There was a baby on the news in the night. He or she was laying next to a broken hospital, on dirt and rubbish and remnants of old food, covered with a small white sheet. His legs and a limp arm were visible and the blanket did nothing to shield the fact that this child died that day. Perhaps thousands of children died that day. In the US we never saw pictures of dead children, but here, I finally see the image for maybe the first time. A real dead child. About the same size, maybe the same age as the baby I was feeding at that very moment, in the middle of the night, from my rocking chair in this warm home in a developed country. I don't know what he really died from, maybe from the earthquake, maybe from poverty, maybe from starvation or from neglect (I only say this because, at that moment, there was no one there holding him and crying for him).
I know devastation exists in this broken world. I'm told it time and time again and I read it in His word, which tells me that all of creation aches and groans for salvation. But not often do you see the evidence of it wrapped up as a dead baby covered in a white sheet.
So today, in my inbox, an email from Compassion International, in desperate need for donations for the children they support and love and feed and teach in Haiti. And another email from Samaritans Purse in Ireland (or the US) pleading for help so they can help. I've seen pictures on the news courtesy of World Vision, who are always the first people on the field in a dire situation. Just a few organizations that we believe in and believe that they can help.
Prayers, too, of course. We know (hope, want, beg) that He can help.
my own sleeping baby