Mother/Servanthood

For the past several weeks, while Holly has been sick with the measles, I have had the privilege of being enrolled in my own personal 'mommy-boot camp.' Measles, especially serious cases, appear to be no fun at all and often cause their hosts to be immobilized in bed for approximately 2 weeks. The aftershock of the virus can also cause complications with the eyeballs, and since we around here consider proper vision to be a precious gift, we thought it best to send Holly back to the States to get the medical care she so desperately needed.

All of this means that I have gotten to step into Holly's (way too big for me) shoes in order to see that Maggie, Mollie, and Sam receive the care they so desperately need. Now, I have lived with these children for 5 months, and have gotten the chance to get to know and get to serve them in lots of ways. None of it, however, compares to the learning and serving I have done in the past several weeks, and will continue to do for a couple more.

Being a mother always seemed like such a wonderful concept. Having children who depend on you, having a house to manage, having meals to prepare- it all seemed to be right up my highly-domesticated alley. The idea of it all seemed great- the reality, however, is altogether different than I had expected. Especially because these children who depend on me are children who really depend on me- for almost everything. The uniqueness of their disabilities and personalities blew my motherhood-perceptions out of the proverbial park, and have spun me down to my very last thread, in many instances.

A story to explain (beware, it involves some potentially nauseating details)- the other night, Sam was 'really not feeling well.' Nor was I, and so assumed we had a bit of a stomach bug going around the house- not at all unusual for mzungus (Swahili for a person of European descent, used commonly here in Zambia to describe us white people) here in Lusaka. Sam, however, tends to be a bit of a drama queen, and so I did not take his complaints with utmost seriousness. My attitude changed, however, the minute Sam jumped up from the couch and began running to the bathroom. I ran after him when I heard the beginnings of his hurling, only to find that there was a standoff going on between the just-had-gone-potty Mollie and the just-about-to-puke Sam. A winner could not be decided in the mere seconds left before the vomit began exiting (with force, might I add) Sam's mouth. So, unfortunately for all players involved, Mollie's feet and legs were covered with the evidence of Sam's stomach virus- as was the rest entire bathroom.

I stood in the hallway, hoping that Eric would come to the rescue and that I would be able to put off this lesson for another day. Eric certainly did come, and like the good father he is, took the more difficult task of cleaning up the bathroom. As this was not a one person job, I realized my hopes of skipping out on this mess needed to be crushed under the reality of the need. Mollie was still covered- standing there next to me, not knowing what to do. So, I took her hand, put her in the tub and washed it all off. Next was Sam, who was now crying and covered, also needing to be hosed down. If you are wondering about Maggie during all of this, she had quickly moved to a front-row seat right outside the bathroom, making sure that she didn't miss out on any of the 'fun.' You know her, she's always up for something ridiculous.

As I dried them off, I thought about this whole 'being a mom/servant' thing. This is not how I would have chosen to serve. I mean, seriously, give me as many meals and loads of laundry as you want- but cleaning up puke when I am already feeling sick is just a little bit too far. Especially because I didn't even get a single 'thank you' out of the whole deal. Mollie simply walked away, not phased by my kindness in the slightest. Sam kept on complaining the rest of the night, and woke me up several times for phases 2 and 3 of the vomit escapades. And Maggie, she just sat there making her normal noises and reminding me that she was 'happy,' and that I should be 'glad' that she was.

I guess I really did fail the whole 'you'll know the reality of your servant's heart when someone actually treats you like a servant' test. Throughout mommy-boot camp, I have definitely been treated like a servant and certainly expected to drop whatever it is I am doing for the sake of whoever and their current need. And my response has been not unlike the paragraph above- laden with a selfish and overall crummy attitude.

Upon further reflection (I find second thoughts usually better than firsts), I am actually deeply thankful for the opportunity I have been given over the past few weeks. Especially for the gift I have been given by Maggie, Mollie, and Sam- I know I am not actually, nor will I ever actually be their mom (God clearly has Holly picked for them for several significant reasons), but they have still given me the gift of 'non-recognition,' I guess you would call it. I don't get to choose how to serve them, nor do I typically receive much heart-felt thanks for doing so. But, in that, they have taught me what it actually means to serve. They have taught me what it actually means to go to the Father for approval and delight, and not to the accolades and applause of others. They have taught me that to serve (especially kids who have special needs) is the utmost privilege, though also the most challenging thing I have yet been called to do.

Would you please pray for my last couple of weeks in boot-camp? I still have a lot to learn...