There’s a scene that always makes me grin from the movie Hitch (you know, with Will Smith). Hitch is a dating consultant, coaching guys get the girls they’re crazy about. Here, he’s advising a client who’s purchased a recommended pair of shoes for his date.
Hitch: The shoes are hot. You went to the place I told you, right?read more
It’s pretty much the only time, I think, when I should talk more than I listen.
You’ve been, there, I know: times like my morning a few days ago, when I tucked my feet beside me on the back porch, cup of tea in hand–mind splintered, floating in a deluge of concerns. I’d curled up to pray, but prayers kept colliding with the flotsam in my mind. I felt adrift; perhaps even a bit unmoored. Pretty sure I was just staring for a good portion of the time.
Say you’re walking down the street as a family. There on the sidewalk, an argument erupts at full volume between a couple you don’t know. She’s spewing vile obscenities and venemous accusations; he shoves and vehemently threatens her. Someone they know comes out to successfully intervene, but your kids’ wide eyes are brimming with questions. Do you
a. Cover your kids’ eyes with your free hands, and shoot the couple the evil eye as you stalk off. (Some people…! Get your act together, folks.)
b. Smile at the couple. Act like nothing happened.read more
We weren’t clearly “called” to Africa. That I know of.
Maybe God will correct my thinking in the future. But there my husband and I were in Little Rock, with four little kids (youngest two and a half), contemplating whether or not to, you know, sell 70% of our stuff and wheel our bags to a continent I was sure was just buzzing with malaria and typhoid. I say that—but honestly, I was thrilled. Africa is a dream come true, one I’d put on the shelf in the “maybe God will explain why” category of my mental Dewey decimal system. And as we discussed it, I don’t think I’ll forget what my husband said one night.
This week, my parents are arrived in Africa! Though this is their third trip since we’ve lived here, it’s still fraught with so much giddiness and anticipation. Rather than living life together as we hoped, our time together seems scrunched into the few weeks every 18 months or so where we live in the same place, same continent.
I’m crazy-blessed with wise, gracious, sold-out parents who pour their lives out for Jesus. But I’m sure it mystifies them, as it does me, that their success as parents means their dreams of closeness to their kids are stacked together with their hopes for eternity. I wrote this post for everthinehome.com awhile back, and it is gratefully used with permission.