On the Front Porch

I stood on the front porch with Marie France this morning, talking about a baby brought to Maison by his birth mom.
I asked why she hadn't breastfed him, and she said her milk was bad and the doctor told her not to do it, that it would hurt the baby.  So after three days, she stopped trying because the doctor said so.    Now, five months later, she wants to leave him with us.  She can't afford to buy formula, and has been feeding him mashed up crackers soaked in some kind of corn milk mixture.  He's tiny.  Tiny arms, tiny legs, tiny dirty fingernails.  He was released from a hospital, where they said she should bring him to us.  So she did.  He's sick, with what we aren't sure.
As Marie France and I continued to talk, she said, 'But he's sick.  When they come here sick, that causes problems.'  Without missing a beat, and in quasi-Creole, I said, 'Wi, men Jezi pa veni pou moun ki pa malad.  Li te veni pou moun ki malad.' (Yes, but Jesus didn't come for people who are not sick, he came for people who are sick.)
Marie France knows this better than most people, and she loves these kids with a passion unlike any other.  Yet, taking in another little one that is already ill in some way or malnourished is a huge risk.  We've seen it with Rudy and Sondy.  But we've also seen it with Sherlande, Jean Marc, Stheloy and Stellee, and so many others nursed to health and thriving by caring women.  I said, 'If we don't take the sick ones, why are we here?'
I know things need to be done so that mothers don't have to give up their children.  I know that.  It broke my heart to see him pat his momma's face.  I can tell he loves his momma, and she loves him.  She doesn't have what she needs to do it.  Looking at that sweet little face today, I also know we have to do what we can to take care of these littlest ones.  Thanks for being part of that with us.