It’s December 30th, 8:30 p.m. and there is a woman at my door wanting me to take her baby into the orphanage.    
 
The baby has a full cleft pallet, club feet, spinal bifida, and congenital issues to say the least. With tears in her eyes, she waited for my answer, almost holding her breath. She doesn't even know me.

I sighed.

After spending half the day yesterday in the hospital with the father of one of our boys who drank himself into a coma and then discharging two of our little ones, along with the general worries that running this place brings, I was not convinced I wanted this baby. This would be intensive care; he was so deformed, so underweight, so weak. And I was tired.
 
Amidst all the chaos in my mind, his little eyes looked up at me and I reluctantly took him into my arms. He was quiet, almost still.

This is what I live for, I thought. The rescue. My heart warmed just a little.

“Okay, I'll try, baby. I'll try.”

I held him close for a moment and I knew God had a plan. I just had to be willing.
 
“Happy New Year, Baby Mando,” I whispered.

Evan and Charity Graff
Gentle Hands
Project Number 0650225

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