Last
year at this time, I was looking at schools for our oldest daughter. I wanted the best. I yearned for a place where she would be
nurtured and challenged. I would have
driven miles and paid a fortune to find that special place that would be her
second home in the coming years.
Today
we are weeks away from our goodbyes.
Goodbyes that I really don’t want to say. We are leaving all we have ever known to
live with the people of Cameroon. My
children continue to celebrate so many firsts; first day of school, first
words, first time to tie her shoes, first lost tooth. Everyday, they do something new and I am
inspired by them. I had forgotten what
it feels like to experience the terror of the first jump off that high dive,
but I am remembering now. Last year we
were looking at the best schools, and this year we are moving to a city where I
am told that the student to teacher ratio is
50 to 1.
I must be crazy. I have to think of some way to explain to my
family why we are choosing to do this.
When
we were pregnant with our first child, we decided to wait to find out the
sex. I knew nothing about the little
person growing inside me. I knew
nothing, yet heart and soul, I felt to the core of my being that this little
person was special, a unique and unrepeatable gift from God. Daily, I marveled at the miracle of this
being growing inside me, and then she was born.
She was perfect. She was too
beautiful to be mine, and my world was rocked.
It was rocked by this raw emotion of holding her for the first time, and
watching her open her eyes and stare in awe at the sunlight. My world was rocked, for although I felt this
awe, I knew absolutely nothing about this new little person. I thought I would, but I didn’t. How
can you truly love someone that you do not know? This thought came to me and I was
terrified. I thought the wisdom of
motherhood would arrive with the birth of our daughter, but like the labor
process of birth, it was hard won.
The
first weeks and months with Honora were this horrible, awkward dance. She would cry and sometimes despite every
last ounce of energy being expended, I did not yet understand her
language. Although the translation and
response seemed horribly slow, we made progress. It never felt like progress in the moment,
hour, day or week. It was only months
later looking back that I realized it had happened. I just remember realizing, one day, all the
little things that I had learned about her, and I loved every little thing, all
her unique ways of being. Perhaps it
would not have been as precious, if it had not been so hard.
Before
Honora was a year old we conceived our second child. Life was busy and I had less time to stop and
marvel. The moments of amazement would
sneak up on me. I never planned
them. It was in the times where I got to
breath that I would realize the miracle of it all, somewhere in between the
dirty diapers and sleepless nights.
Becoming a parent was and is a lesson in the spirituality of messy good
(sometimes it is just the messy), the spirituality of spending all day cleaning
house and at the end of the day having no evidence of your effort. It is the spirituality of realizing that I am
no where near as patient as I always thought I would be. It is the spirituality
of humility, knowing that I do not have this figured out and still my babies
tell me that they love me.
During
this time of early toddlerhood and second pregnancy, Ryan and I were learning
the discipline of date night with a baby in the house. We decided to take a class at the local
university, Justice and Peace from a
Faith Perspective. We probably
should have focused on “fun” opposed to “interesting”, but there is nothing
like the responsibility of a class to make sure that you take the responsibility
of date night seriously. The class was
“interesting,” but it also changed the way that I viewed the world as a
momma.
During
the reading for the class I learned that “40,000 children under the age of five
die from malnutrition and preventable illness every day.” 40,000 is a big number. That is probably all it would have meant to
me except that this sentence was followed with “that is like filling Fenway
Park with children every day and at the end of the day they would all be
dead.” Now I am not a baseball fan, but
I have been to several sporting venues in my lifetime. Stadiums are big places. I could not wipe the mental picture from my
mind.
I
always thought of myself as a sound sleeper, but that was before children. I now have these super ears that can hear
whimpers and coughs several rooms away (or any other perceived danger that
lurks in the dark - who needs an alarm system when you have these ears). During my second pregnancy I would often find
myself awake due to some need of my little one.
Once she had been quieted and was back to sleep, the temptation to feel
sorry for myself would creep in, especially if the sleep would not come. I would find myself numbering the days since
I had last slept through the night, but some small voice would then remind me
of all the mommas in the world who had lost their loves today. I remember realizing that the child growing
inside me was a mystery, but I knew, because of Honora, that I would love that
child more than life. I realized that
the tiny soul growing inside of me, God could have given to a woman in Africa,
and the tiny soul that the woman in Africa was nurturing could have been given
to me. Regardless, I would love and she
would love, and in that moment I felt that all the children of the world were
mine and their mothers were my sisters.
I
think of the love that I feel for my children, and I think of the children of
the world and the love their mothers feel for them. I feed my children, bathe them and put them
to bed and I think of the mothers of the 40,000 children that died today of
malnutrition and preventable illness and my heart breaks.
We
are going to Africa not because I think we can save them. I am going to Africa because I love. It is the messy love of vulnerability. It is knowing that I need help as much as I
am willing to help. I believe in the
depths of my soul in this beautiful God of relationship. He created this beauty in the meeting the
other, where when we come together we heal each others wounds. How can
you truly love someone that you do not know?
We are going to know and be known.
Perhaps this journey is senseless or perhaps its purpose is the only
thing that does make sense.
-Maura
