Sunday, March 15, 2009
There we are, nine years ago about to get married. I suppose it really all started then when I picked Craig, said the proverbial, "Yes." But let's jump to the middle of the story.
"Africa?" I laughed, "YOU going to Africa?" If not for his earnest blue eyes and direct gaze I'd have chortled. It was a warm Monday in April or May. The afternoon sun all orange made me squint. Africa, how silly. A smile twiggled the corner of my lips.
I only prayed about it out of obligation. What a ridiculous idea. Three little children at home, one a baby, you don't just up and go to Africa. We are depending on him. People DIE over there. Plus, how expensive!
Ridiculous, yes, like the night I met Craig for the first time and prayed, almost in passing, "Dear God, don't ever let me marry a guy like him." Him, Craig, my life-long friend and love. Oh how God must have laughed.
Laughed and waited. It's all a game of Chess, really, each of us moving, waiting, studying the board, God gracing us with dignity at each turn. So there I am saying the occasional prayer, "What do ya think, God?" There. Then I'd be able to tell Craig Africa wasn't a good idea.
But what to do? I neatly separate Africa into a small box in the back of my mind the kind you use to move and then never actually unpack for months maybe years. Then I pray and pray for Craig to hear God's voice, really solidly know God's will for our family. Like asking for good health, I whisper this prayer again and again. I offer it like the strains of Old McDonald or Twinkle, Twinkle woven into the background static of normal days. How simple and hilarious, "Lord, SPEAK!" as if it were plain and elementary like brushing dirt off my children's feet. Each installment of prayer was so small, so insignificant. So un-erasable.
And so it begins.
Click here for Part 2.
Click here for Part 3.
Click here for Part 4.
Click here for Part 5.