Journal to Share
Countless Blessings
Blessings.
I have so many of them I cannot count them all; if I tried it would take me the
remainder of my days here on earth just to recall the ones I experienced in the
last few weeks. But now I have a REAL Blessing, my youngest daughter, Blessing,
joined our family in April. Blessing is 4, and the other girl I adopted is an
Angel, a REAL Angel! Angel is 13, and together they join my family and make it
an even 10 children, five girls and five boys.
Ten children sounds staggering, but one of my daughters, Lonika, was adopted as
an adult. I did not have the joy of raising her, but now I have the joy of
helping to raise her daughter, my granddaughter Jayla. Four of the children that
I did raise are grown and out of the house, leaving Shaylah, Zack and Thomas at
home. Until recently, I was a mother to three young children, and now we are
scrambling to find a van that will hold all of us!
It has been several years since I had more than three living at home, and the
three that I have been raising, although they all have special issues and
special needs, are pretty well adjusted to life on the farm and the routine that
we have. All that has changed, and "chaos" is the code word for the day now.
Blessing and Angel (Willette and Mercy when I adopted them, but they announced
they were adopting new first names, as well as last) were born and raised in a
refugee camp in Ghana, Africa.
When I started working in Africa, my heart was settled on the idea I would not
adopt more children, that I would be more effective in helping a multitude of
people if I didn't have more children that are my full-time responsibility. I
knew that I am too busy as it is to attend to all of the needs of my three
children still at home, and that I am past the age of having boundless energy to
rush to little league baseball games and soccer tournaments. I knew the LAST
thing I needed were more children to care for, considering the current demands
of my role as a single parent, a radio personality, and as the founder of Point
Hope.
I met Blessing and Angel when I was in Africa last August. I travel there at
least twice a year to work in the refugee camp that my foundation supports,
Buduburam. When I met these two girls, who are in no way related, I fell in love
with both of them. When I returned to the states, I kept seeing their faces and
remembering their stories and how tragic their young lives have been. Understand
I meet hundreds of children on each trip; Point Hope is responsible for a
feeding program that cares for starving babies and malnourished children, we
care for pregnant teenage girls and for nursing mothers. We provide medical
services to hundreds of residents of the camp, most of them single mothers. So I
am used to having a baby in each arm and one tied to my back when I am working
in the camp. I am used to falling in love with at least a dozen of these
children, and taking the time to send them special packages of clothes and gifts
upon my return home. But as I said, I had determined in my heart that after
almost 25 years of parenting, with another 10 years to go before all are
graduated from high school, I was finished stepping on Lego pieces at night as I
make my way to the bathroom. I was finished reciting "I do NOT like green eggs
and ham, I do NOT like them, Sam-I-am."... I was finished singing the alphabet
(except with my grandchildren). I was finished teaching kids how to tie shoes
and how to hold a fork and spoon. I was finished rushing to attend kindergarten
field trips. Or so I thought....
God had other plans.
So now I am parenting two girls that had never ridden in a car before I came
into their lives. They had never bathed in a tub, flushed a toilet, taken milk
from a refrigerator, slept on a bed or taken a hot shower with water warmed from
a water heater. They had never been in a swimming pool, walked on a sandy beach
or had access to food any time they were hungry. Never once in her 13 years did
Angel have a dollar of her own to spend as she pleased; Blessing never knew what
it felt like to be tucked into a clean bed at night or kissed and held by a
mother who loved her.
Today Angel went to the chicken coop after she got home from school and
collected the eggs. She put a dozen of them in a pan as I had shown her, and put
them on the stove to boil. In less than half an hour, the dozen eggs had been
reduced to six, the other six were gobbled up by Angel while they were still so
hot they were difficult to peel. Angel weighs less than 80 pounds and Blessing
is about 30. And yet these two little "imps" can eat their weight in boiled eggs
and oatmeal!
I am so tired I don't know what day of the week it is. The girls are learning
everything for the first time, so life is a constant daze for me these days. But
despite my exhaustion and my frustration at having to explain or demonstrate the
most basic of tasks that we take for granted, my face hurts from grinning so
much. Tonight I will fall asleep quickly again from sheer exhaustion, and I
shall thank the Lord for my Blessing, and my Angel of Mercy!
Reflections of Buduburam
I'm writing from a seat aboard a Delta flight, returning once again from Ghana, West Africa. Thousands of miles and a world away from the farm that I call home, Ghana has become like a second home to me the past four and a half years.
The west coast of Africa is notorious for malaria; during the slave trade it was known as "The White Man's Graveyard," because many who ventured there never returned. The locals, who have been exposed to the malaria parasite via the pesky mosquitoes that carry the deadly disease, are also at risk.
Most of the children and adults we care for in the Buduburam refugee camp are suffering from malaria. Most recover with medication; many do not.
Just as malaria gets in your blood and causes a high fever and sometimes madness, Africa and its people are in my blood and I cannot seem to rid myself of the images, both good and bad.
When I am under the sweltering sun I am painfully aware of my lack of pigmentation, and I hope the sunblock I slather on does its job. But despite the fact that I am one white face amid a thousand black faces, I never feel unsafe or even self conscious. Indeed I feel overwhelming love and respect.
I try to emulate the grace and courage of those around me, knowing I fall short.
Delilah
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