TO CONGO I RUN
My breath visible in early morning,
A number pinned to my chest.
The gun fires and I begin,
Shoulders high, feeling full of zest.
Eager, I run. Nervous, I run.
I pace myself, my muscles conditioned.
My ear buds play the beat.
The end is not far. I know the way.
Closer with each light tap of my feet.
Purposeful, I run. Cautious, I run.
The finish line in sight, I look for my kids.
Picking up the pace.
In a flash the finish line is gone.
Out of sight without a trace.
Excited, I run. Naive, I run.
“Farther,” they say, “3-6 more miles.”
The sun is hot, the water gone.
Why the change? Are there no rules?
No matter. I will press on.
Determined, I run. Confused, I run.
The booing begins despite my best efforts.
Food thrown, sticks intended to trip.
They tell me I should never have run.
Words that sting like a whip.
Resolute, I run. Wounded, I run.
Biting my lip, I picture our boys.
I remember their laughter and cuddles.
My lungs fill with air, my eyes focus forward,
My mind overcomes all the hurdles.
Strengthened, I run. Anxious, I run.
A friend joins my steps, then two, then three.
I am not alone after all.
In the distance, the crowds begin to cheer.
“You’re almost there!” they call.
Trusting, I run. Fatigued, I run.
I see the kids now! “I’m coming!” I shout.
Do they know I’m running for them?
One holds his shoes up to come with me.
But is torn away once again.
Hopeful, I run. Sobbing, I run.
Some runners pass their finish lines.
Their children they tightly hold.
Where is my end? Who is in charge?
They’re engaged elsewhere, I’m told.
Unwavering, I run. Rejected, I run.
The great Hill now in sight,
Muscles tighten in anticipation.
Struggling for strength at the top,
I am offered a sip for dehydration.
Empowered, I run. Contending, I run.
The crowds depart, the breeze remains.
Sweat pools between clavicle bones.
Swimming in a sea of thoughts,
I gasp for air, too many unknowns.
Overwhelmed, I run. Optimistic, I run.
Have I lost hope? Have my children lost hope?
Exhausted, I hit the wall.
Their first mother died and I am not there.
Too much trauma for one so small.
Devastated, I run. Empathetic, I run.
No. I cannot rest; I will not quit.
Instead, I lengthen my stride.
Never have I run this far, this fast.
I feel that God is by my side.
Weary, I run. Strong, I run.
My heart pounds steadily
With the sound of an African drum.
Children harmonize in joyful song.
From where does this sweet sound come?
Lonely, I run. Supported, I run.
The air smells of cassava and exhaust.
The dense heat slows my pace.
Traffic horns sound, crowds push me down.
But forward I go until our embrace.
Concerned, I run. Undeterred, I run.
My side aches. Blisters fill my shoes.
I look to the sky for a divine star.
Like a mirage, our kids seem so near,
But as we approach they are far.
Doubting I run. Confident I run.
First bubbles, then a soccer ball,
Cross the path on which I tread.
“Mundele! Mundele!” children shout.
Their laughter echoes in my head.
Weeping, I run. Joyful, I run.
“You will never reach the end,”
States the uniformed man with a gun.
Tall, cement walls enclose me.
Trapped, I hit them one by one.
Fearful, I run. Resistant, I run.
How distant the line, I know not.
Will our boys still be alive?
I push away the thought. Yes.
Because I won’t stop until I arrive.
Panicked, I run. Believing, I run.
We will never abandon them.
We will always pursue the good.
I pray for endurance. I pray for courage.
Lord, help us to be understood.
Desperate, I run. Grateful, I run.
A church swells with melodious hymns.
I desire to stop in grief.
“I believe,” the words come to my mind,
“Help thou mine unbelief.”
Frustrated, I run. Peaceful, I run.
Please let them know I’m coming.
There is light and love ahead.
“Je t’aime.” I’ll one day tell them
As I tuck them snugly into bed.
I run. I run.
-Jennefer Boyer
Mother to Andre and Luke who were legally adopted in 2012. The children are still separated from their new mother, father and two sisters.
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