“Mom, we’re running late for church,” said my daughter Patricia.
“Yes, I know. I am trying to work on my head tie (scarf), but it is trying to get the best of me,” I replied. Africans have a way of tying their head scarves when going to church. The fabric needs to be stiffened by adding starch and drying it in the sun so that when tying it, one can style it better.
My husband Fred was traveling, so I got ready to drive the kids to church. When I tried turning on the ignition, the car made no sound. I tried again. Same result. I asked my son to check the car battery since it sometimes moves out of place because of the bumpy road leading to our house. After he checked, we tried again, but it still would not start.
I turned around and looked at my very disappointed kids. They had wanted to use this opportunity to bid goodbye to their friends at church, which was about seven miles away. But, with local transportation being a nightmare, we had no choice but to attend the church a mile away from our home. We were all disappointed, but we understood we had no choice. We changed into shoes that would be more accommodating to walking on rocks.
On our way, my daughter Patricia said, “Mom, do you know we are homeless?”
I was dumbfounded. But I managed to rearrange my facial expression so she would not notice. “How are we homeless, sweetheart?”
Patricia replied, “We don’t have a house of our own. We keep moving from one place to another. I can’t even make friends. Whenever I do make one, we move. I truly don’t want to go to Kono. I feel comfortable here, and I have a friend that I can talk to—we both understand each other. Now we have to move again.”
I was speechless. The words deeply hurt because it was a true statement that I could not ignore. It took me some time to respond.
I thought about our upcoming move. If my parents had lived locally, we could have stored some of our things with them and visited from time to time. But since they live out of the country and we don’t have a place to call our own, we were obligated to move all our things to Kono.
But the statement Patricia made kept ringing in my ears. So I called my husband. “Can we talk?”
“What’s wrong?” he replied.
“I need to talk to you,” I said and then explained our daughter’s concern. He was a bit shocked. We discussed the situation a bit and decided to have a family meeting.
We make it a point to always have family meetings to update each other, put a check on any problems, and make family decisions. During the meetings, everyone is allowed to express their deepest feelings, and we all try to give our input. With God’s help, we were able to unanimously clear our doubts about the move and resolve the issue. Now that the children were coming on board, we were able to focus on packing their stuff.
Most of the time, Patricia loves talking to me one-on-one. You know, mom and daughter time. Knowing this, I took the opportunity to help her understand our life.
“Sweetheart, having a house is good, but making a home is the best. Our home is in heaven. We are all strangers on this planet. So, even if we don’t own our own home, we must at least appreciate what God is doing on our behalf and for others. We are not left homeless. We have a shelter to lay our heads. When God sees fit for us to have a place of our own, He will do it. Let’s remember that God sees and understands, and He reaches out in His own timing. All we need to do is to focus on bringing souls to Him.”
“But what about my friend?” said Patricia.
I told Patricia that we could allow her friend to come over occasionally for vacation. But it would be difficult for Patricia to go and visit her friend. “You know how I feel about you staying with someone,” I said. She understood and was completely fine.
Finally, we were able to pack up and move to Kono. Upon our arrival, Patricia was impressed with the environment. The area is full of trees, and the fresh air was infinitely better than the air of Fria, which was filled with enough chemical and aluminum pollutants for Patricia to develop asthma. She constantly had attacks while she was there. But since we arrived in Kono, the attacks have diminished drastically. We praise God for fresh air.
Being a parent is challenging enough. Being a missionary parent? It feels even more challenging. We need to remember that it is not the wish of the children to keep moving from one place to another. Most of the time, they have no choice but to follow. But as parents, we should put ourselves in their place to think and try to reason with them. We should remember that becoming a missionary was neither their desire nor their passion. It was ours. The best we can do is to sweetly help cultivate and groom their little minds to love, see the needs of others, and understand why they should give their time to God.
