On Those Big, Brown Eyes...

 She looked up at me, with those big brown eyes. But her eyes were not bright and happy, as a 1-and-a-half-year-old's should be. They were big.... too big. Her head was too. It seemed wobbly and ill-proportioned on top of that tiny, wasted body. She cried, rather than eating. Her nearly bald head stood out in a place where newborns have more hair than your grand-daddy's toupee. 6 kilos, up from 4.5. The healthy 4-month-old outweighed her. She could barely even sit up, much less toddle around as babies her age should. I would never have known she was almost 2 years old. Her emaciated mother held her, trying to comfort her, trying to feed her. But the poor dear didn't even seem to know how to eat. She hadn't had much practice in her short life, it seems.

I had seen hunger in the eyes of a child before... but never like this. This kind of hunger kills. It's impossible to understand from pictures and vivid descriptions, and it's impossible to imagine. It's impossible to think of a child dying from hunger when food is everywhere.... if you can afford it. Suddenly, the words of Jesus really make more sense. His call to feed the hungry. Full bellies give ears to empty souls. An empty belly is a deaf heart. And compassion is the heartbeat of our Father God.


I met this dear girl and others like her at a church where I go to offer prenatal care to women who cannot afford it. A church that is taking literally the commands of Jesus to "give a cold cup of water in His name". Here is a place where starving children can find a healthy meal 4 days a week. A haven where their mothers are taught to cook nourishing meals with inexpensive ingredients. A place where the children are taught about God, and shown His mercy. These people live in a little community that grows right out of the ocean.... their source of sustenance. Fathers who dive for pearls and catch fish to support their families. They are the Badjao, the sea gypsies.

 You can tell them by their beautiful high cheekbones and loud, mix-matched clothing. By the separate language they speak, and the pearls they sell. You can tell when the 33 year old mother is having her 9th child, but only 3 are still alive. Sometimes by the loud voices they use because their eardrums are all burst from diving for pearls. These are the poorest of the poor. The down and out. Rejected by their own people; by some because of the language and culture difference, and by the others because of religious differences. Here are "The least of these my brethren". I can feel God's heart calling to them every time I see them. And my heart cries after His...
...to offer the acceptance of a Savior, who was rejected for them.