Wilted Flower

After changing his diaper, I laid his weak, bony body on a blanket on the floor. We will have to rearrange kids again to make a bed available for him in the ICU. He blinks ever so slowly, exhausted from his day of travel to Cazale and being shuffled around through the admission process. His parents are dead, his aunt and uncle care for him. But they have 5 other mouths to feed first. This little guy...he's withering away, like a wilted flower. Without the right foods, he will die. The aunt says they don't have enough money to travel each week to bring him here for Medika Mamba and the required check-ups. The decision was made to admit him. So he won't die. 

So.  He.  Won't.  Die.

Life and death here....the line between the two is something as simple as nutritious food. Food, for goodness sakes.

I kiss him on the cheek and tell him to sleep. He's safe here. And will eat here. Lord see these children in this broken world. Come quickly.

Good Stuff

We head back to KY for a break in 3 weeks. I find myself fantasizing about Alice Springs chicken and chocolate milk. (I can almost hear the sound of the spoon clanging gently against the glass of cold deliciousness as I stir it.) I think about the leisurely walk down Broadway, soaking in the familiarity of my beloved downtown. Hugs from family and friends are soon to be had. Kicking back on my Mom and Dad's couch, listening to the hum of the air conditioner. Driving on smooth roads with the sunroof open and radio cranked up.

Good stuff.

But I treasure every minute of changing nasty diapers on precious babies, plugging numbers into Excel spreadsheets to document weigh gain, holding a kid tight while sweat trickles down my back, and looking people in the eye -as my own body feels yucky- and being able to honestly tell them "our problems are big, but God is bigger."

Chocolate milk is good, but this stuff is incredible.