Most children begin forming words using the sounds made by p,b,m,w,h, and vowels, which would explain why the word "mama" is the first word many children say.
I have always wanted to be a mom. Many things have changed regarding what I want to do with my life since I was a child, but wanting to be a mom has always remained a constant. I would say it is so for a majority of females.
When I taught kindergarten, it was not a rare thing to have one of my kids accidentally call me "mom" or "mommy" but they would soon realize their mistake and usually giggle. There is something sweet about being called by that name, even if not by your child. There is also a heavy responsibility carried there, for it assumes that you are someone providing love and care to a child.
I remember the first time I heard the word "mama" being said by a little Chinese baby girl in reference to me, it was from my sweet Caroline. It was special before, but there was something so achingly beautiful hearing it come from the lips of someone who did not have a mother. When I would leave her room after playing, she would reach up for me and say "mama". On some days, it was almost more than my heart could handle, joy and pain all wrapped into one big mess of emotion. My heart ached for her; as much as I loved hearing her call me by that sweetest of names, I wanted so badly for her to have someone she would call mom for the rest of her life (she has since joined a forever family and does have someone she will be able to call mom for the rest of her life).
Since sweet Caroline, many more children have called me "mama" from time to time. I know part of it has to do with the fact that it's one of the only words they know and many associate it with female caretakers in their life. Most of the kids call their nannies "mama" which I love because that is essentially what they are. Many times if a child calls me "mama" I try to get them to say "Becca" not because I don't want them calling me mama, but because I don't feel like I "deserve" such a title.
A few weeks ago we had a surgical team come through. Surgical weeks are some of the hardest weeks I've experienced here as I've watched some of our sweet babies in such pain with no ability to do anything to ease it other than hold them or talk to them. But they are also some of the sweetest weeks as they have given me an opportunity to bond with those babies in a way our every day interactions do not always allow. There's something about a child reaching for you when they are in pain, and being able to offer some kind of comfort that others may not be able to, even if it's not physical comfort, simply because they know you and you are familiar to them.
This was one of those weeks with a few of our babies. A few days after the team was gone and the babies were well into recovery, I walked into one of the nurseries to check on some of them. Immediately, one of them ran over with arms outstretched and said "mama" with a big smile on her face (she is a cleft baby, and their smiles are beyond priceless). Her nannies all noticed and affirmed the fact that she had called me mama. In some small way, I feel like I earned that name that day, not necessarily because I deserved it or because of any blood relation I shared with her, but because God allowed our paths to cross in a way that we shared a bond that could be summed up in one sweet word, "mama".
Although I still hope to have children of my own one day (by birth or adoption), I realize that hope may look different than what I may picture. But for today, I get to be a "mama" to precious babies on the other side of the world; more than my heart could have ever hoped or imagined.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Monday, May 14, 2012
New Grip
So take a new grip with your tired hands and strengthen your weak knees. Mark out a straight path for your feet so that those who are weak and lame will not fall but become strong.
Hebrews 12:12
I was encouraged by this because the assumption is not so much if you get tired of running, but when you get tired of running. It's bound to happen. If you've read any of my previous posts over the past few weeks, I am sure you've gathered the fact that I've been in need of rest. We are all in need of rest at some point. Physical rest for sure, but emotional and spiritual rest as well. I am grateful that God's grace allows for us to rest, and that He offers Himself as that place of rest for His children.
I often find the hardest hurdle for rest in myself. I tend to think of needing rest as a sign of weakness in myself or as an admission that I don't have what it takes to do something (this coming from someone who loves naps and will sleep until 11:00 am if given the opportunity...ironic, I know). I was thinking this morning about this being the time of year when the school year is winding down. If I were still teaching in the States, my body would physically know that it's time for summer vacation. It's odd not getting that feeling here, but realizing that I have been with my kids here for what would account for a school year. A bit of weariness is to be expected.
We had a men's team here last week who built us the swing pictured above. This morning I couldn't help but just sit and rest. As I sat and reflected, I looked ahead to find one of my favorite little guys waving at me from his second floor nursery window...
A gentle reminder, as if His Word was not enough, to take a new grip with tired hands and mark out a straight path...so that those who are weak and lame will not fall but become strong.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Chinese Camp-out
In a previous post I referenced a camping trip we went on with the Martin family. Despite the craziness of the crowd on the second day, we really did have a great time together.
This was the first camping trip the Martin family had been on since Oak, their oldest, was a baby. On several occasions, the kids all commented on how much fun their were having, how much they loved camping, and how glad they were we had come. As I saw their joy, it made me so grateful to get to be a part of this memory with them. I am truly grateful to be a part of our children's lives here at MBHOH, but am also so grateful to be a part of the Martin kids' lives, and childhood memories such as these...
