A Mother's Love


I don't know if you've ever been close to an elephant family where there is a baby in the herd. It is scary, to say the least. There is nothing more dangerous than an elephant mother, trying to protect her baby. You do not come between the two, or you will be trampled, guaranteed.

For the last couple of weeks I have felt like an elephant cow (literally) whose calf is on the other side of a deep gorge. Okay, yes, I have felt that way since I've found out I was pregnant the first time, twenty-one years ago, but when your child is far away, not doing well (she had Covid) and wants to come home to her mama, there is almost nothing you wouldn't do to make that happen. As a mother, my heart has been beating on the outside of my body since I've had my two daughters.

I am vulnerable. I am ferocious. I am putty. I am steel.

My heart has never been tested this way, though. This illness that is killing people all around us has brought out the elephant mother in me again. Except, there are multiple provinces between my child and me. Laws and borders and planes and lockdowns and permits and quarantines and the list goes on and on. All I want, is to hold my twenty-year-old baby in my arms. I can't breathe. I can't think of anything else. I want to trample everything between us! I just want her home. I did all I could from this side. Phoned around to find out how all the medical aid stuff works, to find "network" doctors and hospitals to try and figure out what to do next. Thank goodness for online shopping and deliveries! But whatever I did, I could not help her myself. Directly. I could not cross that gorge. I couldn't hold her in my arms.

And then the Lord reminded me that this is how He feels every day! Every second of every day. He just wants his children in his loving arms. Safe. Saved. With Him forever.

He reminded me of two things. Firstly, He loves his babies and He wants them Home. Secondly, He needs others to help that happen. He needs hands and feet and human arms to hold his lost children, to guide them to Him. Just like I needed others to take care of my child when she was sick. To drive her to get tested, to sit with her in long queues, to calm her down when she panicked when she couldn't breathe, to take her to the doctor, to take her to the pharmacy, to wash her clothes, and then, after the illness, to take her to the police station to sign the affidavit that she's traveling home, and then finally getting her on a plane. Those precious hands and feet will never know how grateful I am to them. Never.

At this moment in time I am still holding my breath. My child is not here yet, but she is on her way. I can only have faith that everything will work out fine.

This experience has taught me two things about our Abba Father. Firstly, He did all He could from his side to make it possible to get us to Him because He loves us so passionately. No wonder they call it the "Passion of the Christ". Secondly, He is eternally grateful to the body of Christ, his "other" children, the 99, when they reach out and help to get their brother home safely.

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