My friend Amos just came back from an internship in a Ugandan orphanage. When I listen to his stories, at first I think of a hopeless place where children have been permanently scarred by AIDS. Their mothers have died or realized they couldn’t care for a child who needed medical attention. The orphanage’s goal is to bring children back to stable health, so they can possibly return to family members where they’ll be loved even though they can’t be cured.
One child’s story, particularly, touched my heart as I listened to Amos. In his arms, he held a baby named Yuben, whose lungs had filled with fluid. His breathing was labored and shallow much like the rasping of an old man near death. Oxygen tubes delivered air he needed to stay alive, but recovery didn’t seem all that possible. In that hour, Amos cradled and rocked him. Tears streamed down his face. He was firmly seated in a place of deep suffering. Optimism was no match for this scene. What they both needed was hope.
In that frozen moment, Amos instinctively held out his finger for Yuben to grasp. A prayer floated from his lips, “God, hold out just a finger of your love for him to hold.” His other hand rested on the little boy’s chest. “Let him breathe.”
Weeks later, it was obvious that Yuben’s infant mind and spirit had turned a corner. He was gaining weight and breathing on his own.
Amos still fights back tears today when he tells this story. He sees that place of deep suffering. But, he also sees a light-infused time when he and Yuben reached beyond reason into hope.
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