This was the first camping trip the Martin family had been on since Oak, their oldest, was a baby. On several occasions, the kids all commented on how much fun their were having, how much they loved camping, and how glad they were we had come. As I saw their joy, it made me so grateful to get to be a part of this memory with them. I am truly grateful to be a part of our children's lives here at MBHOH, but am also so grateful to be a part of the Martin kids' lives, and childhood memories such as these...
Rest
Last weekend (after writing my post on the craziness that is life in China), I had to make another Hong Kong run for my Visa. This time I opted to stay a few days and visit a retreat home that a few people had recommended. The timing could not have been more perfect. The retreat center was located on one of the outer islands of Hong Kong. A small but beautifully quaint island.
My first morning there, I went on a hike at their "Little Great Wall". The views, the greenery, the sounds and smells were truly breathtaking at times. I don't think I've ever needed to see green, to hear birds and the sound of the ocean, to smell fresh flowers, as much as I needed it then.
The following morning, my devotion was from the verse in Ecclesiastes 3:11, "He hath made everything beautiful in its time."
My first morning there, I went on a hike at their "Little Great Wall". The views, the greenery, the sounds and smells were truly breathtaking at times. I don't think I've ever needed to see green, to hear birds and the sound of the ocean, to smell fresh flowers, as much as I needed it then.
The following morning, my devotion was from the verse in Ecclesiastes 3:11, "He hath made everything beautiful in its time."
The beauty of this world does not compare with the glory of the next. It is, however, a foretaste, just as the peace I give here is a foretaste of My Kingdom. Enjoy the beauty here. It is My gift to you. I put the hunger for it in your heart, and it is I who fulfill that hunger.
Embrace the life to which I have called you. Do not question My purposes, for they are hidden from you for your good. Your walk will have many thorns- but always there will be beauty- and the thorns are protective against that which would destroy. O My child, let the beauty of My world open your eyes more eagerly to the beauty of My life, My kingdom. You have only begun to touch the hem of My garment. The edges of My ways.
(from Echoes of Eternity: Listening to the Father)
Thursday, May 3, 2012
How is China?
A few days ago I received an email from a friend asking "How's China?" Little did he know what a loaded question that was. Thankfully for him, we haven't talked in quite a while so I gave him a brief synopsis and left it at that.
My response: crazy.
That's the first word that came to mind and the only one that could truly encompass my feelings at the present time. Not crazy in a bad way necessarily, but in an out of control, unpredictable, frustrating at times, exhausting, but *can* be fun kind of way. There's really no way to describe it, and words don't truly do it justice; you just have to experience it. Some of it (well, most) is due to cultural differences, some is the nature of the work we do.
Last weekend we went camping. Mikey and I had tested out a spot and felt it would be a great place to take the Martin family. It was great; tents, a fire, hot dogs, marshmallows, all the stuff you need for a perfect camp-out. The next day was a bit different. We made it until about noon and then, we were spotted. Within an hour, we were literally surrounded by people and shortly after, they had taken over the space. We decided after a while that they weren't going anywhere, so we started to pack up and headed to a little amusement park they had down the road. We came to the conclusion that we couldn't be stationary for more than 30 seconds without being mobbed (by "we" I really mean Mikey and me; Steve and Laura have an amazing way of handling the crowds' reaction to their blond-haired, blue-eyed children). I share all of that, not to complain or criticize, but just to give an example of what I mean when I tell you that things can be crazy here. It's just the way it is.
Later on in the week, as I was working in the office (which is a shared space with some of our nurses), one of our babies was brought in who was in respiratory distress; they were giving her oxygen and making her as comfortable as possible as she took what they thought might be her last breaths. As I sat there doing some work the hard reality hit me that in the same room was a baby who was taking her last breaths. What do you do with that? I know that we work with very sick children, but I also realize that I shield myself from that very often, because to be honest, I don't know what to do with that. I've never watched anyone take their last breaths, and to watch a baby at just a few months old was almost more than I could take at that moment.
I share that, again, not in a complaining way. I can genuinely say without a doubt that I would not choose to be anywhere else. Yes, it is hard. It is draining. It is frustrating and some days I wonder what difference, if any, I am making or what purpose I have for being here. But then there are those moments, when I walk into a nursery and I hear Jessica calling out "Becca!" and then Fahlin plops down on my lap; or when Milton runs over smiling with arms outstretched and holds my pant legs until I pick him up; when Jillian giggles when I kiss her, and Riley (who used to cry every time I got too close) walks up with a big smile and says "mama"; when I can hear Judah coming down the hall so excited that it's time for preschool. It's those moments that make the difficulty worth it, and it's those moments that I would not trade for anything.
