A World Away

It happens every time one of my babies is sick. I think it's because when a child of mine is ill, everything else falls away as I rock and worry and soothe and pray and love. The outside world marches on, but inside our four walls, everything is whittled down to one simple goal: making baby well again.

At first, of course, my thoughts are relatively mundane and mostly self-centered. I question my decision to work and expose my children to the wide plethora of germs that can only be found in a daycare setting. I worry about the canceled plans that result from having to stay home with my sick children. I try to determine how many loads of laundry it will take to get us through the illness and back into germ-free territory. I send my husband out on errands for Pedialyte (for the baby) and hand sanitizer (for the family) and chocolate (for me). And because I'm me, I spend hours mentally calculating the incubation period of the illness and trying to decide how quickly the disease will spread to the rest of my family.

But then.

At some point, usually in the wee hours of the night when I am rocking my baby in the quiet moonlight, my thoughts take a turn. I start thinking about all the other mommies out there who struggle to keep their babies well. In those hours, it's all too easy to imagine what how desperate it would feel to have a sick baby and not be able to make her well again. I envision not having blankets in which to wrap my shivering baby to keep her warm. No clean water to keep her from becoming dehydrated. No roof above our heads to shelter us from the pouring rain. No food to give her when she is hungry again. As I rock on, tears begin streaming down my face because I know that this is the reality that women all over the world face every minute of every day. And knowing that there are so many mothers out there who endure the utter helplessness that must come from being unable to protect their babies is achingly sad.

I'm not sure if these flashes of understanding happen to other moms as well. I do think that perhaps it hits closer to home for me. We all know, cognitively, that this reality exists for way too many people. We've seen the commercials, we've heard the pleas, we've read the articles that describe the plight of those that struggle to meet their most basic of needs. And yet I think that many of us have a tendency to distance ourselves. That, over there, is happening to them. Not us. They're not like us. I know this because I used to think like that, too. But then my Joseph came home. His adoption swiftly and completely erased the lines between us and them. Suddenly it was *my* child--my sweet baby boy with the chocolate eyes and the beautiful giggle and the bright future in front of him--it was him without blankets or food or medicine or hope.

Lest you think me a Mother Theresa sort, let me assure you that I am no angel. As my babies get well, my thoughts quickly snap back to the reality of the life that I lead most of the time. I resume my worrying about important things like when I'll have time to catch up on the Grey's season premiere that I missed while cleaning up baby puke, and how on earth I'll ever manage to get all the laundry done, and how I can save enough money to buy some new clothes and get a new haircut so I that don't look like the frumpy 34 year-old mother who is exhausted from caring for sick children that I am. It's easy to slip back into daily life; easier still to forget the fact that others suffer so endlessly and so deeply. It's much easier to forget than to remember. This is in part because it is simply too overwhelming, too paralyzing, to dwell in this dark reality for too long. If I spent too much time there, I would end up so depressed that I wouldn't be any good to anyone.

And yet those other mothers and their babies are never far from my mind. Now that I know what I know, I can't act as if I don't. So I remind myself that just because I can't do everything, that doesn't mean I can't do something. And then I do something. I find a really good organization on the ground in Ethiopia and sponsor a child so that, for 20 measly dollars a month, we are able to give a child clothes and food and education and a future. I unwind at night by playing word games at freerice.com, where bags of rice are donated to the World Food Program for every right answer (and I get lots of right answers). I learn about simple solutions, such as malaria nets and building new wells, that have the power to save lives. I investigate hunger and learn that there is enough food in the world to feed everyone and yet somehow there are still 925 million undernourished people in our world right now. I search out opportunities to buy Fair Trade, so that I can support the work of those who are trying to build a lives for themselves. I watch TED videos of Andrew Mwenda and Jacqueline Novogratz talking about how we can reframe the way we provide aid to countries like Africa so that we are providing Africans with opportunities to lift themselves out of poverty. I learn how many people face homelessness and hunger right in our backyard. And I listen for other opportunities to change how I live so that others may live too.

And I urge you, loyal readers and dear friends, to do something along with me. Read and explore and learn and DO. Something. Because if we all did such small things, the world would be forever changed.