By DAVID EPPS
Pastor

Unlike many mothers and grandmothers, Cindy, an assistant professor of nursing at the State University of West Georgia in Carrollton, will not be celebrating Mother's Day with her family this Sunday.

After doing her duty in the children's nursery, she will rush to the worship services of her church where, during the closing moments, the leaders and congregation will have special prayer on her behalf. She will then embrace her husband, sons and grandchildren before traveling to the airport in Atlanta to board an aircraft bound for the east African nation of Uganda. It will be her third trip in as many years.

Born Cynthia Scott Douglas to a devout Southern Baptist couple on an Air Force base ian Cheyenne, Wy., she would be the oldest of four children of John and Bette Douglas. John, a captain in the United States Air Force, would soon be discharged and move his young family to a new life in eastern Tennessee. The Douglas clan would become a charter family in a new Baptist church being planted in the area and both parents would be faithful and dependable leaders and role models for their children.

Often, at the dinner table, John would look at his four children and ask, “Which of you is going to be my missionary?” Cindy was pretty sure that it might be her. She never remembers a time that she wasn't in church and she was baptized at Colonial Height Baptist Church when she was 8.

When she was 19, she married a young man of 20 whose stated goal was to be a minister. They both endured the hardship that comes with marrying too young and, somehow, finished college, after her young man had completed a tour of duty in the military. She had two sons before she entered the associate of science in nursing degree program. She graduated with a GPA of 4.0. Together, she and her husband served churches in several states. Eventually the couple had a third son and moved back to the South.

Soon thereafter, the young nurse took her first medical mission trip to the South American nation of Paraguay. The experience changed her forever. The scene of small children foraging in a garbage dump for food, the reality and the smell of abject poverty, and the memory of too many needs and too little resources would stay with her. Over the years, she would work in an indigent inner-city hospital, would care for dying AIDS patients, would specialize in attending to patients in kidney failure, and would visit the poor and forgotten elderly who required medical care in their homes. She knew she had to do more.

While still working full-time, she returned to school and earned both a bachelor of science in nursing and a master of science in nursing, both with a grade point average of 4.0. She was a grandmother by the time she received her master's degree.

Nearing graduation, she was asked to submit a resume to the college in Carrollton and was soon teaching nursing students at both the main campus and at the extension campus in Dalton, a five-hour round-trip that she would make weekly. She became known for her teaching ability and for her passion for nursing, for excellence, and for continual learning. A tough, demanding teacher, she, nevertheless, consistently received both the admiration of and high reviews from her students.

She was accepted into a Ph.D. in Nursing program at Atlanta's largest university and, three years later, still a full-time assistant professor, completed the grueling course work. Once again, she finished with a 4.0 average.

In 1997, she and another lady traveled to Uganda to survey the country and plan a teaching and medical mission. After two weeks of living with the Ugandan people in the roughest of conditions, she returned to the United States with a sober determination to help bring relief, if only to a few, in that far-off land.

The poverty in Uganda was much worse than in Paraguay, she discovered. Once called “the Pearl of Africa” by Sir Winston Churchill, Uganda is still recovering from the mad ravages of the bloodthirsty dictator, Idi Amin. Buildings, even the best of them, are old, crumbling, and in need of repair. Most of the roads outside the few cities are pot-holed, narrow, and dangerous.

At least 26 languages are spoken, although English, thanks to the British, is the language of choice among the men and educated women. Uganda records the largest occurrence of AIDS/HIV in the world. So prevalent is the disease that travelers have been advised to consider that anyone they meet may carry the virus. Wells, which are often shallow in depth, are frequently contaminated.

The “clinics” in the villages may consist of a square, handmade brick building with a bare concrete floor and no windows. There is often no electricity, no running water, no toilet facilities, and only pallets on the floor for beds. The Ugandan nurses who run the clinics do the best they can but with no antibiotics and a scarcity of other medications, the task of providing health care of overwhelming.

Muslims and Christians live and work side by side in relative peace, but the possibility for conflict is ever-present. Border clashes and outright warfare is a way of life near the border as rebels continually attempt to infiltrate and wreak havoc in this beautiful but fragile land.

In 1998, Cindy was part of a team that traveled throughout the remote areas holding clinics and assisting local churches. In many villages, the attendance at church tripled following the departure of the team. Despite the best efforts of the team, some Ugandans, old and young, were too sick to help. The memories of the dying children, thin from malaria or some other disease, burned into Cindy's mind. So was the recollection of the thin, frail, elderly woman who, after walking barefoot for untold miles in search of medical help, fell to her knees, wept, and kissed Cindy's hand repeatedly as she expressed her gratitude in her tribal language.

This time, she is returning to teach in the state-sponsored school of nursing in Jinja, the nation's second largest city. Many of the nursing students that she will instruct will, in the near future, find themselves in the remote villages, or in a war zone, or dealing with the millions of HIV-infected adults and children. They will be the last, best hope for multitudes of Uganda's suffering people. Cindy will be in her element.

I wonder if, during the quiet hours of the long flight to Africa, the question her father asked around the dinner table will come to her remembrance? Will she remember that day, so many years ago, when a little Baptist girl heard the call to serve others? Or will she be focused on the memories of the suffering and hungry children in Paraguay, or the emaciated young mothers in Uganda who have brought their babies to her, pleading with their eyes, hoping that something can be done? Or will she remember the AIDS patient named Andy who died a very young man, and totally alone, save for the nursing staff, on her shift in the inner-city hospital?

Perhaps, she will simply review her lesson plans and pray for the nursing students she is about to meet and teach.

As for me, like most husbands, I will miss her terribly and the children and grandchildren and I will pray for her success and safe return. For the time being, the Mother's Day celebration will just have to wait.

[Father David Epps is a priest and rector at Christ the King Church in Peachtree City. He is also a doctoral student at Trinity Episcopal School for Ministry. He may be contacted at FatherDavidEpps@aol.comor at www.ChristTheKingCEC.com.]

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