Gabby Girl

My sister-in-law Linda gave birth on April 17th to a beautiful 6 pound 14 ounce baby girl Gabrielle Hope, and I am so excited. She is precious and I am thrilled to be here to celebrate with my family. We now have Maddi, Zachary, Gracie, and Gabby. This was taken hours after she was born. Welcome to the Bertrand family Gabby girl, I love you!

How do I say goodbye to you?

Many of you remember my blog entry from last July when I left Nigeria. I wrote about a little boy named James who was three years old and my favorite of all. I met him at the very beginning of my time in Jos, back in 2005. I loved him from the very start, his beautiful smile, the way he crawled around all over and loved to cuddle with me. The very first day I met him I noticed he had a big belly and I was so worried. I picked him up and walked quickly over to the Pediatric HIV clinic and asked our missionary doctor to look at him. He started him on some medicine and said he wasn't worried. So at that point neither was I. Every time he came to see me he never wanted to leave, even when his mom would try to pick him up, he always wanted to stay with me and be near me. He loved sitting on my lap. I saw him grow and learn to walk. Then he started on ARV's and was doing well, his body was strong. There was so much life in him, so much joy. He was a picture of hope to me, despite all the losses I faced from seeing the face of AIDS on a daily basis, I would always think of James and I would smile.

Leaving Nigeria last year was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Saying goodbye to James brought much sadness for the reality of never seeing him again was a possibility that I had to deal with. I was hopeful I would see him again, though since he was doing remarkably well physically. In the back of my mind was still a lingering thought of the finality of death and the reality that James was sick with a deadly virus, no matter how good he looked. He cannot control it, but it controls him. I was looking forward to seeing James this summer when I visit Nigeria. But I heard the shocking news today that James died recently. I don't know any details, but all I do know is that the sorrow I feel today is more than I can bear. I have cried and cried on my knees today to my Father who does all things well. But today I am angry. Why James, God? Why now? Why? I don't know what to say other than I hurt. I don't understand, and I don't know how to respond to this. I have nothing left but tears......

My dear precious James,
How do I say goodbye to you today? I cannot do it, my heart hurts for you. You were four years old, you had so much life in you, why did God have to take you now? You will never sit on my lap again, and never again will my arms hold you. Never again will I look down and see your little arms clinging to my leg. I will not get to see you grow or change, and I will never see your smiling face again. I miss you James and I am crying for you now, but I must release you to Jesus. You are better off by far. One day I too will be where you are. But that day is not today, it's not today.


Love,
Aunty Susan

Washington and Wells

There he sits on the north side of the Canal street bridge, slouched over on an old blue milk crate, the hoodie from his worn down coat draped over his face. Anything to protect him from the harsh Chicago winds. He rocks back and forth to keep himself warm, his shaky hands hold out a paper cup with a few nickels and dimes in it. The clammering of coins can be heard from down the street. His hands are tired from the same old back and forth, back and forth motion of the paper cup. This cup is the reality of his homelessness; the reality that he has resorted to begging on the streets in order to get by. He is hopeful people who walk bristly past him will give him something. But by sundown his hands hang limp, and his cup is only half-full. His face grows downcast but he still hopes at least one person will notice him. But then, no-one.

My weekly interactions with "J" have caused me to ponder this problem of homelessness. People who are homeless come in all shapes and sizes, they come from various places, and for many reasons they have lost their jobs, their family, and their homes. How do I reach him, what can I do to make a difference? Should I give him money? Should I buy him food? How do I handle this issue? Many people would say that I should stay out of it and that it's not my problem. But it is everyone's problem. We are all responsible to help those who can't help themselves. Maybe "J" made some poor decisions; maybe he cheated, lied, stole something, got into debt, or became an alcoholic or drug addict. Whatever he did to get where he is today, one thing is clear. He needs help. Just one person can change his life. That person is Jesus Christ. Christ can give life and hope to my brother. He needs to see that someone out there loves him, and that he can make a change; have a different life. How will he know unless someone stops by the bridge near Washington and Wells?

We have a message to give the world, and the message which has radically changed my life can change his life. God uses us as his vessels to bring truth and hope for the hopeless, to reconcile people to God. To reconcile "J" to God.

Next time you pass by someone holding a paper cup it could be another "J." You could point them to the one who will change their life. Washington and Wells will never look the same.

As dawn is fast approaching "J" slowly rises from his plastic seat and moves to the south side of the Canal street bridge. He remains there for the night. As the lights grow dim and the passersby dwindle, he hopes to rest for a while. While he drifts off to sleep he prays to God that tomorrow will be different; that he will be the one passing by with a briefcase in one hand and a cup of coffee in another. Maybe tomorrow he tells himself, maybe tomorrow.