Thursday, May 27, 2010
When God Speaks Through a Kenyan
The year I got the chicken pox
Mom let me stay home for one week
(because I was contagious)
And then another week
(because I was ugly)
The year I got a Mickey Mouse watch for Christmas
"It's a Small World After All" played every hour on the hour
One day I remember being on the verge of tears
I was fighting back the ugly cry.
In that moment, my watch announced a new hour.
"It's A Small World After All" slurped the liquid out of my eyes
and instantly relieved the boo-hoo pressure in the front of my face.
From that day on, I always sing "It's a Small World After All" when I need to push back the tears, push them way back.
Two days ago...
I had another break down
(yes, the whiny baby rides again. Will this ever end?)
In the middle of moving I realized something...
I hate moving.
I hate packing.
I hate the mother I become when our life is in such chaos.
For three weeks I had been playing tetris with boxes, sorting and crying
I missed my normal life.
I missed my friends.
I missed spending real time with my children.
I'm terrible at tetris.
In that moment it hit me...
That's all I see on the horizon for us.
The move to the farm.
The move to Haiti.
move, move, move
I downright lost it with Aaron...raised my voice and was a beast.
"I don't want to move for the rest of my life, Aaron...I am too old for this. I want to settle down. I want to stay in the same place. I have moved a life time of moves in the first 14 years of marriage. I don't want the next 14 to be like the first 14. I want to stay put!"
We went to bed mad at each other, even though the Bible says you shouldn't do that.
I fell asleep telling God I was tired of saying how sorry I am for being faithless. I just don't want to move so much. So there.
The next day...
A man from Kenya came to help.
(He didn't come all the way from Kenya to help us move. He's just from Kenya. And he came to help.)
I don't know the man from Kenya. He goes to my church and came to help load up our stuff.
While throwing trampoline parts into the truck, he asked me how I felt to be moving.
I told him that I feel sad. Some days I'm not sad, but today I'm sad.
Then he looked at me, and calmly said in his wonderful Kenyan accent...
"You should not be sad to move. Moving reminds us that we do not belong here. We're only passing through. Maybe people should move more often so they remember."
All I said was, "I'm sad." How on earth did this man know why? Or that we'd moved a lot? Or that lots more moves were on the agenda? There were a million reasons why I could have been sad to leave my home. No one knew about the break down the night before. No one.
How can I say this without everyone questioning my salvation?
I'm not someone who goes around looking for God to speak to me through coffeemate or lyrics in a song. I'm just not that person. Honestly, I think those people are kind of kooky.
But when that sweet man said those words to me right after I freaked out on my husband...
All I could say to him was
"There's some pizza in the house if you get hungry."
I walked away with "It's a Small World After All" cranked up really loud in my mind.