I worried about MANY things before we moved to India. Would I miss my job? Could I live without beef? Would our house have air-conditioning? But my biggest concern probably centered around my children.
I mean think about it- my kids were being uprooted from all things familiar to them. Goodbyes with school classmates, church buddies, and even family members were a constant for us in the last few weeks. Few things in their physical lives were going to be the same. We left behind favorite toys, houses where we had made lasting memories together, and comforts that were near and dear to us.
And for what? I asked myself this too many times. I was so afraid of what these changes would mean-- how would they affect our boys? Would they turn out better for it or worse? These were real fears that I struggled with, even the night before we left.
Prior to this journey, my boys would have been labeled PK's (preacher's kids). But NOW they carry a new label... MK's (missionary's kids.) And if we're honest, that carries a variety of negative connotations. And I knew them all-- "weird, socially-awkward, unaccepted, outsiders that grow up in places other than America." I worried that when they returned to America, they'd be the odd-man-out, never knowing quite where they fit in. I feared that they would be changed, for the worse.
On Saturday, God quietly reminded me of his goodness in taking care of my boys as I sat watching them play at a local park. As Max tired of the see-saw, a child, small like Max, climbed right on with Jack in an effort to join in the fun. And Jack... remained on the other seat. He waited patiently until the unclean little boy without shoes was safely on, before he started the seesaw back in motion.
When the playground lost its luster, we moved to an open field where Jason and Jack passed a Nerf football a time or two. Before I knew it, we were surrounded by a group of 6 boys (who were most likely slum children) were pleading to play. Jason gracefully stepped out of the game, but not Jack. He was the odd-one-out. He doesn't speak Hindi, and he can't communicate using words. He was outnumbered 6-1. He seemed timid at first. But I kept my eye on him to see what he would do with the situation.
One of the boys waited patiently beside Jack, wearing tattered clothes, exposing things that would be uncomfortable for the poorest American child. And Jack-- in all his nine-year-old wisdom, handed him the football and followed it with a "you can throw the ball" hand motion. And it was on. A full fledge game of throw and catch. Before I knew it they were cheering for each other, giving high fives, and doing whatever it took to understand each other.
And as we were leaving, the boys crowded around our truck to shake hands with Jack and wave goodbye. As they smiled, waved, and shouted "Bye, Jack," all I could think about was this:
If this is how "weird, socially-awkward, unaccepted, outsiders that grow up in other places than America" turn out, then count me in!
This boy is learning things that take a lifetime for grown men and women to learn. He's learning to accept people as they are, adapting to new situations as though they are second-nature, and being a "light" in a very dark country. I know Jack will change many times over in the coming years, but today, I whispered a quiet "thank you" for the reassurance God is giving me. The Lord offers a very clear promise in His word:
"Yes," said Jesus, "and you won't regret it. No one who has sacrificed home, spouse, brothers and sisters, parents, children-- whatever-- will lose out. It will all come back multiplied many times over in your lifetime. And then the bonus of eternal life!" Luke 18:29-30 (The Message)
Sweet reminders. My heart is full, and today, I can set aside all those worries and fears.
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