My Life as an African Gypsy

It was late.

I looked around thinking how strange it was, these roads that brought us here, together him and I. I glanced over his scars thinking up possible stories for how he got them, remembering the life he lived, a real life he lived, full of joys and deep sorrow. There was a deep pang in my chest. I replayed memories of him kicking the bottle hung from the tree and hopping on the roof with Jon, unhindered by the crutches and the loss of his leg. I now watched his pulse beat in his neck, too fast. I stroked his limp hand, hoping he felt my presence, hoping he felt His love.

He wasn't liked much, having a bit of a disrespectful attitude. He didn't fool me, though. You know the kids with chocolate all over their faces who are insistent they didn't eat the cookie? That's how I saw him, his head held just a little too high, his laugh of confidence wavering a bit at the end. He'd been hurt by those who should have been closest to him. He was scared. Who could blame the kid? I could see glimpses of tenderness, glimpses of the Savior in him.  

Just that morning the Spirit rested heavy upon me, my nose pressed to the floor, my tears pooling on the dark hardwood. My girls and I cried out, "Come on, Jesus!" I yearned for Him to come, for Him to save. I wanted so desperately for this to be the one we saw healed. I conjured up all the reasons why God would receive so much glory this time; I thought of how sometimes the Lord just acted in compassion. (I would lie if I said this was the first time I did this routine.) I was lead to look up his name, Samuel - "God has heard". Surely Lord. I dared to hope to believe.

I threw on a sweater and tucked my English and Portuguese Bibles under my arm and hopped in the car. It was my shift, Jon and Alice having taken the hours before.

There I sat stroking his hand; it didn't look as if a miracle was coming. He was peaceful though, pain managed nicely by the morphine, yet still able to talk and respond to questions.

A call came the next morning. He had been given a bath and then he died. Just like that. Life gone.

Covered in scripture, songs, prayer, and faith - he died.  

And I remember once again, that this is why we are here.