Balloons

03.15.10



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Our trip to Guatemala is coming to an end. The men placed a new roof on the meeting building for the Church and the women are running a medical clinic. Many people lined up to have their ailments addressed but the one that drew my attention was a small boy, maybe 5 years old, being carried by his mother. I watched when they were called. His problem was obvious – a thorn had buried itself deep in his foot and been left unattended. By this point infection had set in and the doctor was clear that if they didn’t get it out the child was in danger of losing his foot or worse. They had to lance it. I watched as several adults and the mother tried to hold the child down and the doctor began to cut on the swollen foot with no medicine. As they began the child looked, with piercing eyes, at his mother and screamed. I couldn’t imagine the pain of that mother as she watched her child suffer. I didn’t even know the kid and my eyes were filled with tears. Suddenly my attention was diverted to the other side of the building. Blue tarps had been suspended to separate the waiting area from the place where patients were treated. Many children were in this waiting area and one of the missionaries had given them balloons. Like all children they were hitting the balloons into the air and trying to keep them from touching the ground. I was amazed at how oblivious they were to the screams of that small child as they played with the different colored balloons. It was as if they couldn’t even hear his cries of pain. They were so preoccupied with laughter and joy as they entertained themselves.



Then I began to think about my life. I thought about the spiritual emptiness of the individuals that live across the street, the surfers with deep wounds in their lives, the painful brokenness that exists globally. Oblivious to their cries I am busy swatting at balloons of entertainment, comfort, and pleasure. Once King David had an opportunity to offer a sacrifice to God for free. His response, “I will not offer to God that which costs me nothing!” What will we offer to God, time between balloon games or will we run to those cries across the street and around the world?






-An excerpt from Dean Plumlee’s journal. February 1999