“This baby didn’t make it,” Sarah said quietly.
Three of us had huddled on the couch an hour before to look at highlights from Sarah’s four years in the Philippines. She worked as a midwife in the slums, helping families who have nothing.
The little mission clinic where she served was cleaner, better maintained, and better supplied than the government-run hospital. But even in the best of conditions, some babies only saw a few hours, a few days, or a few months of life in their beautiful country. I wondered why Sarah included the pictures of babies who had passed away, but I think I understand now.
When you work in the medical field, you truly grasp the fact that death is a part of life. Even unfair death. Especially unfair death. You don’t have to become callous, but you have to accept it and press on so you can do your best to help others.
Among the babies Sarah delivered or helped deliver, some joined healthy families and will probably live a happy, though impoverished life. Others will encounter abusers before they even start school and join a cycle of victimized living. Some will join Jesus in heaven early, like the baby born to a young prostitute who neglected her infant to death.
I’ve heard it said that we all have a one out of one chance of surviving. Nobody likes thinking about that, but whether we die young or old, we die. Someone will look at my picture someday and say, “This one didn’t make it.” But if I press on and do my best with what I have—time, resources, skills, love—I’ll be among the victorious who made a difference.
