Rojidner.

Today marks 4 weeks that I have been living at Real Hope for Haiti. Yesterday, another baby died. That makes seven. 7 kids who I have seen, and touched, and prayed for, and hoped that they would make it. 

Numbers are unfeeling though. They don't affect our hearts. Names do. Names and faces.

I want to introduce you to a name and a face who was very precious to me.

Rojidner

This is Rojidner.  He was brought to Real Hope for Haiti about a week before I got here. 2 years old, 18 pounds with an awful fungal infection and a mild case of kwashiorkor.  He wasn't a particularly happy little boy.  In fact, I never saw him smile once.  The only times I ever heard him speak he was asking for water.  But somehow, sometime during the few weeks I spent with him, this little boy captured my heart. 

One Sunday, I brought him upstairs from the ICU to my room.  We sat on my bed and I tried my hardest to get him to look and feel a little less miserable.  I pulled out a toy car that I'd packed and he held it for a second, but then proceeded to throw it on the floor.  Despite my best efforts, the kid wouldn't smile or even show the least bit of interest in anything I tried to entertain him with. Finally, I just gave up and we sat there together.  Before long, he stood up, walked over in front of me and put his arms around my neck and hung on.  I knew that couldn't be too comfortable for him because he was still standing up, so I tried turning him around and sitting him in my lap. That lasted about 2 seconds before he turned back around and again put his arms around my neck, head on my shoulder, and stood there. By this time, I was laughing. He was persistent, but after several tries, I eventually got him to cuddle up in my lap where he could sit down and fall asleep. And fall asleep he did.

The next Sunday was a little different. He had been sick since Wednesday. He was put on IV fluids and oxygen and was running a high fever. His heart was racing and he struggled to breathe, taking short quick breaths. When I would go downstairs and sit with him, I always put his feet in my lap. He needed to stay laying down so his IV would continue dripping, even though he fought this and wanted to be held. His hands had to be in socks and pinned to his diaper so that he wouldn't rip out his IV or his oxygen tube. One day, soon after he first had his hands pinned like this, I sat down on his cot and put his feet in my lap. Soon, his feet found their way to my neck and my face. At first, I thought that he was pushing me away. Being visibly in a lot of pain, it didn't seem unreasonable that he might not want to be touched or bothered. But after I moved and he started crying more, I realized that he wasn't pushing me away, he was trying to hold on to me. I immediately pictured the Sunday before when he hadn't been content to just sit on the bed next to me or in my lap; he had needed to be able to hold on to me himself and make sure I was still there. That Sunday he felt comforted by having his arms around my neck; this Sunday, without the luxury of having his hands free, his comfort was found by keeping his feet touching my face. I didn't mind one bit. 

Last Monday morning, around 1 o'clock in the afternoon, Rojidner died.  I was sad and glad and relieved and disappointed all at once.  Of course, selfishly, I wanted him to live.  I still wish he was here with me.  But truthfully, he is more alive now in heaven than he ever was or ever could have been on this earth.  He will never be miserable again.  He will never feel pain again.  He will never have to go hungry again, for food or for love.  He is now and will always be held in the loving arms of his true and perfect Father, and he will have joy forevermore.

I can't show you a picture of Rojidner this week, but I can guarantee that if I could, he would look happier than he ever has.  I am grateful that I was able to touch his life in a small way and be touched by his in return. I never imagined that loving and losing would be this hard, but it is worth it. Rojidner was worthy of love, and it was worth every minute spent, every tear cried, and every time my heart broke to show him that. 

I put my heart on the line in a small way in loving these children and getting attached, knowing that some of them will die. Others will go home with their parents, and I won't see them again. 

Jesus put his heart on the line in a big way. Every single day, he is rejected by those whom he loves so much that he was willing to die for them.  Every single day, his heart breaks for the people who are lost, not just to death, but to eternal death and separation from him. If anyone knows about loving and losing, it is Jesus. He risked it all and spent everything He had to show us that He calls us worthy of love.  I will embrace loving and losing if it means becoming more like Him. 

Philippians 3:10 "That I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death.."