Recently I was reminded of a situation I witnessed on a hot summer day in 2003. I was traveling with a group of 17 and we were on our way to visit a Mother Theresa home called House of Peace just miles outside Kinshasa, Congo DRC. 

The House of Peace is an interesting name, considering it serves as both orphanage and hospice. Upon walking through the large iron gates, fully lined on the top with barbed wire and broken glass bottles, I noticed a black top play ground to the left, near a small building. On my right, were a handful of park benches, shaded by a large tree planted at the entrance of another building: this one larger than the one adjacent to it.

There was no one near the larger building to my right at first glance, yet, within seconds of entering through the gates, we heard laughter and the giggles of small children headed towards us coming from the smaller building.

A nun was there to greet us and explained to us that the smaller building on the left housed orphans and the larger building to our right is where there were both men and women, young and old, dying of HIV/AIDS that very minute. I’m not certain I can articulate well enough the number of emotions and thoughts making their way through the channels of my brain and my heart while standing between these two very different buildings in that moment.

Of course there was great joy in playing with the giggly children. Their smiles were unforgettable. One little boy wore faded overalls and although he never said a literal word, he spoke so loudly and sweetly through his constant grin. The children were all so tender and so sweet. The boys fought over who looked better wearing our sunglasses and the girls seemed content with their game of jump rope.

After some time of holding babies and arm wrestling the children (they won of course because I have the strength of an ant), we were told it was time to visit the hospice. Now I’ve never even stepped near a hospice so I was apprehensive to say the least. As we walked up the steps and entered the building I was so uncertain of what to expect. I hate that feeling. We opened the door and I’ll spare you the details. Death is ugly. I was so ready to leave when the time came and then I felt awful for feeling that way.

That day, inside the big iron gates, I witnessed the collision of two very different worlds. On the one hand, I saw life as I held newborns and played tag with children. On the other hand, I sat on the floor in a dark room and caressed the hand of a dying woman who was very sick; she did not have the strength to look up at me. She stared into the floor as if she could see right through it.

I don’t know how to sum up that day to be honest. I don’t know how to write about experiencing joy of life and witnessing the turmoil and reality of death. I don’t know what my response is to be after being at The House of Peace.

As we exited through the large iron gates and entered into the world outside of that place, I was struck by yet another stark reality that day. There, outside the gates and along a curb, sat close to thirty more children, waiting and hoping to be fed any left over food that The House of Peace might be able to give them. There were no left overs that day.

We got in our cars and drove off. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the laughter coming from the orphaned children that day. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look in the woman’s eyes lying on the floor, breathing her numbered final breaths. I’ll never forget the stares of those who sat silent at the gate hoping for scraps of food that day.

I search for ways to share the stories of the people I’ve encountered. I’ve spent almost five years processing that day. I don’t see an end to my thoughts and learning’s from that day in the near future. I don’t expect to understand it really. I’ve only come to one main conclusion about that day. Jesus Christ is not limited by time or space or border. Jesus Christ was before time, is present in time and sits next to the Father in eternity to come. Jesus Christ was in that orphanage that day holding the babies and playing with the giggly children. Jesus Christ was lying on the floor, holding that woman and feeling her pain and suffering in her final moments along with her. Jesus Christ was seated on the curb with those thirty or so children hoping for a bite to eat that day. Jesus Christ adores each and every baby, child, and adult in every nation throughout all time. Jesus Christ is.