Hire
Writers
Editors
Home Tour About Read What's New Help Forums Join
My Account Login
Shop
Save
Support
E
Book
Store
Learn
About
Jesus
  



The HOME for Christian writers! The Home for Christian Writers!
The Official Writing Challenge

BACK TO
CHALLENGE
MAIN

INSTRUCTIONS

how it works
submission rules
guidelines for
choosing a level

ENTRIES

submit your entry
read current entries
read past entries
challenge winners



Our Daily Devotional HERE
Place it on your site or
receive it daily by email.





TRUST JESUS TODAY

TRY THE TEST



Share
how it works   Submit

Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Once in a Blue Moon (01/06/11)

TITLE: Ma Bébé
By Yvonne Blake
01/12/11


 LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
 SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
 SEND ARTICLE TO A FRIEND
 ADD TO MY FAVORITES

I stroked the dark, velvety cheek of my little girl. “Tu es une jolie bébé,” I whispered in her tiny crumpled ear. Soon silver studs would make her look more feminine.

Little Elisabeth relaxed from the breast and puckered her pink lips. Her eyelids flickered a bit before closing in sleep. I loved her curly eyelashes. I brushed my fingers over her fuzzy head that would someday be plaited into dozens of tiny braids. I put my finger in her palm, and she clutched it with her delicate fingers. Her fingernails looked like pearls.

I gave Elisabeth a kiss on her forehead and wrapped the white flannel around her shoulders. I tiptoed from the room and walked downstairs. The air was thick with humidity. I fanned my neck with a piece of cardboard torn from an empty box. Easing myself onto the front steps, I watched the neighbor children chasing each other through the cluttered street. I was one of them only a couple years ago, not a care in the world. Now I am a woman, caring for a child of my own.

I leaned my head back against the post. A ruckus of birds caught my attention. Some palmchats lifted from the trees—squawking and flocking. They seemed restless, circling and settling—only to fly off again. At least they could fly away. I felt trapped. Being a mother sure changed my life. I missed fluttering around with my friends.

Natalie, next door, waved. I nodded my head. Elisabeth would probably sleep for two or three hours. If we sat outside, I would be sure to hear her. I skipped up the steps for one more peek. She lay sprawled in the middle of the bed, her little fist in her mouth. I looked out the window to Natalie’s porch. I wouldn’t be very far away.

As I reached the bottom step, my foot slipped, and I grabbed the banister. A roaring, growling sound rumbled down the street. The floor lifted and dropped. An earthquake! I turned to go back up the stairs, but the walls and ceiling crumbled and cracked before my eyes. I ran for my life.

Outside, people screamed, dogs barked, buildings crashed. As I saw the roof of my house collapsed, I cried out, “Ma bébé! Ma bébé!” The ground heaved beneath me. I fell to my belly and lay sobbing—my tears mixing with the white dust. “Ma bébé!”

I don’t know how long I lay there. It didn’t matter. My baby was gone.

We crowded into rows of tents. There was little water and less food. The air stank. I felt sick. I curled my body against the world. My father brought fish and begged me to eat. I heard him praying to God for me and for my baby. “Pépère, my baby is dead.”

“Michelene, maybe it is; maybe not. God knows, and I will keep praying until I know.”

Days were spent searching and burying bodies. Nights were filled with sounds of wailing and mourning. A week passed by. I did not care. I did not think God cared either. Why should I pray to a God that let so many people die?

On the eighth day, my tent door flapped open. “Elisabeth is found! She is alive!”

I did not believe my father.

“Come! Come!” He tugged my arm. “You must come!”

I stumbled along after him as he pulled me toward the medic tent. People cheered and clapped as we passed by. I heard, “Grâce de Dieu! Grâce de Dieu!” Many followed along. I still did not believe. How could a newborn baby live a week, trapped beneath a fallen roof? A bundle of sheets was laid in my arms. It was my little Elisabeth. Tears flowed from my cheeks to hers. “Ma bébé, ma bébé,” I whispered.

“It is a gift from God!” My father praised God for answered prayer. “Everybody knew the baby was dead, except the Lord.”





"Tu es une jolie bébé." - "You are a pretty baby."

(Elizabeth Joassaint, a 15-day-old newborn, survived for a week beneath the rubble of her home in the devastating earthquake of January 12, 2010, in Haiti.)


The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.


This article has been read 498 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Verna Cole Mitchell 01/13/11
You really bring this story to life, laying bare the emotions of the mother mourning her baby. This is wonderful story telling.
Glynis Becker 01/13/11
So tenderly and beautifully written. An amazing, inspiring story that you've told very well. Thank you so much for sharing!
Sarah Heywood01/14/11
This was beautifully written. I could feel the mother's anguish as she was separated from her infant and assuming her to be dead. When I got to the end and found that the newborn had survived, my first thought was, "Now, that is unrealistic!" But then I saw your note that this, indeed, had happened. I am just in awe that a newborn could survive that long w/o milk or adequate shelter. Praise God!
Lynda Schultz 01/15/11
Well-done.
Laury Hubrich 01/15/11
Oh my. Am teary now.
Mariane Holbrook01/17/11
Very, very nice job. You deserve big time kudos for this one!
Henry Clemmons01/17/11
WHy do you want to mess with my emotions so? Great job. I love happy endings.
diana kay01/20/11
wonderful story. a once in a blue moon miracle for sure
Shann Hall-LochmannVanBennekom 01/20/11
Congratulations for placing in the top 30 overall!