My most recent post, Why We Remember, while dedicated to the memory of 9/11, brought Christian perspective to the general importance of rembrance.
Remembrance gives purpose. Remembrance brings gratitude.
Remembrance strengthens community. Remembrance provides perspective.
Remembrance reignites hope
in what God will bring us through today and forever...
because He is faithful.
Today, I was reading this post by my friend Bonnie over at Faith Barista; it is a tribute to a dying friend through whom a song of joy still rings clear, a song that will resound long after death because of the work of God in her. In this story, I heard a familiar melody and her name was Sweet Michelle. In her brief four months, she taught me how to fight for life and reminded me of the Kingdom for which we are made and in which we are called to live now. Today I remember her, and it reignites my hope, because it brings me back to Him, the One who brings us through... the One who really is faithful.
Let us not take this life for granted and let us live every breath in worship of our loving God, letting the songs of our lives resonate even now, a chorus of His glory.
Should you want to know more, the following are excerpts from my newsletters sent in 2006, sharing the story of Michelle Amani. Much has been edited out for length and sensitivity.
January
It was the 4th of October, when a 16 year-old Ugandan gave birth to a premature girl. Weighing only 1.47 kilos, the baby was left to fend for itself when the mother made a prompt exit from the hospital. The social worker at Mulago hospital handed her to me, saying she needed a name for their records. “Abandoned Baby Girl” was renamed Michelle for my sister.
Sweet Michelle, as I call her, is the color of brown sugar, not like the light sandy grains at home, rather the dark, syrupy crystals we import here from Kenya. She fits perfectly cradled in my arm, allowing her to pull her right arm out over top of the blanket, rolling her palm into a small fist. She draws it up to rest under her chin, pursing her lips as she dreams. Already a diva, she pushes out her upper lip in a reverse pout as she opens her eyes, expecting attention. The workers insist on keeping her dressed in pink for her namesake, and just like my big sis, she loves both to sleep and get her own way.
The boy who had come to us with Michelle that day had died from his conditions. It was only a few days after burying him, that our nurse came upstairs, flustered and shaking. “Holly, your sister is sick.”
Tests revealed that she is HIV Reactive, with hepatitis, a bacterial infection, anemia, etc.
Hours can pass so quickly when just holding her, praying for her, loving her. You want no moment to be wasted. Mom, was this what you felt when you held my sick infant body for so long? Yet I am alive, healthy and strong. I have to believe the same for my sister, this child who like so many of our others will carry with her the name of our orphanage on her paperwork, on her history. In that gesture alone she has written into her identity the Swahili meaning of Amani, peace, and the Lugandan, power.
She looks boldly into my face when I hold her, black eyes locked to my brown, like she knows something we’ve forgotten.
February
When Sweet Michelle would look at me so boldly, I think I know what made her stare unwaveringly. Michelle was only four months old but was born with a knowledge not gained through years on this earth, rather it is a knowledge often dimmed by our time in this place.
While I was away for the weekend, I got the text that she had fallen sick and lost a kilo in the course of one night. With almost half of her body weight gone and all that history of illness, I knew it was desperate. I loved her and she had been showing such progress.
I held her tiny frame from early morning until late evening Monday. Tuesday she went to Kampala. She died with all the symptoms of Stage 4 AIDS on Wednesday, January 25th.
We never know what all God is doing when our prayers for healing are answered in different ways, but we have to trust Him. You see, we can get too accustomed to our lives.
Michelle knew we were not made for the things of this earth, but for the Kingdom of God. I think she knew this in her spirit as we are all born with a longing for God. Her story reminds us that this is all just a beginning. That alone makes it a story of hope, in spite of sadness.
