Dear Momma in Mosul,

I thought about you today. I wish I could say I think about you every day, but I don’t.  I wish I could say I think of you often. If I’m being honest, I don’t think of you as often as I should.  When I see pictures of your babies, I think of you.  But it is so easy to forget. Forgive me.

For what it is worth, I thought of you often today.  I carried your babies in my heart and I whispered prayers. I thought of you when I filled my daughters’ water bottles. When I filled bowls of water for them to paint with.  I thought of you when I handed my six month old a spoon full of carrots and again when I scrubbed those carrots out of her clothes. I thought of you while I lay on the floor exhausted by whatever virus or whatnot is plaguing my body.  I thought of you while I bathed my baby. Thought of you when I brushed the teeth of my children. I thought of you whenever I used the water I don’t usually think about.

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It’s wrong. It was bad enough that they took your clean water away from you. From your babies. Pumping your homes and your neighborhoods full of dirty water that made you sick. That made your babies sick. That was bad enough.  But now war has taken even that water from you. From your babies.

On days like today, I wonder how I can move through my days, my weeks, my months without giving a thought to you and your babies. How can I flip on the faucet, fill a bathtub and not think of the terror you have endured?  It is a luxury you have not been afforded. And it’s one I don’t even realize except on days like today.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. For the way that hate has marred your story. For the way that war has broken your homes and your neighborhoods and your city.  For the water that you don’t have.  It is wrong and I am sorry. The world is not supposed to be like this.

Today, Momma in Mosul, I am promising you that I will not turn my face away. That I won’t sigh and get overwhelmed and shut my laptop and go distract myself with Netflix or books or even the laughing of my own children.  I am promising you that I will think of you. I will pray for you, that you will have food, that your babies will be safe, that you will again taste clean water, and most of all that the good God whose kingdom doesn’t work like this one will show you his beautiful face.  When I have a chance to show up, I will show up. When a man who has devoted his life to showing up because of his deep love for Jesus says there’s a way to bring you water, I will listen. I will give. And I will tell my friends.

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And most of all, woman, friend, sister– I will let my heart break for you. And I will listen to the whispers of Jesus, inviting me to join him as he makes all things new.

 

In case it wasn’t clear, I strongly urge you to visit Preemptive Love Coalition’s website and give to their project in Mosul to repair 800 feet of pipes, turning the water on for 1.6 million people.  

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2 thoughts on “Dear Momma in Mosul,

  1. Dear Lindsey,
    It’s late Thursday night in Iraq. I’m checking in online when I should really be turning the lights out and going to sleep. Reading your on my phone, laying in bed, and tears are slipping down onto the pillow.

    By inviting the mamas of Mosul into your most ordinary moments, making space for them in the every day, you are wiping away the us/them divide where violence lives.

    You love so beautifully.
    Thank you.
    ps. Hope you feel well soon

    • Erin,

      Thank you for these words. They are a treasure to me.

      Thank you for the way you are loving the people of Iraq so tangibly. Thank you for being there and for telling this story. Thank you for giving us a way to join you. My daughters and I watched the videos of the first pipes going in with pure joy today. PLC has helped our family find a way to respond to the grief and the helplessness we feel, both by giving and by finding small ways to love others right here where we are.

      Lindsey

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