Mama

I’ve been thinking of my mama this week.

This portion of Mercy Ships outreach to Togo has been focused on maxillofacial and plastic surgery. Since Monday, I have been working in the admissions tent, welcoming those patients who are scheduled to receive an operation. Each morning they arrive with their physical and emotional scars, the grown woman who lost her lips to childhood NOMA, the teenage boy whose jaw, mouth and nose were ripped off by a bullet, the skeletal infant unable to suckle because of her cleft palate.

Some of the kids sashay into the tent without a care in the world, grinning wildly around their split lips and noses as we hand them stuffed animals or a balloon. Others, usually the adults are more timid, speaking in hushed tones, most with towels or rags held up as a shield to hide their deformity.

I have learned during my time here that children with cleft lips are often believed to be cursed. In some countries, the parents are urged to bury the child alive to be rid of the spirits that made them ill.

May 27th, 1948 Janice Lynn Pettengill came into the world. She was born with a cleft lip and palate and, I can imagine, beautiful blue eyes. Not yet one month old, she received her first surgery to close the opening in her lip. With great care and dedication, her mama fought for her, trying new tricks to get her to suckle, eat and gain weight. She succeeded and at ten months old, Janice had her second operation to close the hole in the roof of her mouth.

Later in life, her tonsils and adenoids were removed to help relieve the chronic ear infections that threaten the hearing of so many cleft lip and palate children. As a result, she was required to undergo intensive inpatient speech therapy, separated from her family for months. During her time in the hospital, she felt fortunate to be so well while surrounded by truly ill children and played piano for the other patients. Her mama visited her faithfully.

Janice had to brave the gauntlet of childhood and adolescence with facial scars. However in high school, others were drawn to her tender heart and evident beauty and she became a woman known for her ability to love.

At the age of 30, on February 15th, 1979 Janice gave birth to me, Sarah Lynn Root.

The first thing she wrote about in my baby book was my ‘perfect’ nose.

I don’t know why my mama was spared the ridicule of a village, the threats of the local witchdoctor, the murmured rumors of the secret fears of curses and evil spirits. I don’t know why being born on our side of the Atlantic ensured her access to care so early, the attention of specialists, or the ability to live a ‘normal’ life. Her road to healing has not been without difficult days, but I am so grateful for the hurt that she has been spared.

And since I know that every good and perfect gift comes down from the Father of heavenly lights, I will praise Him for taking care of my precious mama. He saved the life of the little baby girl with the open lip and the blue eyes, the one he knew from her mother’s womb. Hallelujah.