“…Samuel was lying down in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was. Then the Lord called Samuel. Samuel answered, ‘Here I am.’ And he ran to Eli and said, ‘Here I am; you called me.’ But Eli said, ‘I did not call; go back and lie down.’ So he went and lay down….The Lord called Samuel a third time, and Samuel got up and went to Eli and said, ‘Here I am; you called me.’ Then Eli realized that the Lord was calling the boy. So Eli told Samuel, ‘Go and lie down, and if he calls you, say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’ So Samuel went and lay down in his place. The Lord came and stood there, calling as at the other times, ‘Samuel! Samuel!’ Then Samuel said, ‘Speak, for your servant is listening.’”
I Samuel 3:3-10”
On the first day of school, I heard God’s call. I was registering lots of new students, and the attendance clerk called to let me know that there was a parent who wanted to speak to me. All I could think was, “What could possibly have gone wrong already that this mom needs to talk to the counselor?” In between new students, I went to the front office and met her. She was well put together and looked about like the other parents I’d been visiting with all morning. Nothing really outstanding about her.
All of that changed in my office as she told me her story. She has been in an abusive marriage for years. She divorced last school year. The economic downturn combined with a divorce lead to the repossession of their home. She and her 10 year old daughter are homeless. She is broken and afraid. She finally teared up as she said, “I never dreamed that at this point in my life I would be homeless. I am so ashamed.”
She and her daughter have a fantastic church family who has been supporting and helping them. I was so relieved to hear this part because I know how important church family is. Mom has everything, including financial aid, lined up to start classes at a local college in just a couple of weeks. She brought letters from the school and church friends to vouch for her. She brought her daughter’s outstanding report card, test scores, and metals.
Then it hit me. She was trying to convince me to allow her daughter to attend our school. Sometimes I’m slow...but I get there. I immediately reassured her that her daughter was already scheduled in a class because she had been in our schools last year. There are rules that protect people who are considered homeless. She was so relieved. Then we got down to the business of figuring out supplies and getting her registered.
I can’t tell you how impressive this little momma is. She has a plan. She is desperate and afraid but she has chosen a path of survival. She worries about her little girl being successful in school. She worries about her baby being ashamed of her momma. But what I saw was a woman who was showing her little girl what it means to fight, to survive, to do whatever it takes to move forward when everything in life seems to be holding her back.
We were on our way back to the front office when I heard the call. It wasn’t like Samuel. There wasn’t a voice calling my name, nothing so dramatic as that, but it was there. A prompting. Not even very insistent, but it was there. And I stopped walking. The mom nearly bumped into me. I turned and asked her if we could go back to my office for one more thing. She said sure; so we went back.
I shut the door behind us and turned and asked her if I could pray for her before she left. She completely broke down crying and nodded yes. I reached out to take her hands and she stepped right in and wrapped her arms around my waste in a desperate hug. I prayed for her. I prayed for her daughter. I have no idea where some of the words came from...well, yes I do. The Spirit gave me just the right words to pray for her and minister to her. When we finished I told her that I thought God had sent her to me today and she agreed.
That experience was one of the most powerful ministering opportunities I’ve had with a parent. It was amazing. The telling of it here is just pretty straightforward and factual, but if you asked me about it in person, I think you would understand more fully just how powerful it was.
I have every intention of following up with this mom and daughter. This little girl will be more than just a name on somebody’s roll. But the thing about this whole experience that keeps nagging at me the most is hearing the call.
I know God calls me all the time. Like Samuel, sometimes I don’t recognize it as God’s voice. Other times, I hear, but I don’t stop to listen and obey. I’m not going to sit around beating myself up about it, but I think it is worth pondering. It’s worth mulling over and chewing on because I would hate to have missed this opportunity. It was too precious.
At the end of I Samuel chapter 3, it says, “The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of his words fall to the ground.” I want the Lord to be with me as I grow up. And I pray that I won’t let his words fall to the ground either.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Traditions
Written Monday, July 27
Tonight, I’m reminded of the importance of traditions. About four years ago, my oldest brother and his two kids began coming to my house for Thanksgiving. It was the first Thanksgiving after his divorce, and it occurred to me that he might not have plans. So I invited them. Wisely, he made the 10 hour drive from Houston to Amarillo an adventure. They got up very early in the morning to leave, like 4am early. I think it was partially due to these trips that began in my nephews an appreciation for their dad’s music – Queen, Johnny Cash, Journey – they’d sing at the top of their lungs. And along the way, they occasionally stopped for a rock climbing adventure. All new traditions.
Being the planner that I am, I’d prepare for their trip by making a menu for the week. I did it for myself, but my nephews would consult the refrigerator-posted list multiple times throughout each day. I also began posting a list of possible activities for us to do for the week; long hours were spent discussing, arguing about, and voting on which activities we would do.
