My kids, it turns out, are not perfect

We say that we want to follow Him to the ends of the earth, but we want a road map first. We want God to entrust us with the secret plan before we take off. If He refuses, then we often say that we aren't sure that we hear His voice anymore or that He isn't leading in that direction. Could He want you to follow without knowing all the details?--Being an Aroma of Christ, Karen Pearce

For once, my picture kind of matches what I want to talk about--I know they're usually pretty random. This is a picture from last night's "evening worship service," a time when we gather as a family to watch/listen to Southern Hills Baptist Church in OKC. They have a live webcast, complete with singing, etc., and we "attend" each Sunday night. Now, as you can plainly see, my children are playing their gameboys. They are also surrounded by all of their stuffed animals/dolls (because no one wants to sit alone at church!). That may seem to you like they aren't really "doing" church. (Sarah Beth was at a birthday party for a Russian friend, Sacha.) And I have to admit to you that, once upon a time, your opinion of how my kids did stuff would have really mattered a lot to me--more than it should. But one of the things God is really teaching me on the field is about the sin of comparison.

For most of my parenting life, I have worried that my children's behavior didn't measure up to other people's children's behavior. Not so much with S.B., who was a really well-behaved child in all circumstances (at least until she hit about 12), but with John and Han, I really started to think that our parenting wasn't as good as other people's. Sometimes, our kids were not politically correct. Sometimes, they said and did things that totally embarrassed me. Especially with John, I saw my children only through the critical eyes of others, and I always found them--and us--wanting.

But the mission field has a way of jostling how we see things. The lack of a "road map" that Karen Pearce mentions above is so unsettling that it unsettles everything in life. And so I've had the chance to really take a good look at my kids. You know what I've found? They each have unique qualities that have equipped them for the field and for life. I have been highly critical of Sarah Beth's tendency to be more inward than outward. (That's kind of the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?) I have pushed and pulled and cajoled most of her life for her to be more extroverted. But her introversion is part of who she is--creative and funny, very, very intuitive about people, extremely loyal to those she loves. Hannah has been an emotional rollercoaster since we got here, and in the past, I would have tried to keep that a secret as much as possible, especially from those here on the field, who might think we were unworthy of being here. (Which we are, by the way.) But it's that very passionate nature in her that makes her a magnet for other people. Even when she was a baby, Hannah was a leader. She has a group already here. The little girls at church, who don't understand anything she says, still want to be with her and help her. I would not have seen that in the past.

And then there's John. I can't tell you the tears I've cried over the years because others did not see John the way I wanted them to see him. My poor friend Denise, who was his Awana teacher in kindergarten, made the mistake of saying something nice about him one night, and I absolutely collapsed in tears. You know what she said? "John is such a treasure, Kellye." That was a year and a half ago, and I can still picture where we were when she said it--that's how important that statement was to me. It is difficult to raise a difficult child, and John is a difficult child. He is better since we have started medication, but he remains a difficult child. But his sense of fun, his love of animals, his love of all people--can I tell you that everywhere we go, Russians love him? I'm not kidding. Folks who scowl at me otherwise smile because I'm John's Mamatchka. Every tear I've cried over John, every time I've felt that his behavior was embarrassing...every teacher I've snapped at because they said something silly (I once had a teacher at church tell me I needed to work with him to sit and be quiet--when he was three! I replied that I was still trying to get him to stop peeing on the sidewalk, but sitting and listening quietly would be next on my list.)...it's all worth it to see him in this brand new light of how God has gifted him.

Don't get me wrong--there are many days when my children frustrate me. There are many days when being here frustrates me. But more and more and more, I'm learning to cling only to God. We were on our way home Friday night from a member care session with all the newbies in Moscow, and I told Marc I thought we had talked too much. He asked me if I would ever stop thinking that we were always wrong. I said that I always worry that we aren't as good as everybody else here. I'll never forget his response. "I know we're not as good as everybody else here, so I don't worry about it. It's very freeing. You should try it."

So now you know. My kids play gameboy while they listen to the sermon. But when we couldn't get the sermon at first, they both were upset, because they wanted to go to church. And though they were playing gameboy, they sang all the songs. Of course, the funniest moment of the night was when the streaming video halted during one of the songs, and John asked, "Mom, you want to sing this one out for us?" I don't know what "singing this one out" really means, but I'm pretty sure I couldn't have done it justice since I was laughing so hard. Wherever you are in the world, I pray that you have the opportunity to see your children in a whole new light, and that you can stop laughing long enough to sing this one out. Blessings to you and yours!
His,
Kellye