I am thinking about my parents tonight. It’s been a tough day for me, and I came home from campus just to have some “alone time” (which doesn’t really exist here in Uganda).
It’s true that I’ve been battling some beasts of homesickness pretty heavily for the past few weeks. This last leg of my journey will no doubt be the hardest. But I know that God is not done with me here. I still have a lot of refining to go through, and though I’m not strong enough to withstand it, I am nothing without His presence.
But in those moments that I feel so weak or alone or helpless when it comes to time and the passing of days, I sometimes think of my mom and dad.
I made the decision to embark on this 8-month African journey in late March. I had already been planning on being in Uganda as long as I am, but March was when I added Ethiopia and Malawi into the equation. This would mean over a month of extra travel, nearly double the expense, and, the most dramatic aspect, I wouldn’t be able to come home at all for the summer. I was essentially signing up for a situation where I would move from finals to a plane, and never look back.
I knew I couldn’t delay talking to my parents about this, and it felt so right and exciting in my heart, that I called them in feverish joy the night I decided to go. I first talked to my mom.
When I had imagined the conversation, I pictured my mom holding back tears as she fought against releasing me into the world of my wildest dreams, knowing that she was powerless to stop my forging ahead into the unknown, months and miles away from home. I guess I pictured a typical “why do you want to leave me??” response.
But, though the previous years should’ve taught be better, I seriously underestimated what can only be considered the sheer awesomeness of my mom. Of course, she wanted to know all she could about the travel details (which were, admittedly, pretty confusing), but instead of expressing concern or grief, she simply and rapturously shared in my joy.
She was astonished and excited at my news, and immediately began talking about the amazing adventures I would have. My spirit soared to hear her response.
She handed the phone to my father, and I explained what I had just told mom. My dad was impressed with the news. Knowing my father to be an extremely wise, calculating, and rational man, I half-expected him to ask me to re-think my decision on account of financial factors. Instead, this is what he said: “Go. Nothing else makes sense.”
This was coming from the father who has helped me make sense of the world since I was a little girl. If I ever needed confirmation for something, this was it.
I don’t know if you’ve ever had to call your parents to ask permission to go to Africa for 8 months, but I don’t think you could ever find a better response than this one.
The only conclusion that I can come to is that my parents are champions.
And it’s not because they don’t really care about me, or that they somehow try to live vicariously through my adventures, or that it is easy for them to say goodbye to their 20-year-old daughter for the better part of a year. It’s because they love me.
They love me so incredibly deeply that I only sometimes catch a revelation of their love. But when I do, I am rendered speechless by its profundity.
My parents laugh with me and cry with me. They know what I need, and probably have more insight into me than I do, but they are always so patient with me. They know my personality, and the embarrassments and mistakes of my past, yet they are still overwhelmingly proud of me.
They miss me. I know they miss me every day.
But theirs is a love that doesn’t shackle me. It gives me wings.
How many parents are that strong and that willing to see their child run after their dreams?
So many people I know are always talking about how their parents are incessantly contacting them, and living in a constant state of worry whenever they’re not safely locked up in their bedroom at home.
If my parents were like that, I would be a very, very different person today.
Instead, they let me explore. They put their own desires and limitations aside so that I can reach for something. They give me the materials to fly thousands of miles away from them, over and over again. If I asked, they would give me the materials to abandon them altogether.
Who does that remind me of?
Oh yeah, God.
Our heavenly Father does the exact same thing. He trusts us to make our own decisions, even though they contribute to the endless cycle of destruction and sin. He has given us everything, and still risks the threat that we will never be grateful, and we will never turn to Him.
He poured out His blood just so we could have the chance to glance at Him, though there are many who will die without ever having made that step.
We come to Him with empty, outstretched hands, asking for the knife to plunge into His back. And He gives it to us, time and time again.
Why? I don’t think I know.
I suppose it might be because He has the power to lock us up in the bedroom of safety and heavenly peace.
He has the capability of forcing us to bow at His name and worship.
But He gave it up. For the sake of freedom.
He gives us freedom at great cost to Him. At the cost of war, genocide, hatred, and murder. We are free under His name.
And every day, He waits and He hopes. He prays for us to turn to Him and find our joy in Him, but He will never force us. He has given up power so that we can make the choice to accept or reject His love.
Wow.
He gives us the keys to the world, releasing us, powerless to control our decisions even though He knows best for us. He lets us find our own way, and waits at the gate of our true home, watching every single day to see if we will finally walk down that road and back to Him.
This isn’t to suggest, of course, that my decision to come to Africa was a destructive one, and my parents should’ve stopped it but didn’t out of love. Not at all.
What I’m trying to say is that they knew my decision to come to Africa would bring them pain. It would pain them to be so far away from me. It pains them to hear of times when I’m sick here, or when I’m feeling helpless or when I encounter suffering.
But they know it brings me joy, and they choose joy on my behalf.
Instead of avoiding the pain, they choose to go through the pain to enter into the joy I’m experiencing.
When I laugh, they laugh. When I cry, they cry.
Because they are parents who reflect our heavenly Father.
I miss them more than anything, of course. I can’t tell you the times I’ve longed to go for a walk in the woods with my dad and our dog. or when I’ve been sick and dreamed that my mother was there taking care of me and woke up sobbing.
But they are so strong where I can’t be.
For some students so far from home, talking to their parents brings them down, filling them with homesickness and a desire to be somewhere else.
Talking to my parents, however, builds me up. They are constantly meeting my needs (even from thousands of miles away), and they seem to have an intuitive talent for saying exactly what I need to hear, even when they don’t know I need to hear it.
They remind me of the scale and importance of the journey I’m on. They always remember to convey to me that I’m “not missing anything at home,” which always makes me smile because they know it will help me fend off homesickness and free me to be more present where I am.
They are incredible, incredible, selfless people.
Wherever I am, whatever I’m feeling, I know I can be honest with them, and, most importantly, I know that I am loved and supported.
They are the strongest people I know, and oh how blessed I am to gain from their strength.
I would not be here were it not for the astounding strength and generosity of my parents.
I love you guys.
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