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I remember holding him like it was just yesterday. A tiny, two-week old child had been abandoned, found, and given to the Chinese orphanage where I was working at, and you could say it was love at first sight. However, this time it was different.
You see, instead of working with the children rescued by our ministry partner, I had gone to work in a room where the government sends the kids they don’t believe will be adoptable. The second floor, we called it. Tucked away in the corner of an old grey building, was the room that these “unwanted” children were sent to live out their brief lives. With an 86% mortality rate few of these children would make it out alive due to neglect, mistreatment, and starvation by the government. It is only by the grace of God we were allowed to work there at all.
Each day I found myself holding these children, singing them songs, and pouring out every last ounce of love my heart had to give, knowing it would never be enough.
One morning, a two week old baby showed up in one of the cribs, fresh from the streets of China and with a very slim chance of survival. Although few of these children get names the first two weeks, we took the liberty of naming this precious child, Jude; Hebrew for ‘praise’. So that in this dark and forgotten place he would be a reminder of joy.
From the moment I laid eyes on him, I couldn’t stand to be far away. All I wanted was to hold this little boy in my arms so that he might know he was not alone, and for a brief time feel a touch of love like he’d never known. So that’s what I did.
For the next week I would rush to his crib first thing in the morning to check on his condition and each morning I was met with a piece of my heart breaking. His frail body grew weaker and colder by the day and I couldn’t stand the thought of this boy suffering alone.
Wrapped tightly in several blankets and cradled in my arms, I would gently sing lullabies and worship songs to the bundle tucked in my arms. All the while fighting the flood of tears that was building up inside of me.
I had signed up on the World Race to help save children, bring them food, pray for them to live; yet in the dark corner of the orphanage I found myself wracked with guilt as I prayed for God to quickly rescue Jude from that place and bring him home to heaven. How had I come to a place so hopeless that the best option is death?
Friday came and I was overwhelmed at the thought of leaving Jude for the weekend, and as the time came to say goodbye I couldn’t let him go. I pulled him close and began to tell him how loved he was, how precious he was, how sorry I was I had to leave him but with the promise I’d return first thing Monday morning. Little did I know it would be the last time I ever saw him.
Monday morning his crib was empty and life moved on as usual. I stood by his crib and stared at the place I had last set him down. There aren’t words to begin to explain what I felt in that moment. All I know is that something changed, and it hasn’t been the same since.
Jude is just one of thousands of children that die each day whether it be a lack of food, healthcare, or unclean drinking water. But he is anything but a statistic. He was a child that had a story, and that was dearly loved.
So it is with the utmost respect that I share with you his story. I trust you with it to be more than an emotional response and then quickly forgotten. It took months to find these few words and I still remain speechless in a multitude of ways. But with the words that I can find, I ask that you join me in prayer. Pray for the children of the second floor in China. Pray for the forgotten, the dying, the abandoned. For they are in desperate need of a touch of love.
