I read the child’s name and my throat constricts. The words seem detached from the page and I wish I could wrap my hand around each letter–crushing the message they bear. Dead. Eight year old. Mother attempted to revive.
Pausing, I think of my own children and something like guilt washes over me. My children have been spared death. They have escaped from the clasp of pneumonia…the rebellious actions of desperate youth…and the threat of childhood illness. My daughter survived when she was resuscitated–and the memory of unmatched pain still lingers within. And my heart aches for this mother.
Then, I think of the little boy–thin and frail when I knew him as a preschooler–and marvel at the way God used him to touch the lives of so many. On Christmas Day, the boy drew
his final breath. And because of that boy several other children received an unimaginable Christmas gift–the gift of hope.
A blind child awakened to the colors of an undiscovered world while another now touches tender flesh marred by stiches–proof that much had been sacrificed for hope.
And my thoughts are of the boy–and of Hope. The one who fully restores the brokenhearted mother…the dying child…the blind and desperate. And I Ask for the grace to accept Hope’s promise for today.
Scripture for Reflection
“Put your hope in God and know real blessing.” Psalm 146:3-9 MSG
“Blessed are those…who have made The Lord their hope and confidence.” Jer. 17:7
