Projectile Vomit and Orphans

Tonight, the Little One projectile vomited all over me. Twice. He threw up everywhere, all over the church, all over my one-day-old outfit. It was just everywhere. He was sobbing, I was praying, and rushing, and gathering the rest of the boys to get home from church. And I just held him and prayed as he was screaming in pain. Nobody likes throwing up. Nobody likes tummy aches. Especially when such a little body experiences such traumatic results. The adult knows that it’s good to get rid of whatever is inside, to be purged of the bad, but the babe just knows that he hurts, is tired, and nothing feels right. So I rock him and pray, and he cries and cries. 

I put him in the warm bath and stroke his hair. And through his wails I say “I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here;” and he settles down to this truth. His eyes grow heavy. He lets the warmth of the water calm his anxious heart. He knows I’m here, and that I’m not going anywhere. And he can trust that, he’s come to learn. 

And as I stroke my wailing Little One’s hair back, my eyes well with tears, because suddenly I remember the children across the globe whose tummy’s are aching, who may have thrown up tonight, and have no one to rock them, no one to hold them, no one to stroke their precious hair back and comfort them with these words: “I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here." 

There are approximately 3,000 children in Orange County without a capable mom and dad to hold them when their tummy’s hurt. For those who know the Littlest Guy in our house, picturing him, weeping, with vomit all over him, and no one comforting that sweet, tender heart and kissable face will surely grip you.

This is Orange County alone. Three Thousand Little Ones.

Of course, when I am comforting my Little Guy, I picture the babes across the globe, Africa, specifically, hurting tummies, with no one to clean them up, to pick them up, and to rock them back to comfort. 

Oh Jesus, surely your heart must grieve that the thousands of children, whom you know the number of hairs on their heads, might have no safe place to rest their precious heads tonight. 

I pray tonight, moms of babes, that as you rock your sweet one to sleep, you thank Jesus that your child has the opportunity to know your loving touch; they know what it feels like to rest, and find refuge in your arms.

Pray that the other little ones, the 3,000 up the street from you, the hundreds of thousands not-so-near, whom God calls us to care for, would know that they are being cradled and rocked in the Almighty’s wings. 

And, if you have two arms, able to be snuggled, and have a heart, rooted in the Love of Christ, do something to change this problem, because the kindness God has shown to us is worth it. Is not the Kingdom of God worth whatever cost he calls us to?

And know this, sweet someday babes, I think of you. I pray for you. I love you already.