Over a year ago I read a post by one of my top favorite writers and speakers, Jen Hatmaker that I’ll never forget.
This post was about a behavior of female elephants, and how when one mama elephant is giving birth,
the other female elephants will encircle her,
facing outward, giving her a safe space for her to have her baby in peace,
all while the others stand watch.
They kick up dust as protection.
They trumpet in joy at the end.
It spoke of how we women should do that for each other.
Become a fence.
Form a shield of protection for those of us that are vulnerable.
I sent that post to some of my closest mom friends when I read it.
We nicknamed ourselves the Elephant Mamas, and we vowed to always stand watch.
To kick off spring break today,
several of those same moms and I headed to the beach with our kids.
5 women, and 14 children in tow.
Golden sun.
Windows down.
Salty air.
As we stood yelling “That’s far enough” on repeat towards the water,
and wiping sand out of the baby’s mouth again,
a panicked mother that we did not know came running down the beach, stopping at group after group.
As she neared ours,
we could hear the distress in her voice,
and she called out asking if we had seen her 3 year old boy.
He was wearing whale shorts, and had brown hair, she said.
“Blue! Blue whale shorts!”
She was frantic.
Her voice shook.
Her eyes darted.
At first, the concern felt small enough for me.
Surely he was just off finding shells somewhere.
Surely he would show up at any minute.
But as time passed, and several people split off into groups searching – The dunes, the parking lot, the enormous expanse of shore –
as more time passed –
10 minutes…15…20…30 – and still no sign,
I felt like I was being choked.
What must she be feeling?
Where could he be?
Has anyone seen this child?
Please God, don’t let him be found in the water….
As the mother called the coast guard,
I called my own girls to me and we stood and prayed together.
The water lapped at our feet.
I sent them off afterwards to check the bathrooms, and further off down the beach,
then I ran as far to the other end as I could go, eyes taking inventory.
Dogs, kites, joggers.
No sign.
Still there was no sign.
I started wondering if I’d even be able to leave that beach ever if that boy wasn’t found.
My eyes went often to the mother,
hand shielding her eyes as she scanned the horizon;
Looking both hopeful and dreading.
At around the half-hour mark,
surrounded by all the moms who had come together to help her search –
A gang of unlikely looking friends –
suddenly the mom got a call from the coast guard and immediately collapsed to the ground.
“They FOUND HIM?! THEY FOUND HIM!”
She wept into the sand and then leaped up,
taking off running alone far to the opposite end of the beach.
I watched her until she was so small that she completely disappeared.
There is no run like that of a mother coming to rescue.
My friends and I gathered watching her,
embraced, and burst into tears together as we prayed once again;
this time in gratitude, and in relief.
When the mother of the boy later appeared, carrying him back down the beach,
I couldn’t help but approach her and tell her through my own tears how relieved I was.
I asked if I could please hug her.
She flew into my arms, crying,
her safe baby sandwiched between.
“Thank you so much! Thank you for caring and your compassionate heart!”
and there we stood embracing, and crying together –
Two strangers encircling a child
that in that moment had
belonged to us both.
Today I was reminded that another thing that is born when we have children is the sense that every mother’s struggle, triumph, worry, joy, story,
and even child,
becomes, somehow,
also our own.
It is what makes some headlines harder,
but life so much richer;
Because at one point in our lives
we will each need to be in the center of that wall of elephant mamas.
Let’s play together.
Let’s protect each other.
Let’s stand up for one another.
Let’s guard our tongues and one another’s hearts.
Let’s search for the lost ones together.
Let’s be there rejoicing as we watch that certain one do her victory run.
May we always encircle the vulnerable ones among us.
May our circle face outwards.
May we always kick up the dust.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
