Hearts against the darkness

When I get too full of self-pity, I remember Brandon.

Back in December, I ran into him and his parents at Staples. They had adopted Brandon several months before. He's sweet and cute as a button with bright blue eyes and a ready grin. I was playing peek-a-boo with him, and he gurgled with laughter. He was lively as he sat in the stroller. Interested in the world and ready to explore. He also has HIV.

My friends had searched for a baby for a couple of years after they found out that they couldn't have children of their own. They prayed a lot and by chance discovered a website that talked of AIDS babies. About how these babies are born with HIV passed to them by their mothers. Many times they are also born with drug addictions because their mothers used drugs. The mothers abandon them or have them taken by the legal system. The babies are placed in various orphanages and hospitals, and then people wait for them to die.

It broke my friends' hearts to hear of the babies, and they decided one of those babies was meant by God for them. It was a hard, long, and expensive process, but Brandon arrived at the Oklahoma City airport in June to be met by his new nervous parents.

His mother told me, "As soon as I held him, I knew this was my baby. I loved him. He is mine." She nodded firmly. "He is our baby."

Brandon requires a lot of medical care. Fortunately, his new parents have been blessed with financial means. He's getting the best care there is. And he's getting such love that if love can cure, he will live a long and happy life.

This is a hard world where an innocent can suffer like this. And it is a wonderful world where people like my friends throw their hearts against the darkness. How can I think that I have problems, that my grief is overwhelming, that I am pitiful, when children like Brandon struggle to live, to grow up? I would not be worthy of breath if it didn't humble me.