, as God would use Traci’s love, pulling it forth via the suffering she would see. It would be in those moments that her faith would bleed the love of Christ. As she would then pour it out in ways never before seen. When Traci would fight for those to weak and sick to fight for themselves, especially, for a tiny baby who was given the name Mcolisi they called Moses. A tiny child on the brink of death that God would move Traci to help, and by doing so, reveal to those around her a faith that was real, in a love that would forever change Traci as well as those her life would touch.
So now, I let Traci in her own words share with you her experience of Africa. Told in three parts due to length. May it touch your life as it has mine in what true faith is, and the powerful difference it makes for those who need it's HOPE.

From the blogs of Traci VanSumeren :

My heart was pounding as I left Pelile's house holding the tiny baby in my hands. Five weeks old and hasn't eaten in hours, if not days. I carried him in my arms to the Carepoint, his soft breathing the only sign of life. What am I doing? How do I expect to take this child and care for it? What kind of clue do I have? I had already cleared it with my team leader in the morning after hearing about the state of the family—mother HIV positive, no father around, four other siblings, no money, no food—but I didn't know what my team would think. I have never held a being so small in my life—his head is the size of my palm. He cried periodically, I'm sure because of hunger. I tried to be patient as we waited for our transport to pick us up, but it was so hard, knowing that I could do nothing about the baby's hunger until we got to a store.

Twelve hours later and my mind is still spinning. He is amazing! He has still only drank two-three ounces of formula, but that's far more than his mother has been able to offer since his birth. I will bring him back to see her in two days, but will probably continue to keep him after that. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I just knew I couldn't leave him there. Pelile is too gaunt to produce milk, and her other children are malnourished and sick as well. The women at the Carepoint don't believe Pelile will make it much longer. Due to malnutrition, the kids suffer from "kwashiorkor" which causes their stomachs to swell, noses to run with a white mucus, and hair to turn golden.

My heart breaks for the family. The eldest--Mbeki is eleven and barely knows his numbers (1-20), colors, and alphabet. The second eldest—Siphiwe is seven and is one of my ultimate favorites from the Carepoint. She sings louder than any child I've ever heard, but it is an absolute riot to me. Siphiwe is also one of only five that pay attention and participate when I'm teaching. The other two girls—Hlonphile and Zamile are three and five and such little angels. Ever since hearing their story my mind has been flooded with questions of what will happen when their mother dies. There is no local orphanage or shelter for them. The home they live in is already inadequate—one room made of thatched mud and sticks…about the size of medium sized bathroom in the states. 

If I could, I'd take the whole lot of them back with me. If I had unlimited money I'd bring them all their meals, and medicine, and clothes (so they don't have to wear the same ones every day), and build a decent home for them… I don't though. And I don't see God calling me to that. All I know is that I saw a child with no hope of survival if he stayed in that situation. What will we do when it's time to leave Swaziland, though? How will I leave him? How will I leave the other four children and their mother? How can this be all that I can do?

So here are the facts:

· Pelile is a thirty-eight year-old single mother with HIV/AIDs

· She has no money for her food or medicine or to support her five children

· Mcolisi was 2kg (4.4lbs) at birth and at five weeks is only 2.1kg (4.6lbs)

· The children are already sick or afflicted with "kwashiorkor" and will not survive without food

· Mbeki, Siphiwe, Hlonphile, Zamile, and Mcolisi are some of the most vibrant, loving children I have ever met…and deserve a chance

I don't know how to help any further

Yesterday was somewhat terrifying!

I took Mcolisi to see his mother for a few hours while I was at the Carepoint. After picking him back up (Pelile is happy to see he is getting healthier), Jeanette and I were dropped off at the clinic. He has had a persistent cough that shakes his whole body. The nurses were so touched by our willingness to look after him, given the state of the mother, that they didn't charge us the clinic fee or for the four medications he was given—for malnutrition and respiratory infection—incredible since we had very little cash on us.

It was such a hot day (in the high 90's) that when we got back to camp, I jumped in the shower. When I got out, Megan was there and told me that Mcolisi was acting very strange. His eyes kept rolling back in his head and his whole body was completely limp. Jeanette and Emily put him in a cool bath, and then Jeanette and I left for a different clinic that was supposed to be better equipped, but also further.

During our ride on the kumbi (a public van transport) Mcolisi continued to worsen. His tongue was turning grey, and he was nearly lifeless. At points we had to check to make sure he was still breathing. I held him while Jea put water on his face and chest to try to cool him off. The man next to me was watching the whole time and started to speak to us. "He doesn't look so good. I don't think he's going to make it. He's going to die." After the initial shock of his statement wore off, I gentle touched him but with boldness said, "Don't say that! Speak LIFE into him! He WILL make it!!!"

Jea and I continued to pray over him, but it wasn't looking good. I began to imagine conversations with the mother, explaining that we tried to get to the doctor as fast as we could, but he was just too unhealthy to fight it.

Finally, we arrived in Matata—a city about 15-20 minutes away, and quickly called Pastor Gift. He was going to meet us there and take us to the clinic. He was nearly there, but we didn't know what to do in the moments we stood there waiting. I bought an icy drink they sell here (basically a frozen bag of watered-down juice) and would touch it to Mcolisi's feet, chest, and forehead to try to shock a response out of him. It worked a bit, but we were still extremely concerned.

Pastor Gift arrived and we quickly walked to the clinic. Once there, we sat and prayed over him again. It seemed like as soon as Pastor Gift prayed, Mcolisi started to come back to us. When we got him into the room, the nurse was able to give him some electrolytes to re-hydrate him. He was severely dehydrated because he has not had milk for a long time and is still getting used to taking formula from a bottle. Praise God, he is okay now!

We spent some time grocery shopping as an excuse to stay in A.C., and then we headed home. A couple minutes into the drive, the man behind us began to speak to us. "Bless you for what you are doing. You are both very good to do this for him." We thanked him for that but paid little attention until he said, "I was the one. I rode with you on the way here, and I did not believe he would make it." "Wait…you were the one sitting next to me saying he was going to die?" I asked. "Yes! That was me. I didn't believe it. Sheesh! I am so happy now! I think I could fly! Bless you both! Sheesh!" He continued to share his excitement for seeing how well Mcolisi was doing now. We told him the credit belonged to God. What an amazing testimony of God's love that was!

Besides a lot of coughing through the night, Mcolisi is doing great. He has taken his medicine with little complaining, and we are all happy to see him lively and even crying.

Continued...