My Mom's Visit to Lusaka

Arriving in Lusaka

Yesterday, I said good-bye to my mother, as she headed towards a plane, to take her from Lusaka back to her home in Michigan. And while I was so sad to see her go, the blessing of her visit to Zambia left me feeling profoundly grateful. Not just that we got to spend a week with her, sharing the joys of living in Lusaka, but also because I was reminded, once again, of how deeply blessed I am that she is my mother.

Johnny and Grandma

While she was with us, my mom volunteered at a center for children with special needs here in Lusaka. She is a pediatric physical therapist, and in the United States, she works with kids who have a variety of diagnoses: cerebral palsy, autism, Down syndrome, spina bifida, and many other issues which create physical and developmental challenges. When I was growing up, my mother would sometimes treat children in her home office, and I was honored to become acquainted with some of her students, and witness my mother's love and care for each one of them.

One thing that I learned early on from my mother is that it is not our accomplishments that make us valuable. While I was so proud of learning to ride a bike, or reading a chapter book, or getting a perfect score on a spelling test, my mother would consistently demonstrate that her love for me had nothing to do with these things. She loved me, and she celebrated with me, but she also celebrated little Caitlyn, who would never be able to walk, much less ride a bike. She also loved Benjamin, who could not speak, much less read a chapter book. She also delighted in Jonathan, who struggled so hard to move that scooter board, and would never even take a spelling test. Caitlyn was not valuable because of what she could, or could not, do. Benjamin was not valuable because of what he could, or could not, do. Jonathan was not valuable because of what he could, or could not, do. They were all valuable, and loved, simply for being who they are, precious and sacred children of God. And my mother loved these children, and celebrated them, with a sincerity that impacted me profoundly. We are not valuable because of what we can, or cannot, do. We are valuable because we are precious, sacred children of God.

Visiting my office

And so, going with her to a center for children with special needs here in Lusaka, was an overwhelming experience. I watched my mother do stretches with a little boy whose face lit up with a brilliant smile. She did tracking exercises with an 8 year old girl who could not sit on her own. Another child, named Precious, clapped his hands and sang along as my mother led sound and movement.

As I watched my mother, and saw the children, I also watched their mothers. Each child was there with a mother or grandmother, and I know that these women do not have easy lives. They live in a compound in Lusaka, and struggle with the burden of poverty on a daily basis. But they also fight to care for their children, to advocate for these kids with the double burden of poverty and special needs. Sometimes, these women are blamed for bearing children with developmental delays, or their children are labeled the products of witchcraft. And so these moms have a profound struggle, to defend the dignity of their children, to care for their special needs, to face ridicule and blame, and to fight against poverty and hunger. But here, in this place, the women sat in a circle, with their precious children on their laps, and they sang songs with beaming smiles, as they helped their children by clapping their little hands together. During one of the songs, each child got a change to dance, and the mothers jiggled the kid's arms and legs, and everyone would laugh together, children and adults.

Oh, mommies. It is not easy to carry your heart outside your body. And it is especially hard for parents of children with special needs, and it is especially hard for parents of children with special needs living in a developing country, facing the burden of poverty and ostracism and inadequate medical care. But here is one thing that have I learned, thanks to my mommy:

The love that was visibly shining in that room cannot be taken away, and is not at all dependent, on whether a child can walk or talk or get straight As. The women in that room have joy in their lives because despite all the obstacles and challenges they face, they have chosen to love their children with reckless hope and courage. And each person in that room is of infinite, incredible, awe-inspiring value, not because of what they have accomplished, but because God made them exquisite, beautiful human beings. And so are we. Beautiful not because of what we can, or cannot, do, but because of who we are. A radiant, brilliant light of love, God glowing inside each of us.

Visiting CCAP Mtendere Community School

I miss my mom, but I get to keep her with me every day. Because she calls me to be my best self, and I cannot thank her enough for all that she taught me from the minute I was born. It feels pretty awesome to have someone love me for who I am, and not for what I can do. So, thanks Mom. I love you. And please, please, please, come back again soon!