“Love is unselfishly choosing for another’s highest good.”
Continuing from last week with our guest blogger, my precious daughter
Karen:
I remember
helping my parents pack their treasures away that summer and moving out of the
house I’d grown up in.
I was
attached to that house, to those books, and dishes, the creaks in the hallway
floor, the smell of the spices in the cupboards, the view from the kitchen
table of the walk outside the front door, the basketball hoop above the
garage door, and the cracks in the driveway we used for the free-throw line.
Moving out
was hard for my mom especially, although I think she tried not to show me.
I read the
gospel of Matthew that summer and many of Jesus’ words were difficult, sharp,
and real, and I was challenged to ask myself if I really believed them—did I
take Jesus at his word? Both the difficult words and the comforting words?
My parents
were taking him at his word. They were throwing everything they had into his
care, against common sense, outside their comfort zones.
My self-centered
sadness was tempered by deep admiration, and a desire to trust God and live
accordingly, like they were doing. I was learning, slowly, that with my eyes on
God, I could view change as adventure instead of loss.
That summer I
accepted my first teaching job and my dad helped me find a little house to buy,
both of which were equally thrilling and terrifying. The excitement of those
upcoming transitions, of my entrance into the adult world, with all my optimism
and 21-year-old confidence, helped some, but also made their departure more
difficult. I entered these new roles without the comfort of knowing that I
could fall back on my parents’ guidance and help.
God’s
greatest gift to me had always been
the love and
support of my parents.
They had been
the sigh and deep breath of knowing
I had
backup—they’d been there for me no matter what.
I’d always
known I’d make it because,
well,
because Mom and Dad were there.
My
Great-grandpa Mac had assured my Grandma Kay,
“You can
always come home,"
and that’s
the kind of parents I had.
But with
them in Africa, I couldn’t just make a phone call or stop by for an infusion of
confidence and encouragement. I was learning that God Himself would be my
support and that He was enough.
The night
before my parents left, I remember crying. And I remember my mom crying—the
only time I specifically remember her crying. Her grief was tangible. It was as
if I could actually feel her heart breaking.
We of course
had talked about our sadness, about her worries of leaving me, about the
difficulties, about trusting God, but that night it was as if I couldn’t reach
her. Words and hugs weren’t enough. She was isolated in her sadness, and I
suppose I was too, and both of us were trying to think of the other.
I remember
opening my Bible later and, not to overstate it, but it was like an epiphany. Words
I’d read before suddenly were clear and true and alive:
“And
everyone who has left houses
or brothers
or sisters
or father or
mother or children
or fields
for my sake
will receive
a hundred times as much
and will
inherit eternal life.”
(Matthew
19:29)
That’s what
my parents were doing. They were following Jesus. It was suddenly so
beautifully clear to me that that’s what it is all about, and if we are doing
that, nothing can go wrong.
It might not
go the way we expect,
and it might
hurt,
it might
even break our hearts,
but we would
be all right
because God
was with us and we were trusting Him.
I remember
thinking I needed to trust God for the promise in that verse, both for me and
for my parents: that we would receive a hundredfold.
I prayed
that for my mom that night. I asked God to give her a hundredfold for all her
sadness, for all she was leaving behind. I remember writing the verse down to
give to her. I wanted her to know that I understood, that I trusted God, that I
believed Him and His promises—for myself and for her.
By now, friends, you understand why Karen is so dear to me and why my
heart broke to leave her.
Come back next for Karen’s third and final post.
