i received a text from my dad this morning. it's the first time i've heard from him since he's been out of the country, but little did i know how heavy my heart would be for the remainder of the day.

his text asked me if i had received an email about the little girl on the left. he said she is very sick and in the hospital. instantly, my stomach dropped. subitha is one of the girls the three of us worked very close with this summer; although she looks small in stature, she's in the sixth standard. however, she cannot read. basically, the staff told us there was no hope for her because she'll never be able to complete an education.

i refused to believe it then, and i refuse to believe it now.

although i didn't receive the email my dad texted me about, he forwarded it to me. it said that she was diagnosed with dengue fever which is similar to malaria. she's been violently vomitting for about a week, and just recently, they finally put her on an iv. there was an attached picture of this little girl laying in the hospital bed to the email; although i could vaguely recognize her face, her body appeared emaciated.

as i looked at the picture, i couldn't help but want to drive to indianapolis and ask to be put on the next flight to india so that i could be with her in the hospital. i want to go hold her, to let her cry on my shoulder, to remind her that she is loved, that there is still hope, and to tell her that although our skin is a different color i will always consider her one of my children. but then i thought for a second of her older sister (right). what pain she must be feeling. i'm not sure what information has been shared with her, but because of indian culture, i highly doubt it is much.

can you imagine for just a second what it would be like to lose your mother, to have your father abandon you, and now have your younger sister be incredibly sick? that's exactly what this little girl is going through. i wish that i could go to india for her, too. to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her that she, too, will always be considered one of my children, and i wouldn't trade her for the world.

i hate that my life continues to go on without them and their life continues to go on with me. in the physical sense, of course. i hate that i am sitting in a big, comfortable red chair in my living room when i could be sitting in a plastic lawn chair in johnson's apartment. i hate that i'm going to get up tomorrow morning and not go worship with them at their chapel. i hate that tomorrow after chuch i am not going to be able to go to the hospital where subitha is--to hold her small little hand, to stroke her forehead, to pray with her, to sing to her, or to do anything that a little girl would want her mother to do.

but for now. i find myself speechless...

may the holy spirit simply intercede as he always says he will.