this should not be normal.

Sometimes I wonder just how it is that I ended up here.  I don't remember ever having a moment in life when I chose to live in Bolivia; it just happened. Those who know me well know that if it had been left up to me, I would have never made a decision. God did not give me decision-making skills. I live my life based on what "feels" right, and thankfully, somewhere along the line, the Holy Spirit took control of all that and now runs the show. So somehow I've ended up spending the majority of my days with some of the more despised and feared people in Cochabamba, and I wouldn't change a thing. I love what I do.  

This was all going through my head while I was standing up against a bloodstained curtain in the emergency room this evening, watching a seemingly endless cluster of doctors poke their heads in and out of our cubicle in attempt to steal a glimpse of the wounded street boy laying on the bed.  

This afternoon, the kids were attacked up at the bridge by a group of guys with knives from another, nearby bridge. They called me right away to ask if I could go up there and take one of the boys to the hospital because he had been stabbed pretty deeply in his upper back. I was already in a bus heading that direction, so I ditched my plans and went straight to the bridge. 

When I jumped down into that canal, I saw all the kids circled around one of the boys who was laying on some dirty blankets with a blood soaked shirt and sweatshirt. I've learned that when you see that much blood, you don't think twice, you just go straight to the emergency room. So the boys helped lift him out of the canal and put him in a taxi with me and another one of the guys for company.  

We walked into the emergency room and saw that only 2 of the 10 (or so) exam cubicles were occupied and that about 30 doctors/interns were standing around waiting for something to do. It's no secret that I've been a critic of this hospital, but today I couldn't have been more pleased with the entire experience. We were in and out in less than 2 hours, with stitches and x-rays and all!

But while I was standing against the curtain in the cubicle and wondering how it is that I've ended up here, it dawned on me that nothing about this afternoon was shocking. I didn't even bat an eye that there had been a knife fight among 20-some boys, that one of the guys had been stabbed in the back, or that I had blood stains on my hands from helping a wounded, drug-addicted, sometimes dangerous street kid. It was just another untypical day like all of my untypical days...

And with that realization, my eyes welled up with tears, and I felt another woosh of God's heart for the street kids that almost knocked me over. This should not be normal, and I can never allow myself to get used to this. I don't have words to express my thankfulness for the strength God has given me to just be a part of these kids' lives, but I pray that events like what happened today will shake me and affect me and never become ordinary.  

And the results: The knife didn't puncture his lung or do any major damage.  With some antibiotics and some anti-inflammatory pills, the boy should be just fine.  

And the other guy who came along for company told me how he had managed to get the knife away from one the guys who attacked him. He pulled out a rusty steak knife from the back of his pants, and all I could think about was Tetanus. So I bought yet another bottle of hydrogen peroxide (I probably have 5 at my house) and poured it over his cuts then bandaged them up. These kids must have some kind of abnormal resistance because they're always getting cut on random, filthy objects.