I remember the first baby I held in Ethiopia a few years ago. It seems that God points me to a baby or child most places I go, and this was no exception . She was absolutely beautiful. Though it was warm outside, she was wrapped tightly in a worn threadbare blanket. Though my Amharic was very limited, I was somehow able to communicate to her tired mother that I’d love to hold her baby. She gratefully handed her to me, and we simply sat together in silence as she waited to talk with someone about her children qualifying for food and sponsorship. The young mother also had a 3 year old boy holding tightly to her. He did not seem to have much energy, and quietly observed the world around him taking great care to remain close to his mother.
My team leader told me that the family lived on the dump, and a social worker was going to their home to verify where they live. Because I had made a connection with her, I was invited to go. Without hesitation, I agreed. We were within walking distance to the dump, and I quickly followed Solomon, the mother, and young child. I was greeted with wide-eyed stares of both children and adults as this fair-skinned foreigner crossed over into the dump. I stepped carefully as I hurried to keep up with them. My senses were on overload by the sights, sounds, and smells that bombarded me. As we walked, I asked a simple question as I motioned to the baby I continued to carry. “What is her name?” Solomon told me the name and then asked if I knew what it meant. As I shook my head, he sadly replied “It means, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” I was stunned.
We eventually made it to their home which was made from eucalyptus branches and tarp. We sat on a pallet as she began to share her story. She had married and left everything and everyone she knew to follow her husband, but he left the young family when she became pregnant with the baby that was in my arms. She had no support and no friends. They had eaten very little for days. She was struggling to pay the rent on her plastic home. (yes….rent for a tent in the middle of the dump.) They were surviving by begging on the streets at night.
As she continued telling the social worker her story, and as his translation for me began to have long pauses, I began to pray for this precious baby…. praying for God’s provision… praying for hope… praying that God would redeem even her name… praying that He would show her that He had a plan for her, a hope, and a future.
As I reflect on this experience, I am reminded of another young mother who gave birth in a less than ideal place. I imagine Mary’s senses were overloaded with the sights, sounds, and smells that bombarded her. But this baby... He came with a name. His name was Jesus. I’m sure she had replayed the angel’s words in her mind countless times “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob’s descendents forever; his kingdom will never end.” (Luke 1:30-33)
Because of this baby….because of Christ… because of HIS story, our stories can be filled with hope. As we begin this advent journey, it is my prayer that He speaks to our hearts. May the words penned by various friends of Just Jump prompt our focus to be on Him. May we approach Christmas with a renewed sense of wonder and awe of the One who gave us a new name and identity as “beloved, forgiven, wanted, chosen, cherished children of God."
Keep reading as we begin this journey together…
