For now “Left to Tell” is Left Alone

I’m a mom and have been for about 3 years. Among the countless effects junior parenthood has on me is keen sensitivity to just about everything – sounds, danger, refusal to go to bed. If one of our boys is playing in another room, I can pinpoint what he’s playing with and his exact location based on the sound of the toy or how hard he’s banging it on the TV – a superpower you get when your child becomes mobile; and whether emotional or physical, distress is on my radar and I’m ready to act when it shows up. I’ve watched my boys have their feelings hurt, hurt the feelings of others, as well as receive and cause injury. It’s all painful to see. My awareness of danger and distress is sky high not just when it comes to my kids, but others’ children, too. It’s impossible to hear, read, or witness any story concerning children and simultaneously disregard my own motherhood. I’m sure I’m not alone. It’s funny because all this switched on as soon as my oldest was born, but wasn’t a big deal before then. I clearly recall seeing Ransom (a movie about a little boy’s kidnapping) with my dad when I was in high school and excitedly inviting my mom to watch the suspense with us. Almost laughing to herself, she smiled holding up a hand, and let out a quick, “No no no. I can’t watch that.” I knew it was her heightened sensitivity as a mother that prevented her from joining us; but knowing it and understanding it are completely different.

Until a few days ago, I was (am? might continue…someday?) reading Left to Tell by Immaculée Ilibagiza. I was eager to dive in since Immaculée was just in town sharing her experience. I couldn’t make it to her two-day presentation on forgiveness, but after hearing so many rave about the miraculous nature of her story, I had to start reading. What appealed to me was how Immaculée’s faith blossomed amid the horror and hope was powerfully present in her soul and story. Please note: I wasn’t expecting it to be a light read on the Rwandan genocide, and I was able to get through about half of the book before I had to put it down. The history itself is disturbing, terrifying, and unfathomable to boot because it’s so very recent; and the barbarism committed by the government at large as well as individuals Immaculée knew as friends shocked me. She mentioned the murder of pregnant mothers very briefly, but later described overhearing a mother and infant being killed. After the mother was murdered, the infant was left in the road crying all night, dying as well the next morning – this is the watered-down version. Passing through those brief paragraphs, I kept reading for a few pages, then turned off my Kindle, and set it on my desk. The calm before the storm. Andrew turned to me, “Are you all right?” and I didn’t speak. In a burst of sorrow, I covered my mouth crying so hard I couldn’t breathe and with such intensity that I induced severe Braxton-Hicks. Andrew knelt in front of my chair, trying to help me focus and reminding me to inhale. After several minutes, I calmed down. “Maybe it’s time for you to stop reading this,” he suggested. I could only nod. 

This was a pretty big reaction. I blame motherhood sensitivity and pregnancy hormones.

Regardless, I still want to keep reading. I want to continue being inspired by Immaculée’s simple trust in God and her increased boldness in her relationship with him. I want to learn about what happened and pray for those still recovering from the emotional, physical, and spiritual trauma of the Rwandan genocide. This isn’t the first time that my fragileness has gotten in the way of something that I wanted to do. Reading a book is a small deed in itself, but when I wanted to begin praying regularly in front of our local abortion clinic, I found I couldn’t handle it after two visits. Standing there seeing woman after woman go in, conversing with clinic employees, knowing there were babies being killed just inside the door, I knew I was staring evil straight in the face. The effect was a profound, consuming sadness that lingered for days and days afterward. I withdrew from happy activities because, in my mind, what was the point of joy when murder was being committed daily just a few miles from my house? 

What I had to accept was my own nature, how I react, and what I can handle. More challenging, though, was accepting that my fight against evil can’t currently happen at the front lines. I can’t handle reading Left to Tell right now, but I can still pray for all those affected on both sides; and the same goes for praying for an end to abortion. Right now I can’t handle praying in front of a clinic; but I make a point to witness as a joyful 9 1/2 months pregnant woman to convey that pregnancy and children are blessings to be treasured. Maybe it’s parenthood that made me so sensitive, or maybe it’s just the way I am – either way, I’m capable of accepting God’s grace to continue witnessing to the Catholic Faith and fighting against evil.