When I was born, my father was working for the United Nations. My family had the privilege of traveling to different countries and meeting different people as we followed my dad and supported him. When I was about three-years old, 'home' was Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea and 'life' was eating, sleeping, pooping, and trying to have my way.
That's where we met Gabby.
We had hired her to help my mother care for the home and watch over my sister and me. She was always around and I enjoyed the way she spoke and the way she was. I'll never forget her presence in my life, as brief as it was.
She had dark, dark skin that always glistened. Her smile was so sincere, but always somewhat fragile. My mother told me she was young when she worked for our family, but her wrinkled, tired eyes had always made me assume otherwise. I remember her to be a sweet person who was relentlessly thoughtful.
All I have of her today is a bricolage of vivid memories. There was the time when stakes concerning life and death required me to play outside, and in response to her softly-spoken prohibitions, I ran through the front door. There was the time I noticed her misshapen and discolored toenail and asked what happened to it: she told me that a snake had attacked and bitten her foot as she was walking through a field. She had to get home all on her own and attend to the injury herself (that time I thought she was a superhero). There was the time when she bought a turtle from the market as a pet for my sister and I. And then there was the time my pet turtle ran away.
My mother tells me that when we were about to leave the country at the end of my dad's assignment, she asked if we would taker her with us. That's the last memory my family has of Gabby.
She was beautiful.
She was loving.
And I knew, even as a toddler, she was exhausted from life, but she emanated what I remember now as a sweet hopefulness.
I wish I knew how she was living out these traits today. I wish I knew the things she was striving for and against. I wish I knew her wars and her heart. I wish I knew if she was even living.
I know it's impossible to trace the lives of every person we brush up against in this world. Nor do I feel a conviction against my parents' decision to not bring Gabby. Life interweaves us with so many people- some threads occur repeatedly throughout the years, and others don't.
But I want to make relationships with people, with a mindset that they will be around. Because that's the truth- they will be! Perhaps they won't be physically present in my shelled-off life on a daily basis, but they are very much here. Should my personal perspective and the status of my relationship with someone dictate how real their hurts and pains actually are? Of course not. Well, then is there a disparity between how real someone is and how real he or she is to me?
I wish there wasn't.
I was perusing through several different websites this evening,. Among them, I discovered an amazing non-profit. I read their history, mission, vision statements. I watched their videos and heard their story. I saw the people in Africa they wanted to help. The children, the urgent cries of the men and women. Riveted, I looked into the organization's employment opportunities tab. I was so excited.
"If only I could be there," I thought, "then I'd have those experiences, know those people... I could actually do something help."
And that's when I thought of Gabby this evening. From the recesses of my mind my memories of her catapulted to the forefront of my thoughts. The few things I knew about her and the masses I wish I did.
I've traveled since birth. Bhutan. Australia. Papua New Guinea. The Philippines. Mexico. I've been to places. I've met people.
So, Lauren, who do you still know? Who did you help?
I was only three when I knew Gabby, and I didn't have the same expectations for myself then as I do now of course. But my moments with her will impact my worldview forever as she commissions me to serve others recklessly no matter how far or near the relation, how long or short the interaction. She'll always remind me that it doesn't matter how much distance I cross or how much time I spend with the poor, if I never invest my heart.
I love discovering non-profits and exploring humanitarian aid, but my biggest fear is that what I mask as compassion turns out be a shallow trend I practice to make me feel good about myself. All the time I've spent researching organizations, reading blogs, watching videos- what will I have to show for it at the end of everything? I pray that it won't be a very organized folder of bookmarked tabs.
Gabby will always stand as my call-to-action. Not to apply to internships with non-profits or to read articles on aid, not to travel overseas or share links to non-profits. Her call is and forever will be to stop, pray, invest my heart, and then act.
Then, I can actually do something that has a meaningful influence, something that's just as real as their needs.
