Home is Where...
I am encouraged on how God equips us for ministry, even in subtle, somewhat insignificant ways. This last weekend was just that.
It all started with God placing me in the right mental space. Kids, you will probably figure out soon enough that I struggle with pure spontaneity. At times I appear spontaneous to others, especially when I burst into a room and suddenly inform your Daddy, "Let's go for ice cream now and then we'll do this and that!" While the idea seems fresh with excitement, it has been thought over for at least a few minutes to assess the feasibility of the adventure. Hardly ever do I act before I think.
Anyway, your Nana and Nani had planned to visit last weekend. But due to circumstances beyond their control, the encounter was postponed to a more opportune time. Regardless, I was still in hospitality mode. Sunday morning arrived and I mused to myself, "Wouldn't it be nice to extend a lunch invite to some of my friends? Oh, I have nothing prepared, but I could pick up a roasted chicken from Safeway accompanied with..." My mind wandered off making a imaginary menu.
So I thought.
Sunday service was fascinating. A visiting missionary couple and their children spoke of their ministry in Asia Pacific. Thankfully, all the techno-gizmos worked and the congregation even clapped when informed of an Asian congregation increasing its size by 100% (wouldn't it be something if that happened here!). We wandered over to the Missionary booth after the service and played a game identifying forgein foods. I introduced myself as a member of our church's Missions Committee to the Mrs. while your Daddy discovered a Bible School connection with the Mr.
Then I heard some anxious whispers and the creation of loose plans. "Is someone taking care of this family's lunch?"
"I guess we could take them to Tim Horton's though we have another engagement..."
"The hosting committee didn't know..."
My mind started completing the menu I was creating earlier as I approached the family, "We would love to invite you to our place for lunch. Just give us twenty minutes. Oh, and I apologize in advance for the state of my house," I rushed. Of course, I was assured that my house didn't matter (which I know, but I often add the disclaimer to make up for the not-so-clean bathroom frequented by you two: the toddler and the preschooler).
Thankfully, we arrived at our house before our guests, accompanied with two roasted chickens, buns, an assortment of salads (including a leafy green one), ice cream, and berries. The bathroom was quickly wiped down, the table was set, and the missionary family arrived.
Our afternoon was spent talking about all kinds of countries, including Singapore, Thailand, Hong Kong, and India. We talked about food. And culture. And food. At times, I felt on display, as I was peppered with questions about my background and what the heck was I doing here (and how did I end up marrying your Daddy)! I smiled and disclosed details that are usually not asked by locals. At one moment, I threw out my Indian accent for emphasis and got knowing smiles from the kids. It reminded them of home.
Home.
I discovered our guests loved - LOVED! - Indian cuisine. I apologize that I wasn't able to accommodate them. "Next time?" The family eagerly accepted the invitation which will materialize three years in the future, God willing. In the meanwhile, "Chai?" A collective "Yes!" echoed in the room. So I boiled together water, milk, cardamom, cinnamon sticks, fennel, cloves, and ginger. After steeping good, strong black tea leaves in the mixture, hot cups were poured.
"Mmmmm, I feel like I'm sitting in [restricted country] right now." They felt like they were home!
Even though this family was touring regions of Canada where their dear relatives lived and re-entering a culture that was their own at one time, they missed home. Not here. There.
It all made me think back to when I lived overseas for two years. I remember my first night in a strange flat surrounded by the night sounds of a spectacular city. And I cried out, as tears flowed down my face, "What have I done? Where have I come?" A year later, after visiting my family in Canada, I entered the same flat and smiled, "I'm home."
Where we live now is home to me, to you, to us as a family. At times, I do miss former locations or previous experiences. But I am learning to embrace the here as my beautiful now. It isn't perfect, believe me. At times, I am quite bothered that I, along with you two, are the only visible minorities in our place of worship. While this disparity is thankfully not the case in our little city, it is disconcerting that this reality exists in our church.
There are moments when I am tempted to leave our church for that reason. Instead, I stay to make a point. I stay because I strongly believe Christ welcomes all races, all nationalities, all ethnicities, and all colours (even browns like us) to Himself and to His church. He desires for us to make disciples here. And there. He commands us to open our doors to those He leads to our homes to show them His unconditional love.
