My good friend, Wayne, worked with a Cambodian partner to start a hospice outside Phnom Penh in 2001. At the time, thousands of people were dying of AIDS in the most miserable ways imaginable. They were rejected by their families, out of fear, and forced to sleep outside. Children lived out their final days in boxes underneath their family homes. Crematoriums even refused to handle the remains.
In 2005, the price of life saving drugs finally dropped and ordinary Cambodians of all ages stopped dying. In 206, the hospice became an orphanage to care for the children who had been left behind (and some single mothers struggling to live with HIV and care for their children).
Wayne cared for about 400 dying people between 2001 and 2006. Before that he had already seen more suffering and death than you (probably) or I can imagine from Vietnam to Gallup, New Mexico to rural Honduras. When I met him in Cambodia just over a year ago, he only dressed in black clothing. I quickly noticed, because the heat was almost unbearable for me. He explained that for personal reasons, at some point he had taken a vow only to wear black. I imagined it was an expression of mourning or pain. Ever since I’ve known him he has been a somber/joyful bearded ex-hippie registered nurse tenderly caring for children with HIV/AIDS. You know the type.
Now at least two things have changed, as you can see.
I took the first photo in September. The photo on the right is from a couple of days ago. He sent it by email with the following explanation:
The election of Barack Hussein Obama
As President of the United States of America
Has given me a renewed hope in Humanity
And a belief that Change is not only possible…
It is Inevitable.
Folks who know Wayne will read this with amazement and a chuckle. I remember in February, 2006, telling Wayne that the next president of the USA would be Obama. He wasn’t buying it. He couldn’t believe that America would elect an African-American in this generation. We’re both very glad that he was wrong.
So kudos to Wayne. You’re a great friend, and I’m glad to see you you’re renewed hope on display.
I don’t think Wayne modelled his vow after the original “Man in Black,” but I’ll post these words in tribute. Note the line in bold at the end!
Man In Black
Well, you wonder why I always dress in black,
Why you never see bright colors on my back,
And why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone.
Well, there’s a reason for the things that I have on.
I wear the black for the poor and the beaten down,
Livin’ in the hopeless, hungry side of town,
I wear it for the prisoner who has long paid for his crime,
But is there because he’s a victim of the times.
I wear the black for those who never read,
Or listened to the words that Jesus said,
About the road to happiness through love and charity,
Why, you’d think He’s talking straight to you and me.
Well, we’re doin’ mighty fine, I do suppose,
In our streak of lightnin’ cars and fancy clothes,
But just so we’re reminded of the ones who are held back,
Up front there ought ‘a be a Man In Black.
I wear it for the sick and lonely old,
For the reckless ones whose bad trip left them cold,
I wear the black in mournin’ for the lives that could have been,
Each week we lose a hundred fine young men.
And, I wear it for the thousands who have died,
Believen’ that the Lord was on their side,
I wear it for another hundred thousand who have died,
Believen’ that we all were on their side.
Well, there’s things that never will be right I know,
And things need changin’ everywhere you go,
But ’til we start to make a move to make a few things right,
You’ll never see me wear a suit of white.
Ah, I’d love to wear a rainbow every day,
And tell the world that everything’s OK,
But I’ll try to carry off a little darkness on my back,
‘Till things are brighter, I’m the Man In Black.
Johnny Cash
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A documentary is playing on TV. A Japanese man goes to a lonely cliff in Fukui that’s famous for people who come to jump off into the sea. He waits. People come and, then a man arrives alone carrying a bottle of rice wine. The man standing vigil moves in. The man with the bottle of wine is 50 years old, unemployed, and living in the back of his car. He breaks down tears as the other man’s arm settles on his shoulder in compassion. “I’ve stopped 150 men like you, and they’re all doing well,” he says. “You’re going to be allright.” The two of them leave together. The next day they go to an apartment building, and the man pays the first month’s rent for the other. In the comng days, the man who was suicidal gets a part time job. After some time goes by, another volunteer takes a car ride with the man. They go to his family home, and the man confronts his father. He cries and thanks the volunteer. Weeks later he is doing well. 151 and counting.
