"Straighten this finger, Francis." The therapist wanted her patient to relax and stretch out his hand. Francis murmered something in Mendey under his breath. Mohamed, chuckled and translated for us. "He says, 'Lady, the day you can touch your tongue to your elbow will be the day I can staighten my fingers!'"
While visiting a local garden shop on Easter, the boys were fascinated with a model train. It whistled happily around the track, under the crabapple tree and back over the bridge near the entrance. Their eyes were HUGE. "Mom, buy for me!". No es posible. Pouts. Sighs. Pleas. Sorry, Charlie. They still ask for that train.
Passing by the executive airports always raises requests for the purchase of a plane. Now I tell them, when they can buy me the helicoptor, I will buy them a plane or better yet, that train at the nursery. Then I hear the groans, "Oh, mom!"
What will these little boys remember about this experience when they are grown and telling their children of their journey to the states? They will have so many stories. What will they say about earthworms ( Salifu thought they would eat him), pajamas (what is with the separate clothes for bed thing?), doctors (do they get arrested if they don't wear white?)? What will be their most cherished memories? Will it be of all the "stuff" of our affluent county? Hopefully not.
There are lots of people applying for jobs as CEO of some fortune -five-hundred company. There are numerous applications in at the TV stations for actors and actresses. They can always find someone to sell cars, invent a better thingamabob or do make-overs at the Clinique counter in the mall. But where are all the applications for "mom" for Francis Ngandor? How many applied for the job of bedpan engineer for Salifu Sesay? It has occurred to me that if I don't do what God has given me to do for these two little boys, then who will?
Sometimes I sigh when I hear "MOM!" pause, "MOM!" pause,"MOM!" screeched repeatedly (the idea of simply coming to find me is something they haven't quite figured out yet). The drawn out ordeal of physical therapy can wear thin when I know so much of the groaning and delay is for attention. They are exasperating. Francis can drag a 5 minute therapy session on for twenty minutes. He also loves to overreact when bumped accidentally. It drives me crazy. I am accustomed to doing what I want when I want. I hate delays. The word 'routine' has vanished from my vocabulary. It has been replaced with "doctor's appointment."
I do not always excell in my new role so don't put me on any pedestal of perfection. I experience a wide range of emotions caring for these two boys. Irritation, aggrevation, surprise, pleasure, joy, contentment to name a few of the major ones. I am no saint. My own children can tell you stories. I am just doing what I am suppose to do. And hopefully, by the grace of God, they will see Christ in me.
What are you supposed to do? Do it, because if you don't, who will?
Blessings,
Ann