Including the Missionary family who needed a touch of home.
It all started with God placing me in the right mental space. Kids, you will probably figure out soon enough that I struggle with pure spontaneity. At times I appear spontaneous to others, especially when I burst into a room and suddenly inform your Daddy, "Let's go for ice cream now and then we'll do this and that!" While the idea seems fresh with excitement, it has been thought over for at least a few minutes to assess the feasibility of the adventure. Hardly ever do I act before I think.
Anyway, your Nana and Nani had planned to visit last weekend. But due to circumstances beyond their control, the encounter was postponed to a more opportune time. Regardless, I was still in hospitality mode. Sunday morning arrived and I mused to myself, "Wouldn't it be nice to extend a lunch invite to some of my friends? Oh, I have nothing prepared, but I could pick up a roasted chicken from Safeway accompanied with..." My mind wandered off making a imaginary menu.
So I thought.
Sunday service was fascinating. A visiting missionary couple and their children spoke of their ministry in Asia Pacific. Thankfully, all the techno-gizmos worked and the congregation even clapped when informed of an Asian congregation increasing its size by 100% (wouldn't it be something if that happened here!). We wandered over to the Missionary booth after the service and played a game identifying forgein foods. I introduced myself as a member of our church's Missions Committee to the Mrs. while your Daddy discovered a Bible School connection with the Mr.
Then I heard some anxious whispers and the creation of loose plans. "Is someone taking care of this family's lunch?"
"I guess we could take them to Tim Horton's though we have another engagement..."
"The hosting committee didn't know..."
My mind started completing the menu I was creating earlier as I approached the family, "We would love to invite you to our place for lunch. Just give us twenty minutes. Oh, and I apologize in advance for the state of my house," I rushed. Of course, I was assured that my house didn't matter (which I know, but I often add the disclaimer to make up for the not-so-clean bathroom frequented by you two: the toddler and the preschooler).
Thankfully, we arrived at our house before our guests, accompanied with two roasted chickens, buns, an assortment of salads (including a leafy green one), ice cream, and berries. The bathroom was quickly wiped down, the table was set, and the missionary family arrived.
Our afternoon was spent talking about all kinds of countries, including Singapore, Thailand, Hong Kong, and India. We talked about food. And culture. And food. At times, I felt on display, as I was peppered with questions about my background and what the heck was I doing here (and how did I end up marrying your Daddy)! I smiled and disclosed details that are usually not asked by locals. At one moment, I threw out my Indian accent for emphasis and got knowing smiles from the kids. It reminded them of home.
Home.
I discovered our guests loved - LOVED! - Indian cuisine. I apologize that I wasn't able to accommodate them. "Next time?" The family eagerly accepted the invitation which will materialize three years in the future, God willing. In the meanwhile, "Chai?" A collective "Yes!" echoed in the room. So I boiled together water, milk, cardamom, cinnamon sticks, fennel, cloves, and ginger. After steeping good, strong black tea leaves in the mixture, hot cups were poured.
"Mmmmm, I feel like I'm sitting in [restricted country] right now." They felt like they were home!
Even though this family was touring regions of Canada where their dear relatives lived and re-entering a culture that was their own at one time, they missed home. Not here. There.
It all made me think back to when I lived overseas for two years. I remember my first night in a strange flat surrounded by the night sounds of a spectacular city. And I cried out, as tears flowed down my face, "What have I done? Where have I come?" A year later, after visiting my family in Canada, I entered the same flat and smiled, "I'm home."
Where we live now is home to me, to you, to us as a family. At times, I do miss former locations or previous experiences. But I am learning to embrace the here as my beautiful now. It isn't perfect, believe me. At times, I am quite bothered that I, along with you two, are the only visible minorities in our place of worship. While this disparity is thankfully not the case in our little city, it is disconcerting that this reality exists in our church.
There are moments when I am tempted to leave our church for that reason. Instead, I stay to make a point. I stay because I strongly believe Christ welcomes all races, all nationalities, all ethnicities, and all colours (even browns like us) to Himself and to His church. He desires for us to make disciples here. And there. He commands us to open our doors to those He leads to our homes to show them His unconditional love.
Including the Missionary family who needed a touch of home.