I didn’t mind it, because today was the day that I was most excited about on my mission trip to Haiti. It was Clinic Day. The day that we had been collecting formula for, from all over, for months. The day that we got to love on moms, dads, aunts, and grandparents as we examined their child and provided formula and food to sustain their family for a week or more. The day that any mother longs to experience…pouring into the teeny tiny children that have no way to care for themselves. I watched as they poured in with excitement and nervousness. What would I say to them? There was nothing I could say that they could understand other than “belle” meaning beautiful as I loved on their child. Some of the families started showing up before we even had breakfast, some families began walking at the crack of dawn carrying their children just to make it to the clinic. I have been told that some families come as far as 15 miles away (and they sure didn’t have on their good running shoes). All my fears vanished as I looked into their faces and began walking around saying “Bonjour” to each and every face.
Then it happened. I noticed a woman and her older daughter walk up with a teeny, tiny baby. I also saw the orphanage director and clinic operator, Jen, walk over to her. I saw uncertainty and concern on Jen’s face and went to offer help. Jen carried on a conversation with her about her child and his condition. I do not know what Jen said to her, but I could tell from Jen’s WONDERFUL facial expressions that it was not a happy conversation. Jen took the baby, and the mother went and sat with the other clinic families. My arms and heart were burning so bad that I forced myself on Jen and asked if she would like me to hold the baby. I think Jen giggled at me, but graciously handed him over. In that moment my world got still. I stared down into the face a 6 pound, 2 month old, beautiful baby boy as Jen shared that his mother claimed that her milk was “salty” and he was starving to death. He did not have the strength to open his eyes, much less utter a sound. His skin was pale, and on his head under his beautiful curly hair, was a soft spot that showed how truly dehydrated he was.
I looked at Jen and uttered the words, “ I don’t want to be offensive, I am trying to be strong, but I am about to loose it.” She told me that it was okay, that it might be good for the mother to see how upsetting his condition was. I held him and cried the ugly cry. Everything in me wanted to take that baby and run for the hills. Jen had pre-warned us not to be “baby hogs” and to share the holding. I knew my time was coming up short with him. I looked at Tracy standing next to me and said “I promise I am about to give him to you, I just need one more minute.” Tracy was so sweet to wait patiently, as I handed him over I watched the ugly cry come over her too. There was no stopping it. What else does a mother do when I dying baby lays in her arms? I had to walk away because I was about to get myself obsessed with just watching him all day.
To be honest I don’t remember much about how the clinic went. I remember watching as our team prayed prayers over the families. It did not matter that they did not know the words we were speaking, they knew of our Jesus and that the words we spoke held His power. They would move from person to person soaking in that power. I also remember standing at the formula station with Samantha and Jennifer, weighing powdered milk and formula for the families to take with them. I remember loving on the families that came through and smiling at their babies and watching them humbly take the offering we had to give them, knowing it was their life line for the next few weeks.
But my heart was in the other room where other members of the team were trying to get the tiny baby boy to take some formula. They each held him through tears knowing that if something was not done fast, his life was slowly slipping away. I was told he even stopped breathing twice while we were trying to figure out what we needed to do for him. 
After a long talk with his mother, she agreed to allow Jen to attempt to put an NG tube in him because he was too weak to suck a bottle, she also agreed to leave him overnight so we could monitor him around the clock. Somehow I was standing there and got to grab my buddy Sonja who has worked as a Pediatric Trauma Nurse at Vanderbilt Hospital, we ran into the house with Jen and I watched through tears and amazement as my friend took an NG tube, that was twice the size it needed to be, and in one flawless swoop place it up his nose and directly into his stomach. I told her she was my “superhero”. Again, I selfishly scooped him back up and we slowly began administering 5 cc’s of formula into who we had discovered was named, Roudlin.
After a long talk with his mother, she agreed to allow Jen to attempt to put an NG tube in him because he was too weak to suck a bottle, she also agreed to leave him overnight so we could monitor him around the clock. Somehow I was standing there and got to grab my buddy Sonja who has worked as a Pediatric Trauma Nurse at Vanderbilt Hospital, we ran into the house with Jen and I watched through tears and amazement as my friend took an NG tube, that was twice the size it needed to be, and in one flawless swoop place it up his nose and directly into his stomach. I told her she was my “superhero”. Again, I selfishly scooped him back up and we slowly began administering 5 cc’s of formula into who we had discovered was named, Roudlin.
Our story does not end there with our sweet Rudy (who was nicknamed by Jen’s sister, Laurie). Our team rotated the rest of the day and through the night feeding him 5 cc’s at a time through his NG tube. My precious time (with Sam as a partner) came from 2- 4 AM where I sat holding him, feeding him, and praying over his tiny body. Again, it took everything in me not to run with that baby, but I heard that Haitian jail is just not the best place to go.
God worked powerfully through that little body. One of our team members, Kari Hamilton, agreed to stay in Haiti and help with Rudy until a plan could be made for him. That was a big sacrifice, one that I will never forget. Kari does not have any of her own children yet, but her heart is that of a mother!
Rudy’s story has changed a few times since our return home. His father has come and wants to be a part of his life. Rudy tested positive for HIV and we all hoped that his mother and father would agree to take him to an orphanage in Cap Haitian where he could get treatment, but after a visit there his father decided to take him “home” to Dominican Republic where he was born. It breaks my heart that I may never know the rest of our Rudy’s story. But, I will cling to what I do know. We loved and nursed Rudy back to life. We poured into him beyond our own strength, and we showed his mother and father a love that they may had never been shown themselves. I am clinging to God’s promises for Rudy:
For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:10-12
**Photo credits to Sonja Morgan, Kari Gibson, and Katie Beaton
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