We went to the hospital the other day, and I found a little baby that I’m pretty sure I was sent to hold. I’m actually surprised we even made it there, because we had little to no idea of where the hospital was, and the word ‘hospital’ definitely doesn’t translate in Swaziland! Anyway, after about an hour long hike and a few close calls with stray dogs, we got there. We prayed outside first, then ventured into the children’s ward. There were so many mothers there, sitting with their children, most of whom were only about 5 years old and younger. We split up and prayed for different ones, stopping to talk to the mothers if they were around. We had decided to bring the spirit of joy with us and try to cheer up the kids instead of sitting and feeling bad for them. After walking around and greeting all the kids and feeling pretty helpless, I walked up to my teammate Sean, who was talking to one of the mothers.
There was a baby in a basin next to them, and Sean told me that the baby girl had just been orphaned by her mother the week before. The baby was fussy, so I asked if I could pick her up. Of course there was no one there to tell me I couldn’t. I picked her up and she stopped crying. I rocked her and was amazed at how perfectly she fit against me. I walked the floor with her, rocking her and speaking words of life into her tiny ears. She fell fast asleep and didn’t wake up for the next two hours. Everyone else had gone into different wings of the hospital, but I stayed with “Angel”. For a time, I was alone in the children’s ward of an African hospital, with only crying babies and African mothers. I was the only white person there. At that moment, nothing mattered to me as long as that baby felt loved and secure, for even those few hours.
I always thought that the first time I held an orphan, I would be sobbing and broken. But that’s not how I felt at all. I was actually shocked at the whole experience. When it was time to go, I looked into her eyes (she had been awake long enough for me to feed her her bottle and say goodbye) and spoke truth into them. Truth that said she is loved and worth it. She’s worth someone coming to claim her and give her a good life and tell her about the man that came 2,000 years ago to prove His undying love for her and who died to give her life. Then I laid her down, and actually walked away with a smile. It sounds so weird even now to write that, but I felt joy in my heart. I hadn’t done anything to improve her situation, but since God has been giving me a crash course in the fact that it’s not about me , I knew my purpose was just to hold her. Nothing more was asked of me but that I love her the way Jesus would if He were to walk into that hospital in the flesh. The most comforting thought that followed me home was that I didn’t have to remind God about that little 5 month old baby that I had stumbled upon. He knows her. He saw her before she was born and has great and powerful plans for her. Please believe that with me, and I believe when I get to Heaven, she will walk up to me and tell me the story of her amazing life. Oh, and the mother that had pointed her out to me informed me that the baby’s African name means “I am found”. Enough said.
