07.16.2017
His name is Andrew (*name changed), and if I’m being honest, I didn’t even ask the first time I met him. I was walking down a street in North Philly finishing up the first week of health screening outreach. We came across him after he walked up to us stating that he needed help. He slurred his speech when he spoke and he wouldn’t pay full attention to us. He told us he had a wound. As he spoke, the guys smoking a couple houses down yelled over “they don’t do that,” about our group of students and professionals. As for wound care, the guys weren’t wrong. My group had previously screened a couple of their blood pressures, but I walked down towards the man who seemed to be deliriously asking for help. Andrew pulled up his pant leg and revealed a large wound. It was about the length of half of his shin and it was uncovered. The top layers of his skin were gone and in their place was deep pink tissue, yellow and green oozing and a likely infected wound. Sorry for the graphics, but I want to make the picture clear.
My first thought when we came across him and saw the wound was one of relief. I felt happy that we had met him because now he was going to be able to get the help that he needed. It was, in fact, quite a horrific wound. The flies buzzing around the dirty pant leg did not help in the slightest. As we continued talking with him, I felt naïve as I began to realize that we most likely were not going to be able to do anything.
It was here that Jesus taught me something.
I had been having problems with being present for the past couple of days. I tend to compartmentalize my feelings so that I don’t actually have to feel, and while I know that’s not good, I get caught up doing it because I think that it is easier that way. The day before, I had asked God to show me what breaks His heart. I’ve had friends tell me that they’ve done this and that the results have been pivotal. This was no exception.
As I looked at Andrew’s wound, I glanced back up the street to the men smoking who did not look very happy for us to be there. Above them was a mural of a young man who had been killed painted on the front of a home. I looked across the street and saw an elderly woman in a wheelchair with a little boy standing beside her staring out of a screen door at the situation. I looked down the opposite end of the street and saw men walking up and down smoking, and then a few minutes later a couple of young girls walking past me.
This scene is one that I will not forget. I honestly felt like I was in a movie, but this was reality. This is a reality of a broken world; it breaks God’s heart, and it was breaking my heart too. I was extremely overcome with emotion in that moment. Although I wanted to cry, I held it in. My group continued to try to convince Andrew to go to the hospital to no avail. The guys up the street told us that we could “pray for him or whatever and leave.”
I came back that day feeling discouraged. I knew God was trying to show me something, and I thought that it was that this is what breaks His heart. While I know this is true, what I did not know is that I would continue to see Andrew almost every remaining day of our outreach. We saw him the next day, and we met his half-brother and were able to screen him and another man and talk about our faith. Andrew agreed to go to hospital and we called an ambulance. I was happy that he had agreed to go, but when the ambulance arrived, he ran away, refusing to go and instead walking to the corner store to purchase a pack of cigarettes. Those who knew him did not seem surprised.
As the days went on, we would see Andrew and he would recognize us with a “hey, I know you guys,” and an occasionally mention something about his wound hurting or that it had been bandaged up. Though we never met her, we found out that a neighbor had been cleaning up the wound for him and bandaging it. The last time I saw Andrew was on the second to last day of outreach as he was outside working. He said hello and that he had gone to the hospital earlier because his wrist was hurting, yet he made no mention of the bandaged wound on his leg.
Now that I have had some time to think about these encounters, I don’t think that Andrew’s story is that different from my own or many others. Isn’t it all too common that we are aware we have an affliction, yet we fail to acknowledge it to a point that we could receive help? Isn’t it true that we try to bandage up our wounds and participate in activities that temporarily take the pain away? How long will we struggle until we understand that our afflictions are more than we could ever bear on our own? How many times will we run to the corner store for items of comfort rather than turning to the help we know we need in order to get well? Don’t we want to get well? And if so, what will that take?
I wish this story had a whimsical ending. I want to be able to write that Andrew went to hospital and is on the path to recovery. The reality is that the roots of sin run deep. These roots are not just specific to Andrew, North Philly or the streets that we offered health screens on. Sin that entangles us in traps we cannot work our way out of on our own has the ability to endanger the life that the Lord wants us to live in Him freely. We cannot experience that freedom if we keep running. For me personally, my story is one that involves some running, some brokenness, and some failed attempts at achieving earthly happiness. I learned that there is no place that I could run where the Lord wouldn’t reach me. Somehow I found myself in North Philly this summer speaking to Andrew, and as sit here writing a day after SMI has ended, I see the Lord actively pursuing my heart and growing me in ways that I never would have imagined.
Our God is powerful, and he meets us in the midst of our brokenness. Please say a prayer Andrew, that he would open his eyes to the Lord and that his afflictions may be healed.
In Christ,
-Kristen Smith