In a quiet corner of the sanctuary, I heard soft, broken cries echoing through the trees. It was a sound of sadness, sharp and innocent. As I followed the sound, my heart tightened. There, curled up beside a tree stump, was a tiny baby monkey—alone, trembling, and calling out for his mother. His eyes were wide with fear, his small hands covering his face between sobs.
He was so young, so helpless. His fur was ruffled, and his body looked fragile under the soft sunlight. I could see the confusion in his face, the way he searched the trees with every cry, as if hoping his mama would appear from the branches and scoop him into safety. But no one came.
My heart couldn’t take it. I knelt down slowly, speaking gently, and reached out my arms. He looked up at me, hesitated, then with one final whimper, he let himself fall into my embrace. I picked him up carefully, holding him close against my chest. His tiny fingers clung to my shirt like I was the only safe thing left in the world.
As I hugged him, he tucked his head into my neck and quieted. The crying stopped, replaced by soft, slow breaths. In that moment, nothing else mattered. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t his real mother—he just needed warmth, comfort, love.
That little monkey reminded me how powerful compassion can be. Sometimes, all it takes is one hug, one gentle hand, to ease a soul in pain. His tears dried slowly, and as he fell asleep in my arms, I promised him silently: you are not alone anymore. You are safe. And you are loved.
