Her Eyes

Those luminous brown eyes lock onto mine as I walk into the room.  They don't look at me out of fear or surprise - there's no emotion there at all, really.  But those eyes capture me.  The eyes in which there is no hope.

I kneel down and caress this sweet little one's head as she gazes at me and leans into my touch.  She has a perfect rosebud mouth, beautiful round cheeks, and those big, dark eyes... 

She should be happy, affectionate, expressive, and stubborn like other little children I know with that special extra chromosome.  But instead, she is sad, weary, far too old and care-worn for her two years....

I stroke her little hand - so dry and warm to the touch.  She slowly grips my finger and won't let go.  My attempts to make her smile are met with those oh, so quiet, sad eyes looking into mine.  I take her other hand and encourage her to walk to me.  She takes slow, unsure little steps, and comes close.  I place my forehead to hers, and she rests her weary little head on my stronger one.

I pull her into my lap and sing softly to her of the One who made her with such care and special purpose, and loves her, oh, so much.  She promptly falls asleep in my arms, still clinging to my finger with a grip that tightens, even in sleep, if I try to remove it.

As I rock her, I ask for hope and joy to be seen in those eyes very soon....  This is all I can do, as I hand over to the One who cares the pieces of my broken heart that are mingled with those of this precious one.

Not even the best care can take the place of a mother's loving arms, forever encircling her own child, the one who has been chosen and placed there by a loving Father.  And so I hope for these little ones what they cannot hope for themselves.  Will you hope with me?