Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Missionary (10/19/06)
- TITLE: "Amma, where are you?"
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Cold. Still. Silent.
A dreaded moment.
Time stands still.
A dreadful moment, etched forever in my heart.
My numbed mind unable to grope for answers.
My heart forcefully torn, irreparable, inconsolable.
Angel’s wings carry my treasure to heaven.
Danny boy is gone … empty arms and empty heart.
“O God, how can I go on?”
I coerce my mind to depart the tyranny of memory only to find it turn the page to the next chapter.
Cruel, cold grave.
“Don’t put my child in that grave! He’ll sleep alone.”
My existence shattered to the core.
My mind screams, my heart beats savagely with unbelief.
Tears flow unabated and mingle with unbearable sorrow.
“Goodbye, my darling.” I whisper in anguish as I sprinkle my handful of dirt on that tiny coffin.
The soil becomes his covering, the earth his embrace.
I turn my back, but not my heart.
“O God, how did this happen?”
My darling child is dead.
My heart is raped.
My hope, vanished.
Unexpected, unwanted intrusions erupt in painful reflection.
Time hasn‘t wearied them.
Again I force the vexing memories into dark recesses of my mind.
Instead, I look intently into to my Creator’s face. Smiling, I climb up into His lap. I bask in His love, comforted in His embrace. I hear His Voice.
“Daughter, you will live again.”
“Do I dare hope again, Lord?”
“Listen.” He whispers.
The wind of His Spirit carries a baby’s cry. I hear it. It arrests my heart.
“Listen again daughter, there’s more than one voice.”
“Yes! I can hear them, Lord.”
I recognize different cries.
Cries of the abandoned tug violently at my mother’s heart.
I hear the cries of hunger. I long to satisfy those hunger pangs.
The piercing cry of terror from another, pulls me to my feet.
I hear the cries of multitudes in tormented anguish - agonized cries for mercy, for respite.
Cries from the earth, cries from hell.
Haunting cries that beckon my response.
“Will you answer their cry?” I hear Him ask.
“No I can’t, Lord. It costs too much, the pain is unbearable. Please don’t ask me to go again. Already one of my precious seeds is planted in foreign soil.”
“Listen again, my daughter.”
“Amma! Amma, Amma, where are you? I’m afraid, Amma, I’m hungry … Ammmaaaa! Don’t let them hurt me, please! Where are you Amma?”
Pitiful cries assault my ears, sting my heart. Cries that begin to mingle with mine, mingle with His.
My mind drifts inevitably to my son’s final moments, his last earthly cry. I remember his lonely, unmarked grave - far from my gaze, an ocean separates us.
He whispers again into the depths of my soul, “I hold your son in my embrace just as I long to hold these little ones, safe, close to my heart.”
“My grave is empty!”
His words capture my cowering heart. I’m strangely warmed, newly awakened.
But again my mind reacts. “He was snatched from my breast.” I lament.
“Will your aching breast nurture one estranged from another’s womb? I left the womb of the grave to love them, to redeem them – each one who cries.”
“I’m a broken vessel. How can I go again?”
“Who better to go than one fashioned, tempered by suffering, one attentive to children’s cries, moved to tears … one that carries My heart-beat to My children in a far away land.”
My pounding heart pulsates with His light! I finally understand. My beloved has been ransomed for the many.
“Lord, I’m afraid, but I will go again.”
I am compelled to answer the cry of motherless children.
I cannot bear their cry, I cannot ignore them … I must go!
Authors note: Based on a true story – mine!
‘Amma’ is the English translation for ‘Mother’ in many Indian languages.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
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