Ordinary days are gifts of grace

Dave, Carter and I were on our way out for some early morning exercise and three people were waiting outside our gate in the pre-dawn darkness.  It has only happened to us two other times, and one was the death of a child, the other a mama ready to give birth.  Both times the same family.  This time, again, the same family.  My heart sank as I greeted them and opened the gate...no one visits this time of day.  Baba Simon, the dad, started telling us a story of little Loveness, their youngest baby.  I did not want to hear the end of his story, as I had seen Mama Loveness two days earlier with Loveness on her back and she told me she was sick.

That in itself is very common, and Loveness hadn't looked terribly ill.  I told her I was sorry she wasn't well, and we both went on our way.

Baba Simon's story ended just as we feared: Loveness had gone to the hospital and had died in the night.  He wanted to go pick up her body and his wife from the hospital before visiting hours closed, 7:30.  We told him we would drive him there in ten minutes.  He had two other neighbor ladies with him who went home to change.

When I picked them up, I walked into their little plot of land that they live on for free, for guarding the place.  The house is so small that it is hard to imagine a family of five could fit in it.  About six months ago Simon's mother came to live with them, too.  We REALLY couldn't imagine where she fit.

Simon's oldest daughter, Cami, was also sick and looked like she might fall over when we got there.  She is small, probably ten, but looks maybe seven or eight.  She probably cared for Loveness more than their mother did, as she always carried her on her back and looked out for her when she wasn't in school.

Simon said that everyone was going to the hospital.  I asked what Cami and her younger sister, Monica, were going to do.  "They can just stay here," he said.  I asked if they could wait at my house, but he said it wouldn't be long, and they needed to be there when we got back.  I thought Cami might collapse and told him I would send Lauren to sit with them.  Before we left, one of the neighbors patted Cami on the back and said, "Try not to be sad, because that would be so much worse for your mother!"  Cami sat, expressionless.  This is the second little sibling she has lost in two and a half years.

We arrived at the hospital and I watched them all trudge inside to see Mama Loveness.  My white presence often complicates things.  They came back out and Simon said we needed to drive around back to pick up the body.  The morgue is up in back of the hospital and Simon headed inside and came out with Loveness, who was wrapped in a piece of cloth from head to toe, her name taped on with medical tape on the outside of the cloth.  They could not get her in the car easily, as her body was already stiff.  Now I walked around to the driver's side with blurry eyes.  How do you ever comprehend that your child is really gone?  How can anyone get up in the morning who has placed two children in the ground in three years?  I had brought this mama and baby home from the hospital.  I rejoiced that they were given another child after the first baby was taken.  I watched Loveness learn to smile and crawl and take steps.  Mama Simon often compared Loveness and Ben and we laughed at their progression.  Our lives are so radically different, but we are mothers, and we love Jesus.  I don't deserve to have my children alive while hers die.  I don't deserve good health care and knowledge and access to information.

Arriving at their house, the little brick building on the left

When we arrived at the house, the older children were actually told to move aside, and everyone just walked in together, placed the body inside the little house on the bed, and Mama Loveness laid down next to her.  One of the friends said in dismay, "Has the house even been cleaned yet?  Mama Simon, has the house been swept?"  "No."  She went hard to work sweeping out the little area where Mama Simon was laying on the bed.  This seemed really important.  I would have missed it all together, as much as I wanted to help.  Did they have chai?  Should I go buy chapatis?  "They don't have anything, even a pot without holes in the bottom."  OK, I could go make some chai.  "They won't be hungry."  So I gave them money to have a coffin made, money for some of the food for the funeral (funerals are expensive, as they feed everyone), and went home to my own tribe.  One of my sweet kids asked what I wanted for breakfast.  I sat down, numb.  I didn't want to care about breakfast when I was just glad that everyone is still alive.   I was thinking for the past several weeks that some day I should just celebrate normal.  How, if I lost a husband, or a child, I would long for just one normal day.  One day of dishes and relationship struggles and doing normal life together.  Just one more day.  I never want to think that normal is not the most extravagant, gracious miracle.

That afternoon I went back to their house to sit after the funeral.  I sat on a mat that they put out for all the women, and the men had their side over by a tree.  There had been a service, and Pastor Dele had preached, and everyone sat and listened, no matter their denomination.  At a Christian funeral everyone goes to bury the child.  At a Muslim funeral, only the men.  Tanzania has been blessed with incredible peace between the religions.  They attend one another's funerals, and respond accordingly. After things settled down and people were leaving, just milling around, I gave Mama Simon a picture that I had found of Loveness that I printed out for her.  I thought it might be a blessing to her to have just one picture of the child she had lost.  It is not common to have pictures of your family here, at least not many, and I was fairly certain that she didn't have any of Loveness.  The minute I handed it to her, she started wailing, and the woman next to her shoved it back at me in disgust, "How could you give this to her now?"  This might have been my biggest faux pas of all time, and I have had my share.  I felt so sad and so out of place.  I just prayed to the Lord--"You know I wanted to bless her, help her heal."  Then, as is characteristic of social blunders, in my cases at least, I was totally caught off guard when the other ladies passed the picture around, taking peeks at it, "what a great picture," etc. etc. and within ten minutes, Mama Loveness herself had the picture and was looking at it without a lot of emotion.  I was so confused.  But I did recall, albeit a little late, how they try to forget their sadness instead of talking it all out.  They remind eachother of the good things and try to help eachother forget the hard things.  That would have been an important thing to remember in my effort to "help."  It was a good reminder to me of how it is not about me anyways, and I can just do my best and leave the results up to God.  If I jump in with both feet, I might feel like I'm drowning in culture sometimes, but it is still better than walking safely on the shore.  I want to risk and be vulnerable, and that will sometimes be painful.

II Cor 12:9 But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, that Christ's power may rest on me."

Cami and Loveness