Borrowed

I remarked recently to a friend how our children are ours for such a short while and how important it is to rejoice in every moment possible with them; yes, even the times when they use their sibling's scalp as an art easel.

I had no idea how those very words would come back to sit with me, like a raincloud with no breeze in the sky. A very sweet and very small baby girl at Baby T's orphanage died yesterday with a family here in the US who already loved her so much.

They had never held her. They had never kissed her. They had never heard her cry. They had not sat stroking her soft baby face and marveling at the goodness of life. They hadn't even had the chance to spend a night, exhausted and sleep deprived, with their child who just wouldn't sleep. I can only imagine the grief they are feeling tonight. But I can know the love they have for this child, who lived 10,000 miles away and whom they never met. And the worry, oh the worry, of the waiting parents whose children also wait in a place where medical care is the exception-not the rule.
So tonight, when I go to bed, I will pray one more time for H and Baby T., for the family who lost their precious baby yesterday, and for all the families and children who still wait to be together; and I'll make sure I stop and kiss the four miracles asleep in their beds that I have had the gift of borrowing from God for just one more day.