Monserrat, The Story

They brought her out and time stopped.

Now I believe in love at first sight.

I left my position passing out peanut butter and drew nearer to the group of people photographing the baby. I watched in anticipation as my friends tried to find the correct posture for her photo. She was sleeping softly, wrapped in a beautiful white blanket, and didn’t like being in the sunlight. They snapped the photo and then returned to our white van to make a print.

Moving closer, an invisible force drew me in: this desire to see her, to hold her, to love her.

“Do you want to take her?” a voice asked.

I nodded my head, too struck for words. Then the most precious, the most beautiful baby was placed in my arms.

She slept silently and didn’t wake up when I held her close. I fixed her mop of inky black baby hair. Her dark lashes fluttered as she breathed slowly and carefully. If any amount of sunlight shone across her dusky face, she squirmed briefly. I made careful movements so that my shadow was always covering her eyes, protecting her.

Nothing else mattered with her nestled in my arms. All the noise and movements of the people around me faded into the distance. I couldn’t stop staring at her. I wanted to soak up every detail of her face, every small movement, every moment I had with her. My heart was overflowing with unexplainable love.

Wrenching my eyes away from her, I couldn’t help but notice where I was standing. The area we had come to for child evangelism was poverty-stricken. With no running water or electricity, the neighborhood was desperate. The air reeked of urine. Dirty but joyful children ran free. Parents watched cautiously from doorways of the shacks they called home.

I was drawn back to the sleeping child’s face and tears began to stream down my sunburned cheeks.

How could I leave her here, knowing that I would never see her again? How would she grow up? Would she have enough food or receive an education? Would she even survive? Her life and experiences would be completely different than mine, than of my own children. I wanted to keep her and protect her from any harm that might come. I wanted her to know that I loved her. I wanted to tell her about my beautiful and glorious God. Most of all, I wanted to continue holding her, but my time was running short.

Crying and sniffling, I prayed silently. I could feel God working some mighty change in my heart. This life-changing infant, that moment of instant love. She made me want to be better, to try harder, to devote myself completely to my Maker. She made the drama and issues at home evaporate into nothingness. She put life into the correct perspective. God used her to change my life in way I still struggle to describe.

And then she woke up. Her piercing brown eyes were so dark that the pupil matched the color. The black pools shone as she gazed up at me. Reaching towards my face, she smiled and my heart broke into a million pieces.

I had to know her name.

After talking to several people.

Monserrat.

The perfect name.

Leaning down to her baby ear I whispered, “I love you.”

Then I handed her back to one of the women in the neighborhood. It was time to leave and my chances of ever seeing her again were slim. Still crying, I returned to the white van and we all left.

I couldn’t take her with me but I knew that her imprint on my life would be everlasting: Monserrat.