Morning Tea and the Whisper of Purpose. Ghana, July Morning

There is a chair in my hotel room that has slowly claimed me. It is now my morning refuge — the place where I sit with a cup of tea, where thoughts gather, where purpose sharpens. Over the past week, it has become something sacred.

Each morning, I rise early. I wrap my hands around a warm cup of black tea, grown by women in the foothills of Mount Kilimanjaro — strong women, wise women, women whose hands coax stories from the earth. The tea is bold, with a depth that mirrors the work ahead.

Today, the weight is heavier than usual. The task before me is vast: to reduce maternal and infant mortality in this beloved land. To hold space for midwives. To speak life into mothers who have been forgotten. To listen to the heartbeat of babies still waiting to be born. I sit with this weight — it humbles me. It dares me to ask: Can I do it?

But then, a shift. A memory. A truth.

I am not alone.

There is a village. A circle. A sisterhood of midwives rising across Ghana, arms linked in quiet courage, hands steady with experience, eyes clear with vision. Together, we are stronger. Together, we are louder than despair.

And then comes the next question: When I return to the United States, do I go back to business as usual?

My heart speaks swiftly: no.

No, I will not return the same. I will carry this sacred urgency with me. I will not forget the mothers I’ve met, the babies I’ve prayed for, the stories I’ve held in neonatal wards and village health centers. I will return more open. I will love more deeply. I will live more slowly, more intentionally — because I now live by the whisper of purpose.

A whisper that speaks clearly each morning as I sip my tea: Save lives. Speak for the mothers. Walk with the midwives. Change what must be changed.

The women of Rwanda, Kenya, Congo, and Ethiopia echo the same truth. Their stories braid into one universal song:
Pregnancy is not a death sentence.
You can live if you are seen.
You can live if you are nourished.
You can live if you are heard.

And so, I close my eyes. I sip again. The tea is warm, the message even warmer.

You were born for this.

And in that moment, an assurance washes over me. I feel the presence of God, of every mother who has ever labored in silence, of every midwife who has lit a lantern in the darkness.

I am ready.

And I give thanks.