When my heart processes, it breaks.

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Walking up and down the eerily silent corridor of a maternity ward in a state hospital my heart is in a continual algorithm of being ripped and then being put back again.  We are drawn to the loud cries of a baby behind a hospital door.

Processing the joy of new mommies receiving beautiful unexpected maternity packs makes my soul leap. 

Processing the pain of two mommies losing their babies and one little baby abandoned by his mommy makes my soul ache with grief, for him and for his mommy.  A big part of her must have wanted to keep him as she went as far as enduring the pain of labour and delivery.  Maybe this was her only way of giving her precious son a chance at living.  "Little One", as your story becomes a police case and as your name goes into a system, may you know that you are fearfully and wonderfully made.  May goodness be the hallmark of your life.  May peace protect your heart and may your story compel us to rip ourselves from the disease of comfort and selfishness. 

Trying to explain why I am compelled to do anything my heart finds to do is difficult. The life giving spirit I have compels me to go. It compels me to search for those who need to hear the good news. 

It is both a joy and a curse to feel everything so incredibly deeply.  
Thank goodness I am stocked up on Nutella.

"God is in the slums, in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house. God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives. God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war. God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives, and God is with us if we are with them." ~Bono

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