The evening is getting on . . . And dinner is getting later. Precious moments with Naomi and Quinn, wrapping up outdoor play and helping them bathe have made us late tonight. I am in a flurry of cooking, trying to get date bread into the oven to serve as dessert, still chopping my salad and also tossing my fajita meat and veggies in the pan. The house is a mixture of darkness and light as we minimized our solar power expenditures to those areas most needing brightness. Kids are crazy, clean and cozy in jammies, hungry for their dinner. And the house is beginning to fill more as people arrive for dinner. . . . Two team mates and four local friends. It is 7:30 now.
The kitube is filling too . . . From my kitchen window, I hear cries, hungry and desperate cries. A five month old baby girl has come with an aunt and grandmother. Yesterday her mom died, now she’s hungry. These cries are different, piercing. This small soul is confused, lonely, and most of all empty.
And I can see that the mamma of this child loved her well, she has earrings, a beautiful hat, the signs here of a mother who wants her daughter to be beautiful, treasured, precious. My heart aches for their separation.
They tell me in Lubwisi that since yesterday’s death, the grandmother has been trying to breastfeed the baby, but with no success. They want to know how to keep the baby alive. I ask if the baby is sucking nicely and ask them to show me. Sometimes people don’t believe that a grandmother can relactate (produce milk again after not nursing for a long time), or don’t want to bother. This baby latches right on and stops crying, sucking well and finally falling asleep. I have good hope. Her satisfaction means there is already probably some small milk coming. She will be okay.
I bring them out Nido, a can of powdered milk, with instructions not to use it much, only if the baby seems really desperate for food. She must keep sucking often to bring back the grandmother’s milk. In the long run, this family among many others can never afford Nido, neither is it best for the baby’s health. Instead this baby must suffer through some hunger and lack for her long term good. Cruel truth.
I sit down on the ledge of our kitube’s built in seating. Now, “after hours”, I am in my muzungu clothing; worn jeans, a cozy shirt sent from home and of course the requisite african print apron for cooking in. This is no time to worry about modesty. A baby’s life is waiting. I place my hands on the baby’s head and say “we pray”.
“Daddy-God, Babba-Rohanga, thank you that you say you are a father to those who have lost their mommy’s and daddy’s, thank you that you know everything about this child; her name (which is often forgotten after the death of parents), and all that she is. And You have a plan for her life. Please comfort her, hold her. Thank you for her grandmother who is willing to struggle to make her okay. Please help her milk to come in well and for this baby to grow strong and healthy. We trust You with her life, and ask that you would help her also to trust you. In the powerful name of Jesus, Amina.”
We say our goodbyes, the baby again beginning to cry as they disturb her from the breast. They will return, so we can see how the baby is coming. They will visit the health center and nutrition program, for weighing and checking in. The move off into the darkness and I move towards the light in our home, towards dinner, fellowship, and good food.
This is grace; an invitation to be beautiful. A moment of exquisite beauty has just surrounded us. A moment of response to God’s call on my heart and the needs of the world. A moment when someone reached out to me, relationally, in need, and touched me and taught me as they did. I am profoundly grateful; for beautiful darkness, for God’s incredible light, for the cries silenced by sucking, for an aged women, offering her tired breasts to once again sustain life, for the young girl who brought these women and translated for me because she knew help was here. I am grateful to be a part of this story, however small. God is making himself known.
Sara Groves song, Add to the Beauty, says;
“We come with beautiful secrets, We come with purpose, it’s written on our hearts, it’s written on our souls. We come to every morning With possibilities only we can hold. Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces, calling out the best of who we are. And I want to add to the beauty, To tell a a better story Shine with a light, that’s burning up inside.
It comes in small inspirations, It brings redemption to life and work. It comes in loving community, It comes in helping a soul find it’s worth. Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces, Calling out the best of who we are. And I want to add to the beauty, To tell a better story, Shine with the light That’s burning up inside.
And this is grace. . . An invitation to be beautiful. And this is grace . . . . An invitation.”
And you too are invited. No matter where you are, or what you are called to, however mundane. You too are invited by God’s grace to be beautiful. To step into the purpose written on your heart and soul, to share the possibilities only your heart can hold, to add to the beauty, tell a better story in the ways that only you can. Join me.