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 [email protected] or at www.ChristTheKingCEC.com .]