Mama Elena

I like statistics; numbers don't lie. Tonight I made a spreadsheet on the health of all 71 of my Loving InDeed kids.  The software I have from the World Health Organization gives each child a number and a color based on his/her gender, age, weight, and height. Green is fine, yellow is iffy, red is severe, black is in serious danger and really should be hospitalized. Kids in red or black are not only constantly sick, much more lethargic than their peers, and stunted physically, but they are also affected mentally.  They cannot focus in school, so their ability to learn is greatly inhibited.  This is how the cycle of poverty and chronic malnutrition is perpetuated.  88% OF MY KIDS ARE IN RED OR BLACK.  In fact, I have more in black than I have in red.  It sickens me. To me, these numbers have faces and names. Claudia. Gilberto. Silvia. Delena. Yadira. Lorenzo. These are kids I chase, and tickle, and hug. These are my friends' babies. My heart just aches for them.

Although it doesn't sound like it, today was actually a good Loving InDeed day. It wasn't until I got back home and really looked at the data that Dr. Alby and Jessie gave me that I got mad. While Alby and Jessie did their thing, I divvied out the food and then got to sit outside in the grass just chatting with Esperanza, Olga, and Candelaria while they waited to see Alby.  It seems like they finally see me as a woman, mother, and maybe even friend instead of a strange, white alien. They talked to me like I was an actual person. It was nice! At one point, I told Candelaria how pleased I was to see that her son, 5 year old Angel, had gotten quite a bit taller in the last three months, and his cheeks had filled out some.  Angel smiled at me, then buried his head in his mama's neck and whispered something in her ear.  After a few seconds, Candelaria looked at me and said, "Angel says that he's growing because his Mama Elena brings him eggs." Immediately my mind went back to a moment several years ago, before Guatemala had even flickered across my radar. I was at the altar in a church where the pastor did not know me.  He walked in front of me, looked me right in the eye, and said, "Someday you will be a mama to many." At the time, I thought it was strange, but his words instantly came to mind when I heard Candelaria say "Mama Elena." (Elena is what most people call me here because my real name is very difficult for them to say.) I shared with the three ladies sitting with me what the pastor had told me all those years ago, and they all shook their heads. "He's a prophet."  It was such a sweet moment. Such a sweet thing for little Angel to say. I'll never forget it.

  

"When we draw near to the "least of these" our call is not first to ‘make a difference’ but to allow the pain of that encounter to disturb us. All of us bear the image and stamp of our Creator God. The least of these are image-bearers and what I do for them I do for God." 

Marilyn Gardner