I walked in smelling the pleasant roast of coffee, trying to decide what flavor would suit me this early morning. My fingers and toes were cold, and I was reminded that summer was over - it was nearly Thanksgiving. My mind wandered. What a long few weeks it had been. Both my young kids had been sick with bronchial viruses, pneumonia, you name it, we had it.
Back to the coffee.. oh, that smell. Just a few minutes to relax before the day began. So many things to accomplish. As I walked over to the counter, something distracted me. The look in his eye. That look. As if his eyes were calling me over.
As I tried to avoid eye contact, I took a few steps closer. What I saw was unpleasant, scary even. His face was covered with open sores and scabs. Maybe one hundred just on his face, neck and head. My mind raced - is that contagious? But those bright blue eyes pierced me deeper. Tired eyes, with sagging, red eyelids. A few tear drops not yet dried perched on his long eyelashes.
I didn’t know what to say. He didn’t speak, but reached an outstretched arm my direction. More scabs. Red, oozing, weeping blisters. If I got close I might risk catching whatever that was. The coffee.. my day.. I still avoided the direct gaze of those blue eyes. Maybe he would turn back to examining that wet rag he held so firm in his grip. What did he want from me? I was so tired, just wanted a cup of coffee and five minutes to myself. Five seconds! Young kids are exhausting - especially when they wake up in the night. This was MY escape time!
Both arms now reaching right toward me, closer. Tugging at my pant leg. He was on the ground and I was the only one within his reach. I’ll be honest, I was trying to think of a way to escape. Those sores, those eyes. Then I heard it. I knew I couldn’t turn away. When I heard the sound of that cry.
I picked him up as fast as I could bend down. I kissed him a million times, not minding the weeping sores pressing into my face. Not remembering how tired I was, or the ache in my back, and completely forgetting the coffee. How guilty I felt for trying to avoid his gaze. Those beautiful blue eyes, almost hidden by his swollen eyelids covered in red. His head felt warm as I held him tight. His wet tiger blankie still half in his mouth. My arms are never too tired for you, I thought. “Momma, Momma” he said, smiling.. Soon, sweet son, soon.. these chicken pox will heal.
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As, I rocked my 11 month old to sleep tonight, I couldn’t help but thinking of those people around us we avoid. Intentionally and unintentionally. We are too busy, too rushed, too caught up in our own worlds. They are too sick, too gross, too different. As I rocked him close, the antibacterial balm that I’d just rubbed all over his infected pox got on part of my lip. It tasted absolutely terrible. But I didn’t care. I kissed him more. And I thought, this is actually gross, I’m putting my lips close to broken, weeping skin. But, there wasn’t a “clean” or “beautiful” spot on him. His chicken pox sores have a secondary infection, and honestly, my beautiful boy looks rough. Much more than he needed my kisses (oh and he likes his momma’s cuddles), I wanted to give them. How much I love him can’t be put into words. How easy it is to love my kids. When they are healthy and when they are sick. When they look pretty and when they look just plain nasty. How hard it is to love people in this world when they are healthy and how much harder it is when they are not. Sick, nasty, poor, dirty, ill, scabby people. Inside and out. Aren’t we all in more ways than we’d like to admit. Jesus, let me be more like you. That is my prayer tonight.
