When water had cut for the nth time and I’d gone nearly a week without washing my hair, I decided to bite the bullet to try and shower anyway.
“Mama, what if water cuts midway?”
“Don’t worry,” I reassured my 7-year old, as if my certainty would morph itself into reality.
But true enough, the moment I rinsed myself, the shower head coughed its last drop and there I was, stranded in the Tanzanian wintry cold.
Little did I know my 7-year old was already ready to help. “I’ll get you a bowl, Mama.”
As I washed my hair, gritty with red dirt, with stored water, the week’s happenings flashed past — a security breach, sleepless nights, cross-cultural abrasions… As I lifted my arm to scoop water over my face and the old nerve pain shot through, in a moment of weakness, self-pity engulfed me.
Eyes closed, quiet tears streamed down my face, when I felt a tiny warm hand touch my shoulder. I didn’t know- but my 7-year old had never left me.
There she was the whole time, watching me, in what I thought was a most humiliating sight – a woman trying to wash her hair with a bowl and cup (no pail could be found) when she said to me firmly and proudly, “You’re doing SO GOOD, Mama. SO GOOD.”
I thought about an elderly missionary friend I have with severe Parkinson’s and how inspired I was, still am, by his commitment to serve in Africa, and then realized, that so often, what we think is our state of utter humiliation is the very thing that gives others strength.
When I saw the pride and admiration my 7-year old had for me in my state of duress, I realized that perhaps, what we can treasure to hand down most is not our successes, but the strength God gives us as we walk through our valleys, which leaves an impact greater than any of our mountain moments ever could.
For our valleys give us new eyes into the daily struggles of others, the blessing of privilege that many do not enjoy. Our valleys wring genuity from our empathy, deepen our learning— so we can share in the struggles of others, serve them better.
When you think you’re at the end of your rope, perhaps that’s when your rope extends to become a lifeline to others.