Like Mother, Like Daughter

My mom is a lot of things. She's a professional, a teacher, a volunteer, AND A MOM. I purposely didn't list "Mom" as her first job. I don't think she would list it as her first job either. I'd like to think its probably her "favorite" job, but I know her other life duties have fulfilled her as well! I am grateful she excelled at her career, it made her a better Mom for me. (Even though I like to remind her of the one away basketball game she couldn't make it to)--my Mom found a way to attend everything else.  With all of her commitments outside of being my Mom, I was able to observe the way our community respected her.  I watched my mom wear a bunch of different hats. She can handle A LOT. She doesn't crack under pressure. She always has a plan even if she says she doesn't have a plan, for thats part of her plan. My entire upbringing was a chance to learn from her.

If you think I'm remotely cool at all, then you need to meet my mom. That being said, we are very different. We often joke that I was switched at birth. I'm the free spirit who resists conformity at all costs and can't stand math. I'm stubborn (with good intentions), I let my emotions make my decisions a large part of the time, and I would argue with a lamp post.  As different from her as I am, she loves me. She has reminded me every day for 23 years that she loves me no matter what.  Like I said in a previous post, I have been on the road less traveled before. In fact, I think I might have paved some roads that no one else should go down. My mom always came along. (She wrote me a letter almost every day I was at boarding school, it was 300 or so handwritten letters. Like I said, the lady is relentless)

One thing we share is our love for travel. We like to experience new places. My mom came with me the first time I went to Peru and also the first time I went to the Middle East. She taught me responsibility, integrity, the importance of civic duty. But she also taught me to be myself, to follow my convictions, and use my emotions to channel compassion. I remember her crying the first time I told her that I wanted to live somewhere in the Middle East and work with peace-keeping teams there. (I think she cried because it was so different from her). She has supported me none the less.  I used to feel bad that she was given a child that thrived in less-conventional settings. But then I realize that she's my mom, so isn't she responsible for some of the passions I have? Even some of the radical ones?

Then I met Gladys.

She's 4 years old and we both have the same middle name, "Elizabeth." She is in her 2nd year at the Blanchard School. (Haiti Outreach Ministries has 4 compounds, each with a church and school, the guesthouse we stayed in is part of Blanchard's compound).

I get to sponsor her!!!

She is one of five children in her family and the with the resources at HOM she is no longer malnourished and has been given an opportunity that not all children receive. (although with MORE sponsors, they could accept MORE students!)

 Because she was accepted at the Blanchard school, she will be able to attend there until the 6th grade. With $30 a month from me, she will also receive school supplies, a uniform, 2 meals a day, and an opportunity to be in an environment each day that tells her she is loved, she is capable, and will equip her with tools to feel confident and competent when following her dreams.

She represents Haiti's future. 

What better way to help a country than by investing in their future?

My mom invested in me, financially, emotionally, biologically. She gave me all those things that I wanted Gladys to have. She helped shape me. More importantly, she gave me opportunities to experience the things that have shaped me. Even things that were outside of her comfort zone. (Even though its a very stable career path, she's never even encouraged me to take accounting, because she knows I would hate it; now that IS love).

I haven't had a whole lot of maternal instincts in my short 23 years. Frankly, I was a little scared of meeting Gladys. How do I hug her? Will she be scared of some tall white woman jabbering at her in English? I wanted to do it right. 

After their morning ceremony, the principal nodded for me to walk over. Gladys was standing in the doorway and looked just as scared as I felt. Then it happened.

I picked her up, placed her on my lap, and hugged her. Just like my mom had always done for me.

We sat there without really communicating verbally, one of our many differences is a definite language barrier. But eventually, she held onto me. Her little hands slowly embraced my shoulders. She began to feel safe.

 I realized that with all my mom had taught me--she had SHOWN me how to love. 

And in that moment with Gladys, that is all I needed; to remember how to love.

To love relentlessly, without abandon, and unconditionally.

Just like my mom.