Dear darling child from the tiny mountain village
- Bailey
- Apr 8, 2015
- 3 min read
Dear darling child from the tiny mountain village,
Did you make it?
I ask this question often. I wonder where you are. I’m sorry I don’t think about or pray for you and your family more often.
My heart hurts. You took a piece of it that day I met you in the sweltering stickiness of summer heat, sweat pouring from my face and from your tiny fever-ridden body.
Holding your too-tiny head in my too-strong hands, I felt you tremble, sweet baby girl, you coughed and ached and didn’t even have the energy to cry. You were so good and patient while we prayed over you, baby.
How is your mama? Her faith moved me, you know that, little one? She cradled you so close and strong, wrapped up in her own exhausted heart and relentless mother-love. Crying out to our Heavenly Father on your behalf, she prayed with fervency and urgency for healing. She held you up, offering-like towards the One who knitted you in her womb, the only One who can save you. An Old Testament lesson of faith unfolding before me, she raised you up with tearful devotion.
Not knowing until a while into our prayer what you were suffering from, I listened hard to the seamless Spanish cries for mercy and healing. The thick accents told of your heart, precious one, your heart that had a gaping hole in it where your life was leaking out. My breath caught in my throat because, sweetheart, you weren’t but a few sunrises and sunsets old. Born into an already bursting family of four siblings, your first cries were in the midst of desperate poverty. Squalor swallowed up your tiny, hurting body, and like the monster it is, tried to squeeze out all hope. But take heart, little girl, Jesus has overcome the world.
Darling child, the pastor explained how your mama was frantic to get you down the mountain to the nearest hospital all the way in Guatemala City. It would cost money she did not have, money she could not save up and also feed your brothers and sisters. Sweet girl, my heart broke, shattered at the pain in your mama’s eyes, the helplessness visible in her weak stature.
It was the greatest privilege of my life thus far to pray over you that day. Approaching the Throne of Grace, the Great High Priest, on your behalf, was an honor like none other. The God of the Universe moved through you that day, little one. Mightily and heavily He used you, broken vessel, to work in the hearts praying over you. Signature of Divine.
So we gave, all we had brought with us, we gave that you might get to Guatemala City and that your heart might be healed right up. Because you see, blessed child, our Jesus, He calls us to take care of the “least of these”, to love them as He has loved us– without restraint, fiercely and expressively, holding nothing back. I prayed like that over you that day, little girl. I prayed fiercely and expectantly. You see our Sovereign Jesus, He promises goodness because He is good. He is good all the time, all the time He is good. I know it’s hard to see, but I know you see it now.
Because you know what, child? If you did make it to that hospital in Guatemala City, if your heart was healed, by God’s great grace through human hands, then you know love. You know what it’s like to be loved in such a way that your heart is made physically whole– even when all the odds are hard against you. What’s even more glorious, is that if you didn’t make it to that hospital, you now live in the presence of the King of kings Himself. You have the pure joy of gazing into His eyes like fire, into Love embodied. Rejoicing in a new body, whole and healthy, strong and pure, baby girl, you have the extraordinary honor of thanking your Creator face to face. Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Oh my soul, darling child, what a gift your life was, is. A brief time with you changed the way I communicate with our Jesus forever. Unwavering trust from your mama’s submissive posture, expectant prayers steeped in faith from your pastor’s heart, quiet, patient hurting from your frail frame, I knew real faith– real faith unhindered by immediate medical attention, or clean water, or sufficient money. Faith was your family’s sufficiency. Lead where trust is without borders, taken deeper than feet could ever wander.
Baby girl, I cannot wait to see you healed and whole in heaven soon. Thank you for being a vessel of grace that thick, humid day on top of that mountain.
Give Jesus a kiss for me, little one,
{ This was originally an assignment for my creative writing class. The prompt was to write a letter to someone who is dead. }