And then there is the actual food, most notably Aunt Laura’s rolls. The rolls are, in fact, a recipe from my sister-in-law – homemade yeast rolls. I must admit that they really are one of the tastiest foods of all time, but they are also, most certainly, a labor of love. The rolls have become synonymous with visits to Aunt Laura. They are bragged about at other tables throughout the year. Others who make the same recipe, including my own mother, fall short. According to my nephews, they are substandard if Aunt Laura didn’t make them.
There are other traditions of course, monkey bread, apple pie, lights off golf, trips to the park, fake gross out menus, marathon book reading, and letting Aunt Laura take all the pictures she wants.
And then there are ranch traditions. My husband’s family has a ranch in New Mexico. The ranch is a place filled with rich history and tradition. When I married into the family, I listened to all the old stories, true and otherwise. When the boys came with me to the ranch, they heard the same ones. And we began new traditions, dirt biking trips, 4 wheeling, cold attic sleeping, tune-out-the-world reading, Capulin climbing, pancake eating, and bow and arrow shooting. And somewhere in there, Aunt Laura became the ranching, gunshooting, snake killing, history telling, 4-wheeling--expert. Go figure.
My brother just remarried and now has two more kids. When we met up at the ranch today, the new kids’ heads were already full of tradition dreams. They wanted to see the menu and know if rolls were on it. We’ve already been dirt biking and 4 wheeling, and a trip to the mountain is in the works. And between now and the next time they visit, the traditions will be revisited, relished, savored.
When we went to town for supper tonight, a chili-cheese fry tradition, my youngest nephew wrapped an arm around my neck and climbed into my lap. He looked right into my eyes, with a twinkle in his, and said, “Do you remember when….”. And the reliving of traditions began. And later when he was heading to bed, he hugged my neck and planted a kiss on my cheek and asked if I’d be putting a menu up on the refrigerator. How could I not?
Someday it may not be cool to hug Aunt Laura anymore. And someday he won’t climb in my lap. But for now, I will savor the traditions and hold the precious memories they create close to my heart. Because isn’t that what these silly traditions are really all about anyway?
Tonight, I’m reminded of the importance of traditions. About four years ago, my oldest brother and his two kids began coming to my house for Thanksgiving. It was the first Thanksgiving after his divorce, and it occurred to me that he might not have plans. So I invited them. Wisely, he made the 10 hour drive from Houston to Amarillo an adventure. They got up very early in the morning to leave, like 4am early. I think it was partially due to these trips that began in my nephews an appreciation for their dad’s music – Queen, Johnny Cash, Journey – they’d sing at the top of their lungs. And along the way, they occasionally stopped for a rock climbing adventure. All new traditions.
Being the planner that I am, I’d prepare for their trip by making a menu for the week. I did it for myself, but my nephews would consult the refrigerator-posted list multiple times throughout each day. I also began posting a list of possible activities for us to do for the week; long hours were spent discussing, arguing about, and voting on which activities we would do.
And then there is the actual food, most notably Aunt Laura’s rolls. The rolls are, in fact, a recipe from my sister-in-law – homemade yeast rolls. I must admit that they really are one of the tastiest foods of all time, but they are also, most certainly, a labor of love. The rolls have become synonymous with visits to Aunt Laura. They are bragged about at other tables throughout the year. Others who make the same recipe, including my own mother, fall short. According to my nephews, they are substandard if Aunt Laura didn’t make them.
There are other traditions of course, monkey bread, apple pie, lights off golf, trips to the park, fake gross out menus, marathon book reading, and letting Aunt Laura take all the pictures she wants.
And then there are ranch traditions. My husband’s family has a ranch in New Mexico. The ranch is a place filled with rich history and tradition. When I married into the family, I listened to all the old stories, true and otherwise. When the boys came with me to the ranch, they heard the same ones. And we began new traditions, dirt biking trips, 4 wheeling, cold attic sleeping, tune-out-the-world reading, Capulin climbing, pancake eating, and bow and arrow shooting. And somewhere in there, Aunt Laura became the ranching, gunshooting, snake killing, history telling, 4-wheeling--expert. Go figure.
My brother just remarried and now has two more kids. When we met up at the ranch today, the new kids’ heads were already full of tradition dreams. They wanted to see the menu and know if rolls were on it. We’ve already been dirt biking and 4 wheeling, and a trip to the mountain is in the works. And between now and the next time they visit, the traditions will be revisited, relished, savored.
When we went to town for supper tonight, a chili-cheese fry tradition, my youngest nephew wrapped an arm around my neck and climbed into my lap. He looked right into my eyes, with a twinkle in his, and said, “Do you remember when….”. And the reliving of traditions began. And later when he was heading to bed, he hugged my neck and planted a kiss on my cheek and asked if I’d be putting a menu up on the refrigerator. How could I not?
Someday it may not be cool to hug Aunt Laura anymore. And someday he won’t climb in my lap. But for now, I will savor the traditions and hold the precious memories they create close to my heart. Because isn’t that what these silly traditions are really all about anyway?
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