She looked like she had been beat in the face. Her eyes were black and blue, bloodshot, the eyelids swollen three times their size. Her voice was raspy and she seemed utterly exhausted.
Why do they wait until 10 o’clock at night to come for help? Is it easier to ask for something when it is dark outside?
Obviously distressed, I gently probed, wondering what was really happening. The baby, was sick. That was obvious. Only 3 weeks old, he had been in the hospital for the past 2 weeks with pneumonia. He was skinny and his cough was like a high pitched bark. I shook my head. Discharged but not recovered… yet again, I am left to try to do what the hospitals can’t… or won’t.
The rest of the story? The husband left her alone in the hospital with the baby. He gave no money and no support. She seemed so down, her eyes so heavy. She had been crying for 3 days until a friend mentioned that Gentle Hands might help her.
The place where they lived was only 2X3. They slept on cardboard and had little else to speak of. It was right near an open canal… I quickly checked the nursery for beds… none… but, wait! Just 3 weeks old, ArJay could sleep in our little baby chair!
I spent time with her counseling her and finally praying with her. I had suspicion she was dealing with post-partum depression along with all the other stuff.
I insisted she come back the next day with her husband and their 3 year old. I needed to know more. "You’ll keep him?" she asked. "Of course," I said. "But only until he is better and you are strong. He’ll be just fine." She dropped her head in her hands and sobbed, gut wrenching sobs. Then a long sigh, and she stood slowly. A soft, relieved smile, and I watched her leave. She didn’t even look back.

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