To My Parents: Who [still] Think Outside the Box

My parents have many ordinary parent virtues. They loved us, provided for us, bought us red tricycles, etc. There is a time and place to extol these ordinary virtues and thank parents for them, but that time is not now, in this posting.

This quality I have long admired in man, woman, and child: the ability to think outside the box. To approach a problem or situation and not assume that the usual course of action is the only course of action. Yesterday, at the grand old age of 24, it occurred to me that my parents both display an immense quantity of this quality.

Examples beg to be presented.

When facing daunting dental bills, they had some dental work done in Mexico. Dental work is cheaper there.

I've heard women speak of bringing the outdoors inside. Mom did that literally. Complete with Ficus benjamina trees in giant pots and clouds sponged on the sky blue living room ceiling.

Seven year olds are not generally brought to business dinners, Building Industry Association meetings, accountant consultations, or candidate's speeches. Dad thought we might learn something if we tagged along and we'd at least have a good talk in the car on the way home.

Why was there a random used car salesman at Thanksgiving dinner? Dad met him the day before (yes, at a used car lot) and found out he was new in town. I guess my parents thought outside the box about "family gatherings" too.

It didn't occur to my parent that they had to stop having children after the second one. They thought kids were fun, so they had four more. Hence, 6wayintersection.

My parents didn't only think of their own little munchkins, though. With the new birth of each of their own children, they began sponsoring a Compassion child or local crisis pregnancy center. As they prayed about how to become more involved in supporting women who chose life for their babies, God led them to become foster parents. Babies came, cried, were loved, and went- for years.

Rolling black-outs were common in the early '90s on the Big Island. When the black outs stopped, we missed the spontaneous story and board game nights. Easy fix. Dad and Mom randomly announced "Black Out Night" and turned of everything except the refrigerator (which couldn't be opened for the evening). Instant family night.

Dad thought outside the box about breakfast. He dumped leftover spaghetti into omelets, for example.

For any of the unique gifts above (except possibly the spaghetti-eggs), my parents would not take credit. It's nothing they drummed up on their own, it's Christ through them, the Hope Of Glory in their hearts (which is why they named our homeschool H.O.G.S... go figure)

Spaghetti Prayers

Her husband usually doesn't beat her.
The one 12'x12' room they share with their two boys has only a little mold on the walls.
Although she quit school in the fourth grade, she can read, and read well.
The drinking isn't quite constant, and he promised from jail last month he would quit... soon.
When she falls to the end of her rope with caring for two babies (ten months apart), her husband's grandma will watch the littlest one for a night.

I ask my friend to help Girl 2 make spaghetti.
"Spaghetti?" She repeats, uncertain. "I can't cook. I'll get dizzy or something."
She shifts her foot away from the direction of my small kitchen.
"You are a capable woman, and Girl 2 need some help. Let's go make spaghetti."

Girl 2, my sweet sister, loves and teaches and loves and teaches.
"So, when the pot of noodles starts to boil over, I just lift it off the burner, like this."
"My grandma always says that it's important to eat well-balanced meals. She's good at having a side of vegetables with every meal, but sometimes I forget."
"To see if the green beans are done, I just bite one!"
"Here, you season the meat, just dump these spices in. It will taste great."

How does she love so sincerely and teach so graciously without sounding bossy?
I guess I'll never know... since I'm an oldest.




I pray, but I don't know how to pray.
I don't understand.

~~~

I remember other women I know.

One married to a man who desperately wanted a son. She infertile, he looked elsewhere. When questioned about his wife, he lied to another man. Twice. They never really settled. One year here, another year there. Suddenly, she looked around and realized she was old.
God, the One Who Knew her heart, changed her name and blessed her beautifully.

One a competent woman on the surface, homeowner of a house with a view. But the wealth came through what she most despised, prostitution. In a moment of crisis, she works against her own government.
God, the One Who Knew her heart, kept her safe, kept her family safe, and provided an out to a fresh town and a fresh life.

One beautiful young woman, already a widow. She experienced the debilitating loss of both her children. Leaving the home of these memories, she moves in with an angry woman, her mother-in-law. A below minimum-wage job provides bread, but not much else.
God, the One Who Knew her heart, sustained her. Caused a decent, kind sort of guy to become interested. It worked out between them. Her mother-in-law even brightened up after a while.

These women I don't know from college geography classes, soccer teams, or Moms' support groups. I know their stories from the living, breathing word of God.

When they sought God, He answered their hearts' cry.
He treasured them.
And they knew they were treasured.

I know a little better how to pray. At least, my prayers are full of hope.