UPDATED, so please read to the end!
”I want him to have a better life, and I want him to have an education,” she said as she walked up to me and laid her sleeping 1.5 year old son in my lap.
“I want to give him to a gringa (white girl) at a church, and here you are.”
My mind began whirling. I must be misunderstanding her Spanish. Surely this woman doesn’t want to give me her son. Surely not. Surely not. I stare down at the precious baby in my lap, sleeping peacefully, too young to understand life.
“Moises,” she whispered, “his name is Moises.” The name Moses has great significance in my life, and it reminds me of my baby brother, who is around the same age of the Moises now laying in my arms. God, is this you? Are you revealing part of your plan to me? Am I supposed to somehow accept this baby?
“I want to gift him to you,” she repeated. “I’ll bring you his papers.”
But something seemed off with this woman, and it seemed even more so with the man accompanying her. It didn’t seem like a desperate, loving mom wanting something better for her child. Something wasn’t right, and I could feel it in my bones. My mind continued racing.
She began telling me in detail what her baby likes to eat and at what time, when he likes to sleep, and so on. I must be hearing her wrong. I focus back enough to hear her now asking me questions:
What’s your name? “How beautiful.” Do you live in the United States? When are you going back? Do you have a home? Access to medical care? An education? A husband?
Uh oh.
“No husband?” She exchanged glances with the man she was with. They passed a few words back and forth. Meanwhile, I stared at the boy in my lap. Noticed his tiny fingers, long eyelashes, perfect little nose. He was created so intentionally by you, Father. I can show him Your love; I can take care of him. If this is Your will, I will do whatever it takes to bring him home.
I’ve had little Moises in my lap for close to ten minutes now. I begin to let the idea of life with him form in my mind. I begin to feel protective of him, as I continue to feel more and more uncomfortable with the man and woman standing above my chair.
I’m pulled back into reality as they finish talking. She quickly comes over and sweeps Moises out of my lap, and as she does, he wakes and begins to cry.
No, God. Don’t let them leave. I don’t understand.
The man stares at me in a way that could make the hair on the back of your neck stand. I look to the woman, now breastfeeding baby Moises. They turn. They walk away.
And my heart sinks all the way down to our dirt road as they round the corner.
I go into the church and begin to cry. I cry to a friend (thanks Rach, for always being sweet with my tears), and then remember that I can take my anger to God & I can cry to Him.
God, WHAT?
Pray for him.
What was the purpose of that?
Pray for him.
Why my lap? If you knew that nothing more would come from this moment, WHY? Was that for nothing?
You’ll remember him.
My heart hurts, Abba. I don’t understand. Why doesn’t this woman want her baby? And if she doesn’t want him, why can’t I love him?
—
I haven’t heard the answer to this. But I later found out that this woman is mentally ill, and she has already given away three babies in the community here. The man with her wasn’t the baby’s father, but rather a new partner.
We leave in Honduras in four days. I’ve prayed and asked God that if there is something more that I can physically do for Moises before I leave, that He would make it abundantly clear. But, if there’s not, I will continue to pray for baby Moises every single day.
I believe now that it was MY lap because of the place in my heart that both his age and the name Moses hold. Because I so quickly loved this boy, I will never forget him.
Please, please join me in prayers for him. That his mom will be healed, that he wouldn’t be endangered by his stepdad, that if he is given away, it is to a loving and Christ-centered family, and that he will grow up knowing what it means to have family + to be truly wanted and loved.
UPDATE: I had taken this blog down, because I didn’t want to give a poor image of the family. But later that week, I climbed onto a packed school bus heading home from the city, and I was the second standing row. After I scooched back as far as I could, I looked down…and there was Moises.
This bus ride was terrible.
During the ride, I was offered baby Moises again. This offer turned into an all out fight between the mom and stepdad on the school bus packed with nearly 100 people. There was yelling and hitting and I had a front row seat to it all. Moises was tossed around in her lap. And then, in the middle of the yelling, they both burst out into laughter. I, along with the people sitting around me, sat in confusion.
And before I knew it, they jumped up, and she slung Moises onto her shoulder. Déjà vu. I watched them maneuver their way off the bus + out of my life…and I melted into tears.
Something I’ve learned on the race is that I physically can’t help nearly as much as I want to. The baby growing up in an abusive family. The dog that is dying on the side of the road. The young girl in the hospital that is nearing death. Her parents who grasp my hand and stare helplessly into my eyes.
A good reminder has come with this. I am not in control. I cannot help everyone. I cannot fix everything. But, I CAN pray. My prayer life is increasing more and more on the race, as I realize that prayerfully interceding for someone is not only the least I can do—but it is the most powerful thing that I can do.
Not because I am powerful in any way, but because my God who hears my prayers is.