I have realized that in my flesh, I don't have the energy to deal with difficulty very well. I can only take so many stares and so many pictures before I want to scream or tell people to leave us alone. I want so badly to love, but in my flesh, I am irritable and selfish. I have so far to go and know that I am desperate for grace. I can do nothing of worth or value or meaning unless I remain in Him. But how often I forget, and I wander and think that I can do this on my own, just to find myself once again in a place where I realize my desperation.
That's where have been for the past couple of months. I would not be truthful if I said it hasn't been hard. I have difficulty admitting that it's hard, because I genuinely love it here and don't want to be anywhere else, and I think we often assume that when we're in that place, things should be "easy" or "good," but that isn't always the case. In a prideful sense, I also have a difficult time admitting when things are hard because I don't want it to seem as though I can't do it. But, the reality is that I can't do it. At least not alone.
"Remain in Me and I will remain in you. For a branch cannot bear fruit if it is severed from the vine, and you cannot be fruitful unless you remain in Me. Yes, I am the Vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in Me and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from Me you can do nothing." -Jesus, John 15
My response: crazy.
That's the first word that came to mind and the only one that could truly encompass my feelings at the present time. Not crazy in a bad way necessarily, but in an out of control, unpredictable, frustrating at times, exhausting, but *can* be fun kind of way. There's really no way to describe it, and words don't truly do it justice; you just have to experience it. Some of it (well, most) is due to cultural differences, some is the nature of the work we do.
Last weekend we went camping. Mikey and I had tested out a spot and felt it would be a great place to take the Martin family. It was great; tents, a fire, hot dogs, marshmallows, all the stuff you need for a perfect camp-out. The next day was a bit different. We made it until about noon and then, we were spotted. Within an hour, we were literally surrounded by people and shortly after, they had taken over the space. We decided after a while that they weren't going anywhere, so we started to pack up and headed to a little amusement park they had down the road. We came to the conclusion that we couldn't be stationary for more than 30 seconds without being mobbed (by "we" I really mean Mikey and me; Steve and Laura have an amazing way of handling the crowds' reaction to their blond-haired, blue-eyed children). I share all of that, not to complain or criticize, but just to give an example of what I mean when I tell you that things can be crazy here. It's just the way it is.
Later on in the week, as I was working in the office (which is a shared space with some of our nurses), one of our babies was brought in who was in respiratory distress; they were giving her oxygen and making her as comfortable as possible as she took what they thought might be her last breaths. As I sat there doing some work the hard reality hit me that in the same room was a baby who was taking her last breaths. What do you do with that? I know that we work with very sick children, but I also realize that I shield myself from that very often, because to be honest, I don't know what to do with that. I've never watched anyone take their last breaths, and to watch a baby at just a few months old was almost more than I could take at that moment.
I share that, again, not in a complaining way. I can genuinely say without a doubt that I would not choose to be anywhere else. Yes, it is hard. It is draining. It is frustrating and some days I wonder what difference, if any, I am making or what purpose I have for being here. But then there are those moments, when I walk into a nursery and I hear Jessica calling out "Becca!" and then Fahlin plops down on my lap; or when Milton runs over smiling with arms outstretched and holds my pant legs until I pick him up; when Jillian giggles when I kiss her, and Riley (who used to cry every time I got too close) walks up with a big smile and says "mama"; when I can hear Judah coming down the hall so excited that it's time for preschool. It's those moments that make the difficulty worth it, and it's those moments that I would not trade for anything.
I have realized that in my flesh, I don't have the energy to deal with difficulty very well. I can only take so many stares and so many pictures before I want to scream or tell people to leave us alone. I want so badly to love, but in my flesh, I am irritable and selfish. I have so far to go and know that I am desperate for grace. I can do nothing of worth or value or meaning unless I remain in Him. But how often I forget, and I wander and think that I can do this on my own, just to find myself once again in a place where I realize my desperation.
That's where have been for the past couple of months. I would not be truthful if I said it hasn't been hard. I have difficulty admitting that it's hard, because I genuinely love it here and don't want to be anywhere else, and I think we often assume that when we're in that place, things should be "easy" or "good," but that isn't always the case. In a prideful sense, I also have a difficult time admitting when things are hard because I don't want it to seem as though I can't do it. But, the reality is that I can't do it. At least not alone.
"Remain in Me and I will remain in you. For a branch cannot bear fruit if it is severed from the vine, and you cannot be fruitful unless you remain in Me. Yes, I am the Vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in Me and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from Me you can do nothing." -Jesus, John 15
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