How could I ask her for help

How could I ask her for help? How could I invite her to experience her value? She was sweaty. She muttered many words. I had her child. We had to meet in a sterile room with supervisors watching us. We knew a little about each other through our workers but we didn’t trust one another or have depth of understanding into each other’s characters yet. 

With white walls, large windows covered in film, one two-seated vinyl grey couch and 2 tiny stools beside a child’s table that was distorted by unguided markers and crayons, there was nothing to warm the room. Not a plant, not a toy, not a picture on the wall. But there were two people. One paced the room, anxious. The other sat on the couch, anticipatory.  The collision of emotions did not land soft on my heart as I entered in with her child and my worker.  Wiping her upper lip, she hunched down to her 5-month-old and released her baby from the car seat. The room was quiet. It was tough to decipher between sweat and tears by the time she wrapped her daughter in her arms. Stepping back I remained silent. This was time for processing for a grieving mom.  Her sweet Inuktitut lullaby’s continued one after another oblivious to the others around her. 

Silent, observant, and not amiss to what her daughter was experiencing, grandma was tucked in the corner on the couch. She was the one who called child services. She was the one who couldn’t care for her granddaughter any longer. She was the one who called for help. While her eyes became lines in her square face, her smile was inviting and experienced. The wrinkles and grey hair told me she had lived a life skilled in laughter and tears. 

How many children did she have?

Where was she born?

Was she married?

Did she care for more grandchildren?

Did she grow up in the Inuit culture? 

Did she have a faith of her own?

Why did she move away from the north?

How many of her family experienced addiction?

… and off my mind wandered. 

I longed to hear all her stories. But now, I had to be present for her daughter. 

The lullabies had ended and mom was now looking at me with curiosity.  

“Are you married to a guy?”

“Yes, I have a wonderful husband.”

“Do you have children?”

“Yes, I have five children. 4 sons and a daughter.”

“Do they all live with you?”

“Yes, they do.”

She stopped and looked at her mother.  It was her turn. She wanted me to know her. Rocking her little one, she approached me with a broad smile. 

“I have 3 children. 2 girls and a boy. My oldest children have been adopted. The oldest, ‘Samuel’ was born on January 8th, 2003, and “Veronica” was born on August 10th, 2005. As soon as they turn 18, I’m going to find them and go out for drinks to tell them how much I love them and miss them and that I think about them all the time.” Shifting her posture to the other leg, she paused.  “My favourite was bath time. We used to laugh about who could make the biggest splash. Samuel was so much fun but couldn’t sit still. Veronica was quieter but she made smart alec comments.”

As mom carried on reminiscing about her beautiful children she became lighter, the tears disappeared and the sweat evaporated. We were sisters in that moment. We shared something. She sat down on the couch, tenderly placing her baby on her mom’s lap as I pulled up a small 3-legged stool to be close. The workers had left and it was just us. Three moms with hearts for their children. But reality was imminent. Would she have to grieve the temporary loss of a third child?  I broke the thought.

“I’m so thankful for you, dear Jennifer! I’m so honoured to meet you today. You love your children and I can tell how precious they are to you. That’s a sign of an intentional mom. Good for you!” 

She was listening and appreciating the affirmation, but her eyes were deep and told of how she was contemplating the fact that I’d be taking her daughter home after the visit and might be a ‘better’ mom than she. 

Jesus came to mind. The story of when he met with the Samaritan woman at the well. He humbled himself. He didn’t need water from her. He wanted to demonstrate his love, lift her up, give her life and he did that by letting her know he needed her.  “Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?”” (John 4:7)

I reached to place her hands in mine. She was agreeable. She looked in my eyes.

“Will you help me?” I asked. 

I expected the answer and the sarcasm. “How can I help you?” She laughed childishly and released my hands. Quickly, I reached out to hold them again. I looked at grandma for strength. I didn’t know how God would lead the answer to the next question. 

“Would you be able to make some slippers for me? Your precious daughter needs slippers and you told me that you craft Inuit items for souvenir shops. I’d love some mini mukluks or moccasins with your personal beading on them.” Knowing the story of the Samaritan woman I had an example of a response, but that was with Jesus.

It was my turn to sweat.  “Lord, let her know I value her,” I prayed.

Does she realize I can buy slippers anywhere? 

Does she know my intentions?

Oh, why did I ask her? 

What if she laughs at my effort?

As quick as my thoughts raced, she yelled, “YES!” And then the emotion I had prayed for was released. Tears streamed down her cheeks fast and multiplied. She squeezed my hands and then jumped into my chest to wrap her arms around me. She held me long. I could feel her heart beating fast. She released and looked at me with a waterfall of words.

“I have never felt valued. I have never had anyone ask me for help unless they wanted sex, drugs or a drink. I love you. I think you are amazing. I want to be your friend. I can’t believe you think I can help you. I will make those slippers for you tomorrow. I can do that. I have the materials and I want you to see what I can make. Oh, thank you! Thank you! How do I thank you for this? I have never felt like this before.” Wiping her eyes with one hand, holding my hand with her other, she turned to her mom looking for answers. 

I took a moment for intimacy with Jesus. “Thank-you for your example. Show her your love. Make her always feel her value.”

* Real names and dates were not used. 

Questions to ponder:

1. Were you curious about the grandmother?

2. Do you consider scripture when you’re looking for answers?

3. Does difference in character ever cripple your actions?

4. Do you have preconceived ideas of people who have experienced hard lives?

5. How would you have encouraged mom?