Mt. 25:40 "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
We are in Haiti, one of the poorest countries in the world. What worth does Haiti have in the world's eyes? Even when you take the country as a whole, it's small, it's despised, it's the victim of prejudice and corruption, and it's full of crime and oppression and violent perverting of justice. It's one of the least attractive places to be.
Go down from the country as a whole to a single individual. One Haitian woman--what is she worth to the world? How much would she be valued, cherished, and honored by the world? Would she even merit a passing glance?
Go down from there to the baby in her womb. Unknown to her, the baby is a girl, which alone is enough cause to make her a second-class citizen. But on top of that, she is blind. And she has hydrocephalus (water on the brain).
[Hydrocephalus is frightening. Doing a search for "hydrocephalus" on Google images might give you nightmares. However, as gruesome as it looks, hydrocephalus does not have to be a terminal illness. In America, they simply put a shunt in your body that drains the fluid out. Babies survive hydrocephalus all the time. But in Haiti, where there is no money to pay for the surgery, it is a fearsome condition that leads to an early death.]
The baby was born to this unknown Haitian woman by C-section. And not even mother-love could induce her to keep it. The baby was abandoned in the hospital.
How much lower could you get on the totem pole of the world's esteem than by being Haitian, being a blind baby girl with hydrocephalus, and being abandoned as a newborn by your own mother? This child is literally "the least of these."
Our director heard about the baby and organized a rescue. She sent a Haitian nanny to feed her and care for her, because left alone in the hospital, she would have literally starved to death. (Hospitals here don't feed people.) Today a group of us went to the hospital to see her. We named her Grace. We petted her and prayed over her and held her. If she dies, she will die in someone's arms, with a full belly, surrounded by love and comfort and everything we can do to bless her with God's love. (So far, we haven't brought her home yet, because the paperwork is not complete to release her to the creche, but until then, we will be going in shifts to sit with her at the hospital, feed her, and love on her.)
I got to be among the group that went to the hopsital, and I felt like I was holding myself in. I had to steel my soul to bear the sight. I couldn't allow myself to feel anything. If I allowed sorrow and pity in, they would simply deluge my soul, and it would be too much. Uncertainty ("Can I touch it?") and revulsion ("Uh, that's really scary-looking") battled together in my soul, but finally succumbed to my efforts to repress them. I strengthened my resolve. "Be strong," I commanded myself, and came out of the hospital without any tears.
It was only when I had climbed into the back of the tap-tap and we were driving away that Jesus reminded me of something.
"I love that little girl."
And in that moment, something happened. Jesus invited me to share His love for her, and I allowed my hard exterior to break. I opened myself up, became vulnerable, and His love poured into my heart in such a gushing, abundant measure that my heart hurt. The tears came then. I received the piece of His heart that he shared with me, and though there was a deep-set agony about it, it was beautiful. I didn't naturally love our little Grace, and I tried to steel myself from the emotions--but I couldn't steel myself from His emotions. He gave me a glimpse into His heart: Kind, firm, tender, always loving, always upholding, always faithfully beating with love for the little one, the least, the last.
How upside-down is that?
The God I serve stoops to the lowest place and washes the feet of those whom the world despises.
Jesus is not looking for a celebrity to admire--He is looking for a little Haitian hydrocephalus baby to pour His love into.
And I got to play a part in being a channel of that love.
Thank you, precious Savior.
|Our newest little rescued baby, Grace|
Update: Safe in the Arms of Jesus