If you don't know, I spent my spring break in Honduras. My team and I worked at an orphanage called Por Los Niños constructing a new roof for one of their four houses. When we weren't working, we were playing/bonding/becoming attached with the kids.
I loved every single one of them, even Erlin who always acted like a punk to me. But one little boy holds my heart. Kevin.
I don't remember meeting Kevin, really. Looking back, I remember taking a picture of him when he and the rest of the kids were exercising on the basketball court, but that was it. I didn't think anything about it. I didn't know his story and never thought he would have had such an impact on me.
Kevin was born with what was described to me as fibrodisplasia (but after some research, I'm not sure that's exactly it...what do I know.) When his biological mother discovered this, she wanted nothing to do with him. I cannot speak for her, but I imagine she saw him as a burden. Life in Honduras is difficult enough without a crippled child...right? So she placed Kevin in some reeds on the side of a mountain. In some reeds. Much like another story of a little boy I have heard countless times. A little boy who was put in some reeds on the side of a riverbank, only to one day deliver God's people from oppression. To redeem them. Incredibly fitting for Kevin's story, too.
Another woman, whom Kevin would come to know as "Auntie," found Kevin one day and apparently recognized him as the child of this woman, Kevin's biological mom. She went to her, asking what she was doing with Kevin. When she said she didn't want him, this "Auntie" asked her if she could have him. Well, his mom didn't want him before, why would she now? With that, "Auntie" took Kevin as her own, making him one of eventually four children.
That is, until she realized just how much medical attention Kevin would need. Before the age of six, Kevin had been in and out of the hospital countless times. I say "countless" because Por Los Niños doesn't even know how many times. They were only told by the people where Kevin lived that he was in and out of the hospital all the time. Not only that, but "Auntie" always submitted him under a different name, making it significantly more difficult for Les and Jeanell (the couple over Por Los Niños) to find his medical records in the future.
As time when on, "Auntie's" husband left her alone with her three biological kids, and Kevin. The pressure became too much for her and she made the decision one day that Kevin had to go. She couldn't take care of him anymore. Bringing him to Por Los Niños around 2004, she left him. The second time he would be given up in only six years of life. Les and Jeanell quickly acted, taking Kevin to hospitals all over the country. Time after time, Kevin was mistreated. One time, a metal pin was put in his leg to hold it up, for no beneficial reason. Jeanell could only be with him from 7AM-7PM, and when she would come in the morning, she would find him lying in filth because no one would take him to the bathroom. The doctors refused to tell Les and Jeanell what was wrong, saying they didn't deserve to know, getting so bad that Les finally called their lawyer in Texas to see what options they had. Because God is good, because He redeems, because that's the story of Kevin's life, he applied and was accepted to Scottish Rite hospital in Texas. By age six, Kevin's left leg was only an inch shorter, but he had gone through so many surgeries, so much pain. In fact, he had a large scar across his back, of which I've seen, that was there before he even came to Por Los Niños. There is no telling what was done to him. They could only this Texas hospital would bring hope.
But it brought more of the same. Kevin left Texas with the heartbreaking news that he could not be "fixed." All they could offer was a prosthetic to go in his shoe that would give him the appearance of standing at the same height. He has to go back about every six months for new experiments and another inch to his prosthetic. Today, it is four inches tall. He goes back to Texas in April or May for yet more diagnosis'.
But when I met Kevin, I didn't know about his disease. He was a quiet little boy with a sweet smile. By day two, he had given me a least five drawings, another reason we clicked so well, and I would later find that giving is what Kevin does. It's his love language. As we spent more time together, I became aware of his disability, more so than he ever would. He couldn't run and play like the other boys, often getting stuck as goalie in soccer, or not being able to play at all. When the other little boys would kick the ball away from Kevin because he couldn't get there fast enough, I would almost get angry. Defensive of my little one, almost like a mother. But Kevin was never phased. He never spoke a harsh word. He never got angry and always kept that sweet smile.
Kevin continues to teach me. He has seen more life in his now eleven years than I probably ever will. But when he looks at me with his chocolate eyes and dimples, when I see him ride his bike as fast as all the other kids, I believe even more in Redemption. He is Redemption.
"He redeemed my soul from going down to the pit, and I will live to enjoy the light."
Job 33.28
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