The baby, still unnamed, died last night.
This little guy’s death still sharpens a fear in my heart.
You see, I left at home six ultimately precious children—and many other precious ones besides. My fear used to simply be that something would happen to even one of those precious six, and my whole world would fall apart. Now, as we get ready to leave for an extended break from this place, my fears have increased. Now it is not only the dear six at home who I carry in my mind and heart, but also another ultimately precious six, of the Lopit variety (and many other precious ones besides). And what of me, if but one of these precious six falls to some ill, especially in this, the wet, malaria season? Could my heart—our hearts—withstand it? I confess this fear moves to centrality as the day of departure gets nearer and my memory turns to the last two returns, when each time we’ve found another neighbor child dead.
I just keep asking the Lord to protect these children and our friends, to let them live to hear and accept the Gospel, for His glory.
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