finding a purpose

A few weeks ago, I went with the pastor to help someone that he had heard about. His name is Giovanni, he is 25 years old, and his story breaks my heart. When he was 13, his dad tried to kill his mom and when he shot at her, he missed and shot his son instead. The bullet went through Giovanni, from one side to the other and passed through his spinal column. Not only is he paralyzed but he is also deformed. I don't know when the last time he was out of his bed or his house. The combination of being bed-ridden and not having any sensation from the waist down has resulted in several deep and grotesque pressure wounds. Many of them are infected. The pastor invited me to come to clean his wounds. There is something addicting about being in a place where you know you are needed. Today I went for the fourth time and I hope to go at least once a week until I leave. It is definitely not my favorite thing to do though. The process is incredibly grotesque. Scrubbing raw flesh down to the bone combined with the smell of flesh, urine and iodine makes me slightly nauseated. I know that he can't feel it, but I know when I am scrubbing tendon's because his leg jerks sending chills down my spine. However, I pray, smile and do my best not to hold my breath or let my face show how I feel.

Giovanni is very polite but also shy. When I arrived for the first time, he wouldn't even look at me in the face. I'm sure he has had more then his fair share of stares and revolting looks. When he did look at me though, one of the first things he said was that I was beautiful. In a country where girls get whistled, cat called and looked up and down around every corner, his sincere compliment touched my heart and made me feel truly pretty. It made me realize that we have something to give in our beauty, the beauty that God has given us. Beauty brings life to depression and light to darkness.  It is not given to impress others or bring up our own social status but to give. True beauty is found in the smile of one who is confident of who they are and why they are here. When I saw Giovanni in his bed in a one room, poorly furnished, plastic roofed house, with pressure sores to his bones and flies buzzing around, I found these two things. In that moment I knew who I was and why I was there. I was a nurse, and I was there to offer my time, my skills, and my hands to clean his wounds; and my smile to bring some light into his life.