By: April Sylvester
It has been two whole years. In that time, Dad has successfully moved houses, I have been figuring out being an adult for a year, Anna is a pro at college by now, and Audrey and Adam are knee deep in high school life. But even through all the changes two years brings with it, mom is still a part of us (literally and figuratively). And I would like to share a short story about mom that shows that loving spirit that I so very much want to emulate. So here we go:
It has been two whole years. In that time, Dad has successfully moved houses, I have been figuring out being an adult for a year, Anna is a pro at college by now, and Audrey and Adam are knee deep in high school life. But even through all the changes two years brings with it, mom is still a part of us (literally and figuratively). And I would like to share a short story about mom that shows that loving spirit that I so very much want to emulate. So here we go:
We were staring at the array of pictures splayed
across the blue Compassion International table cloth in front of us as an eagerly jittery volunteer floated behind
like a Christian social-justice Cheshire cat. It was only a couple of months
until I was to embark on my first trip to Africa with the youth team from
Perimeter Church’s Global Outreach, and my mom and I had walked up to the nonprofit's table in our church’s lobby with the intention of
committing to $30 per month to support a needy child in Tanzania. My mom picked up one photo: it was a girl about 8 years old, in a puffy pink dress, with a beaming smile that lit up her round face. Then she picked up another photo: a boy of about the same age with dirty slacks, arms pinned to his side, and a huge scowl on his face. Mom looked from one card to another and then asked the Cheshire cat if we
could take both home to pray over the decision. The volunteer just smiled.
Back home at our kitchen table, mom laid down both pictures
and asked me which child I thought we should support. I wanted the girl. She
was cute and smiling. I would want that kind of girl as my penpal. But mom picked up the boy,
looked at his face and said, “He doesn’t look very happy." "Exactly," I thought. "I think he needs it
more. Let’s give him something to smile about.” Even though that seemed like
the most illogical decision to my shallow preteen brain, I am now floored by my
mom’s compassion. She did not choose the shiny, fun, option, but the option that Christ would have chosen--one of extending care and relationship
to the most unlikely of the world.
A few months later I did get to visit Charles and, though it
took a day, lots of coaxing, and a spontaneous soccer match, he did show us a
glimpse of his bright and beautiful smile. That was all thanks to mom!
