In a hidden and poor, neglected part of town there is a small and very lackluster Pentecostal church. The church is nestled amid small, cramped homes and large factories. If you did not know the area, you might not find it. The church is made of cement block and sits at the corner of the block. I drove around twice before I could figure out that the front door is the back door. The church parking lot is fenced with a large gate. The lot was bare of grass and had 3 older cars parked by the door. The air conditioners against the church’s outside wall had a locked chain link fence around them with razor wire on top. In this rundown area, west of the river and filled with other small rundown houses, the AC’s copper pipes are as dear as gold. As I walked into the church, I was faced with two closed doors. One was marked with someone’s name, as it is in Spanish, I have no clue. This church was not made for Sunday school or singles night. This church had one purpose; to give its parishioners a place to pray and praise God. The other door had no label, but I decide this is the room I must to enter. HAVE to enter, because I really do not want to go into that room, but with a hesitant turn of the door’s handle, I ease into the room. I almost hope I am in the wrong place, could turn away and say, “Well, I tried.” to go home to my dinner and bed. The room is dark and cool and I turn my eyes to the right to avoid the unavoidable on my left and face 3 Hispanic women sitting in the pews with fans of newspaper waving in the air…waiting, waiting, waiting. I am in the right place. I look for a familiar face, but was greeted by unfamiliar faces with curious eyes. I said “Buenos Dias” (part of my very limited Spanish vocabulary) and am greeted with “Buenos Tardes”. Sigh, knew I had it wrong, but at least I tried as I repeated the correct phrase and smiled at the three as they returned the smile. Finally, I can wait no longer and I look to my left…and turned my head towards the altar area to see what I had been avoiding; a small white coffin…barely 30 inches long. I take 5 steps and I am at the side of the coffin. In that room, it is the only spark of light and color. The women I had smiled at were in dark clothes, the pews were a dark,dirty and the floors painted a black brown. The walls were concrete and painted light brown. The windows were draped. Peeking out of the coffin was a soft, pink bunny rabbit propped against a little brown girl in a girly, pink dress. Her hair was combed up and back into soft, brown tresses. Her eyes were closed and at peace. Her small cheeks plump and pink against the brown skin. I touched the rabbit and brushed its soft fur and gently touched the arm of the child. As I stood I wondered that I had never seen her without all the tubes and wires of the medical equipment that had tied her to her room as they fed and breathed for her. For over a year she never left her room except to go to the doctor. Her parents tied to the home with a child who would never talk or walk…their only child in this country. I am almost grateful her parents are not here. I was not sure I could stand the pain I knew would be in their eyes; the sadness that I will be there in one way or another for the rest of their lives. What can one say to a parent who has just lost their child? I have comforting words before to other families and they always felt so flat and empty. What words can take that pain away? I stand for a few more minutes and then turn to leave. Quickly, I leave the room to go outside into the Oklahoma August heat and get into my car. I turn the air conditioning up and the CD on high. As I drive out of that small parking lot and turn away from the church, I say a silent prayer for them and for myself. I listen to the music of my CD and try to drown out the sight of that child who will never grow up.
