I’ve gone through and read my past posts and journals about Baraka. It’s so hard to believe time passed so quickly. Baraka arrived to Neema house November 22, malnourished and in very bad shape. From that day I picked him up from the hospital we spent nearly every day together. From learning to use a bottle, to putting on weight, to sick nights spent with me, to physical therapy exercises, to a week in the hospital.
I loved him. I loved him with every ounce I had and yet somehow still had more love. I loved him to health. I loved him to strength. I loved him through the nights he was sick. I loved him through the week in the hospital. I loved him. I still love him.
It was 10 weeks. 10 weeks that God gave me to love this little boy with all that I had. Truth be told, it doesn’t feel like it was enough. I still can’t look at his picture without tears welling in my eyes. I can’t look at his bed where he use to sleep. I can’t look at the painting we made together hanging on my wall.
I know this will be the first of many children that come into my life and steal away my heart for moments that feel too brief. So much of me wants to run away from that. To run away from the attachment. To run away from the hurt. But I know the Father has given me a mother’s heart for a reason. I know its so crucial to love these children unrelentingly in the time that we have. I know that His plan is bigger.
But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel like I just lost my own child. But I know He said not yet. And I know He said love him while he’s here. But sometimes it is so hard to understand. I don’t know why I thought it would hurt less. But it’s more than anything I’ve ever felt. I’ve lost my son. My only son. Is this how You felt? Is this how You felt when You gave Your only Son upon the cross?
Sacrifice. Am I willing to sacrifice my heart, my love, my strength, for a child to know they are safe, they are secure, they are loved and they are special? This is a question I need to ask myself every day. And on most days I don’t think I can, but I know He can. And I know He will help me.
So Baraka has gone home with his new parents. He’s transitioning from my love and comfort, to the love and comfort of his parents. His forever family. I can only pray that He comes to know You. To know how You sustained him. To know the great plans I know You have for his life.
And now I just keep going. I keep asking for Your strength. I keep asking for Your love. And I know You will continue to provide, because even more than these are my children for a moment, they have always been Yours.