Catching a glimpse of the Father’s joy.
Traveling with young children is not in my top 10 list of favorite things.
It’s enough of a hassle traveling alone: checking in, going through security, boarding the plane and trying to situate yourself while irate passengers brush past in a huff. The stress level shoots up exponentially when you have two little kids to keep safe while not causing other passengers to lose their spit because a toddler failed to use “inside voice.”
Just one reason I was not looking forward to going to Chicago for missionary orientation and training.
The schedule was brutal: two weeks straight, from 8:30 A.M. to 5:30 P.M. every day without a single day off. Soo and I really didn’t want to subject our family to this– while our first child was used to being in preschool every day, he was only there for three hours in the morning, and our youngest was not used to being away from his mommy at all. I tried to see if the denomination would allow me to come to the orientation by myself so that Soo and the boys could stay home, but attendance was mandatory for both of us.
I again began to doubt our decision to take this route to Japan when I remembered the word of encouragement we received from Exodus 23:20-21:
“See, I am sending an angel ahead of you to guard you along the way and to bring you to the place I have prepared. Pay attention to him and listen to what he says. Do not rebel against him; he will not forgive your rebellion, since my Name is in him.”
I believed that God had given us this word beforehand to prepare us to submit to the long, sometimes arduous process of becoming missionaries.
As for our concerns over our boys being in childcare for so long, I thought back to the Cars toy that served as one of the confirmations to pursue missions to Japan: through that incident, I felt assurance that if we just obey what God asks of us, He would not only take care of our kids’ basic needs, but provide more than we expected.
Soo and I surrendered it all to God, booked our flight, and went to Chicago.
On the morning of Day One, we checked our sons into the childcare that was arranged for us and were relieved to meet the sweet family that would be watching over our boys, along with four other missionary kids. Without hesitation, our boys darted into their home and immediately began to play as if they owned the place.
Our fears started melting away, and it only got easier over the next two weeks.
Not only did our youngest son adjust well to childcare, he proved himself to be an outgoing, friendly, and loving child, waving hello or goodbye to everyone in his path, blowing them kisses, offering a hug to anyone who’d take him up on it, making sure not to leave anyone out.
Except for me.
Our youngest son was not always close to me. When he was an infant, I was working long hours and was hardly ever home while he was awake, so we didn’t have much time to bond. We grew somewhat closer after I resigned from church and had more time to spend at home, but throughout our time in Chicago, he acted like I didn’t exist: He wouldn’t greet me in the morning or when we picked him and his brother up from childcare. He’d ignore me when I’d talk to him. And when I’d ask him for a hug, he’d shake his head “no” or shout, “no way!” and run to his mother instead.
He’d go up to people he’d just met and hug them profusely, but he wouldn’t give me the time of day. Disappointing, but I convinced myself that it was his way of coping with separation anxiety.
On our last night in Chicago (three days before Father’s Day), we had just gotten to our room after another long day when Number Two Son got upset about something and had no one to turn to besides me– his mother was helping his brother in the bathroom, and our hosts had retired for the night.
There was no one else around.
So he ran to me, arms outstretched, bawling as loudly as his lungs would allow. I scooped him up into my embrace and held him tightly, consoling him with kisses, nuzzling his curly locks. He clung to me as if I were his lifeline, burying his face in my shoulder, pressing himself against me.
I didn’t want to ever let go.
I relished every second he was in my arms, and at that moment, I didn’t care that he had ignored me for two weeks, giving his affection to people he barely knew while withholding it from me. I didn’t care that he was soaking my T-shirt in tears and snot. I didn’t even care that the only reason he had come to me was because he had hit rock-bottom (for a two-year old) and had no one else to turn to except for me.
I was just thankful that my son came back to Daddy, and I cherished having him that close to me again.
This must be a glimpse of how God feels when His children return to Him.
I thought about the parable of the Prodigal Son, who left home, wanted nothing to do with his family, got into trouble, and decided to crawl back in shame to his father. “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him” (Luke 15:20 NIV).
The father held none of the son’s wrongdoings against him (at least at that moment). He was just happy to see his child return.
I was reminded that this is the good news of the Gospel– that God is a Father who loves us so much that He’d do whatever it’d take to get us back to Him, even sending His Son, Jesus, to die on a cross to atone for our sins. It’s a simple message that we sometimes make unnecessarily complicated.
And through this episode, my little boy helped remind me of why I became a missionary.
It’s all about finding the one who is lost and bringing them back home.
Then Jesus told them this parable: “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.” (Luke 15:3-7 NIV)
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