I watched Benaiah's daddy as he observed the nurse check his new-born baby. Benaiah was measured, bathed, weighed, given eye drops and shots. His tiny naked form stretched out under a bright light. Sometimes he cried until quieted, as the nurse and his daddy spoke softly.
The nurse, who came out of retirement because she missed her babies, cradled his tiny head in her capable hand while she turned on the faucet and shampooed his hair. Then she took a fine-toothed comb, parted his hair and laid the swaddled form into his daddy's arms.
The glass-viewing window could not hold back the sense of bonding and love I felt as Benaiah's daddy tenderly held him.
My mind flooded with 27-year-old memories of the first time I held his daddy. The tiny bundle I once held, now cuddled his own son. Here I stood, privileged to observe the on-going cycle of life. I wondered what was going through his head. His life had changed dramatically: he'd watched a C-section performed on his wife, then he followed the nurse pushing his son on a baby gurney.
Benaiah spent the next weeks photographed, loved-on by grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and experienced his first Christmas in the States. He returned back to Belize in January, to the jungle where his mommy and daddy serve at Machaca Outreach near Punta Gorda.
You will always be loved and prayed for, sweet Benaiah, as we wait in the States for your next time home.
© 2014 by Marilyn J. Woody
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