Babies are selfish. It's just how they are. They know very little, but they know when they want their bottle, and they don't care that it's someone else's turn to be fed before theirs. They want to be held right now, not in ten minutes when the baby currently filling my arms has been comforted. And really, to some extent, isn't that how we all are? I think one of the biggest lessons in growing up is learning how to put others before oneself. It just doesn't come naturally to us. We're intrinsically selfish beings, and it's a constant struggle to consider your own wants and needs and desires to be less important than those of others. But one of the things that I've discovered in the funny, strange world that is TLC is that it's simply not possible to succeed here and be selfish at the same time. Honestly, it's not. When you're in the nursery, there are 42 babies, all convinced that their own needs and wants are the most important things in the world. If there were 42 mommies here with them, that would be the case; the needs of their babies would take precedence over pretty much anything else. But there are quite often six or eight or ten babies to every one caregiver in the nursery, and we clearly have to prioritize whose needs are most pressing. With so many babies, it's a constant battle to see that each of them not only gets their basic needs met, but that they're also getting stimulated and challenged and encouraged so that they can grow and develop. They need that as much as they need food. Baby Girl "R," who I mentioned in one of my last entries, is a great example of this. She had her basic needs met when she was at the hospital. She was fed, her nappy was changed, and she was warm and safe. But she didn't have anything more than that, and she was beginning to fade away. Have you ever seen someone with no sparkle in their eye? Someone whose eyes just look empty? To see a baby with empty eyes is heartbreaking. It's so wrong, so fundamentally against the way it's supposed to be, that you can't help but be convicted. But I look at her now, and my heart wants to rejoice because she's not just surviving here, she's thriving. She's growing and changing and smiling and laughing. She engages with the world around her. She whimpers when you set her down, and will protest if she hasn't been cuddled enough, because now she's beginning to learn what she wants, and how to make her needs and wants known.
With 42 babies, each with their own unique set of pressing needs, who gets prioritized straight to the bottom of the list? Yeah, I do. Why? Because I don't matter. No, I'm not being self-deprecating. I know that I'm needed here. I know that the babies need someone here to take care of them. But they don't need me. When they cry, they're not crying for me. They're crying for someone, and I happen to be the one here to pick them up. When they're hungry, they don't need me to feed them. They need someone to feed them, and it doesn't really matter who, as long as their needs are met. These tiny people have so very many needs, and behind every demand that they make for a need to be met is the most complete vulnerability you can imagine. They literally cannot survive without us. What are my needs compared to the needs of these tiny people who are unable to take care of themselves? The funny thing is that as soon as I am able to completely let go of myself, to divest myself of my sense of my own importance, I receive more back than I ever could have imagined. Selflessness is a struggle, but on the rare occasion that I am able to truly devote myself selflessly to these babies, I find that the rewards are so much greater than I ever could have expected. Why? Because I wasn't expecting anything at all. Babies don't say "thank you." They don't tell you how grateful they are that you changed their dirty nappy. They probably shriek while you wipe their snotty noses, and sometimes they cry through entire meals. But it's all worth it when one of them smiles at you. It's all worth it when you pick up the crying baby and the sound of your voice and the feel of your touch soothes it. I get more back than I ever dreamed was possible-I am so blessed because I get the opportunity to love them.
2 comments:
Amen to that insight. I've been learning about that here in Honduras. Isn't it so beautifully paradoxical that real self-denial is the only thing that will bring a sense of true self-fulfillment, giving till you have nothing but somehow, and really because of that, getting everything in return? And Christ is the beautiful embodiment of that concept. I know it's been forever since we've talked but I'm glad to know that you're there, being that Someone for those babies. Press on and press in.
Great work.
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