For the Joy of It

The knock came at the door around 5:30pm.  It had been a long day, and I was feeling worn out and discouraged about trying to adjust to life in our new town.    I was in the middle of making dinner, but I hurried to see who had come to visit us.  It was a new friend of mine, a lady who lives only a few blocks away. 

I invited her in, noticing that she had brought her little daughter with her.  She was very direct and said that she’d come to see how much I would charge her to give English classes to her daughter, Patty.  I said that I didn’t offer classes, nor was I looking for money, but that if she just wanted to bring Patty over to play a couple mornings a week that she would probably pick it up naturally.  My friend thought that sounded great.

Patty came to play the next morning, and it was instantly obvious that she was a bright and funny little girl, and that she would have no trouble at all picking up English.  She and Z spent the first morning colouring, and playing with toys, and painting pictures.

 It was truly wonderful. 

As you all know I have been praying for a sibling for Z.  There have been many days when I felt angry with God for not providing a real friend for my child, someone who he could spend a lot of his time with, not just see once in a while.  So many of the kids here treat him differently because of his skin color, and I wanted to find him a friend who would treat him like a peer, not a pet. 

So God sent Patty.

I don’t know what happened really, but God has used that little girl to show me how to find joy in my life again.  How to be a happy mom again.  Z had been so lonely, and now he is content becuase he knows that every morning his buddy is coming over.  I can enjoy him as my only son without feeling guilty and sad that he doesn’t have siblings. 

Before, I kept thinking that God expected me to start up some kind of huge “ministry”, and to spend my time visiting hospitals and preaching in the streets or something.  There is value in all those kinds of work, but for me I had become burdened with “missionary guilt”, thinking that I needed to be busy all the time.  I felt guilty when I enjoyed a quiet day at home with Z… but God has used a three year old to remind me that being a mom is my most important work.

These days, my mornings are full of playdough-shaping, finger-painting, mud-cake-making, and story-reading… and the walls echo with the giggles of to little kids that I adore.  I make them snacks and tie their shoes, and watch them run outside... 

just for the joy of it.