Our dishwasher has been broken for over a week now. As I wash countless plates, utensils, bowls, sippy cups, water bottles, and lunch containers, I've been thinking a lot about my mom. My resilient mama, who raised us in a developing country, without many of the luxuries and conveniences I have as a young mother.
Without being able to just pick up the phone and call a pediatrician, much less a reliable doctor, whenever one of us spiked a high temperature.
Who wiped away the red, red dust of west Africa off our floors and
furniture every day with just a damp rag, because there were no such
things as Swiffers there. Being hundreds and thousands of miles away from her own mama, sending her faded blue airmail letters and cassette tapes of me singing favorite children's songs and reading stories as a young child.
And truly doing it all on her own, because without being fluent in the languages of her host culture, there weren't a whole lot of friends to pick from, no one to really offer her a support system whatsoever.
*As you pray over your Compassion children, please also remember their precious mamas, who are working so hard and sacrificing so much so their children can have better futures.
