I see you.

Every time I pass a child on these streets, I can't help but stop whatever I am doing and look at them. Not to simply stare, but to drink in their existence. I can't help it. My heart aches when I see them. Not a sad ache, but a heart-so-full-it-hurts ache. Many children in Haiti seem to simply be products of a decision two people made (or maybe one person made and the other had no choice). A lot of them are not wanted and are given away or even disposed of, while others may remain with their parent(s) or other family members, never truly knowing what it means to be loved and cared for. My heart smiles in the times I do come across families where the children are loved and adored. Or when a mom is in tears as she gives her baby away because she loves this child and she knows it is the best thing for her to do.  A dad who wants anything but to give his child away, so he raises her/him on his own, making the most of every goud spent. I pass women with their stomachs full of life and think about the child within them. I wonder what his/her life holds. Does she want that baby? Will she get rid of the baby once it arrives? Will she try and raise the child only to later have no choice but to give it away because she doesn't have the means to? Did she fall for some man's sweet words only to be left alone in this way? Is she married and now happily pregnant?
The stories go on and the books of these people's lives are endless. I wish I could read every one of them.
Each time I pass a child on these streets, I catch a glimpse of him. I notice her. I am so keenly aware of the child's presence... each child with his/her divine appointment for life in this generation, in this country, with these parents or the lack of. I see their life. The ones crying, the ones smiling, the ones being carried, the ones on a motorcycle with a man or woman, the ones eating, the ones barefoot and thin, the ones with a shirt on and no bottoms, the ones dirty from the dust, the ones working, the ones begging for money, the ones sharply dressed for church, the ones who are disabled, the ones that are injured, the ones who are laughing, the ones who are sitting by themselves. I see them and I love them. I think about and pray for their lives. If I could stop and talk to each one, I would. If I could hold each child and lavish them with my love and the love of Christ, I would. The spirit within me and the heart God has given me longs for these children. I want to tell them that I see them.

You are loved, sweet child. I see you.

Where are you going, sweet child? I see you.

Do you have a home, sweet child? I see you.

Are you happy, sweet child? I see you.

There is a God, sweet child. He sees you.

He created you, sweet child. He sees you.

You are beautiful, sweet child. He sees you.

There is a plan, sweet child. He sees you.

I see you. Even if only for a split second... I see you.