My Name is Mommy

I have two catalogs sitting on my coffee counter. (Okay, you got me, I have about 15 on there, but two that we’re going to talk about right now.)

The first is from a party that I went to last night. You know the kind, the in-home party/show that most of us ladies/moms love to get out to every so often. Anything combining shopping, talking with friends and enjoying good food has to be a good time, right? And it was. A gracious host, a beautiful home, and a good product. Nothing to complain about.

So, what is it about this that is nibbling at my conscience a day later? I was good, stayed near the budget (I promise, the budget was in sight! I might have tiptoed past it, but not by more than a shoe size. Good thing I have big feet.). I only got a couple of things, and they were things I’d been needing wanting for a while. No big deal.

Now, to the other catalog. It’s from a humanitarian organization that I’ve been supporting for years. I received the catalog this afternoon, though I’ve been thinking about the organization since I woke this morning. Maybe not so much the organization, but the people, individuals, children that it serves. I’ve not been able to stop thinking about them.

What do the two catalogs have to do with each other? Money. Both organizations want my money. One tells me to spend money because its products can improve my life. The other tells me to spend money because its services can improve the lives of others. One’s products will help me feed my family more efficiently. The other’s services will feed children who otherwise won’t eat.

What does this have to do with motherhood? Everything, to me. I started supporting the humanitarian group when I was an unmarried, non-parenting college student. I’d seen the commercials of the poor, sick, hungry kids too many times. I finally called. It was a good thing to do, and it made me feel good. However, it wasn’t until I became a mom that I would really feel passionate about my actions. It wasn’t until I heard the cries of my own hungry children that I could empathize with another mom of a hungry child. It wasn’t until I could hear the cries of my own sick child that I could empathize with another mom of a sick child. The difference between me and this other mom? I had food to offer my child. I had medicine and healthcare to offer my child. The other mom has only hope to offer her child, and maybe not much of that anymore. She must continue to listen to the cries of her child, and hope that I hear them. And hope that I care.

So, back to the party. And please don’t take this as a judgement of this type of party at all. I’ve hosted a few myself, and definitely attended my share. This is just observation, I think. Anway, there were a lot of us there. As I was thinking of the party this morning, guessing my cost as an average of all who were there (which is pretty conservative, b/c I’m cheap), I guessed the party to bring in $600. $600. $600 would support one child for 20 months. 20 months of food, of medicine, of education. 20 months of clean water. 20 months of no more crying. All from 20 or so ladies at a friend’s home in one night.

“Hunger knows no borders. More than 850 million people worldwide are chronically hungry. For children, malnutrition is a killer–it causes more than half of all deaths in children under age 5.”
World Vision News, Summer 2006, (emphasis mine)

Really? More than half of all deaths in children under age 5? Devastating. Utterly depressing. And absolutely preventable.

So, what is the point of this post? To challenge. To challenge me. To make me think of where I put every dollar that comes into and goes out of out our home. To think of money I can save buying clearance, generic, out of season stuff. To save a few dollars here to help a mom out “over there.” To challenge you, if you’re willing to be challenged.

Wouldn’t it be cool to have a party like the one last night? Wouldn’t it be cool to have the gracious host, the beautiful home, the friend time, the yummy food and a wonderful night? But no product. Yes, money, but no product. Instead, a joint effort, a unified committment to help a mom raise her child for 20 months. Wouldn’t that be cool? Is it something that I would do? Is it something that I would attend if invited? Is it something that we would be willing to put $600 toward if we got nothing in return? Is it something we would contribute to in order to keep one more mom from having to attend her baby’s funeral?

The answer for me is, “It had better be.”