This Way or That Way

I love Saturdays.

And alliteration.

Sleep-in Saturday.

Sabbath Saturday.

Secret Saturday.

For the past 10 years, I’ve delightedly schemed secret Sabbaths – just me and my Savior.

The landscape has changed from a river to a mountain to a beach to a rock as the addresses and then the hemisphere changed. But the running away from the world to be with Him is a constant.

Today I did not sing on a rock. I didn’t even crack my Bible open.

“Sleep-in Saturday” ended with a 7am rat-a-tat-tat of the not-ready-to-speak knock against wooden bed rails.

Then a movie in a pop-up tent.

Followed by a puzzle, the animal game and head-butting the inflatable world ball just a little too high.

Teeth-brushing with blue bubbles.

Picking out the perfect 4-year old outfit.

Two loads of laundry.

Harmonica practice.

Bubbles, puppies and giving a new friend a tour of base.

So. Many. Boogars.

Whispers when we’re not ready to speak out loud yet.

A mountain of grilled cheese triangles.

A too-sour orange slice and a tongue sticking out.

A grocery store getaway just for one-on-one time.

Sunshine, playground, and a circus of children.

Shouting at children to dismount the angry-bee rocks.

Secret, slightly-biased winks exchanged with Lifa because he’s perfect and gets off the angry-bee rocks when asked.

Giggles, trampolines and ninjas running with sticks.

Small talk and family talk.

A kitchen full of busy people.

Two chocolate cakes. Two pans of cornbread. A boat-load of chocolate icing.

From scratch.

A family braii. (BBQ)

A table full of smitten women staring at the slowest, most diligent little chicken-chomper in South Africa.

Bath time and sleepy eyes.

Torrential tears in a towel because it’s just so much change – and more attention in one day than the last two months put together.

Snot-covered jammies because we can’t pull it together.

Snoring and kitchen cleaning.

And. Finally.

She sits.

I’ve done Saturdays every way.

I’ve gone away alone and basked in His presence.

And today I ran around in circles with dishrags and bubble wands, knowing He is in his presence too.

Today I feel it.

That I can do Saturdays that way or this way.

That His Presence never leaves, and He shows up when we ask.

And that this way doesn’t really make sense.

The way where I’m flicking his boogars that I find all over me, and where my heart is dropping when I see that flicker of hurt from the stories I don’t know- because I wasn’t there for them.

The way where I did it all backwards – moved to the other side of the world to become a “single mom” with a little boy my family’s never met.

I wrote about Nandi last week.

There’s not a real update to give you – except that we told her mom where she is, she hasn’t run, and she smiles – big.

Her mom might see her for the first time in over two weeks tomorrow. It might all happen in the close quarters of my car or in the back row of my church.

(So keep praying.)

Because this part doesn’t make sense to me either.

And I fought an ugly fight with God all week about it – about why it’s “ok” for little boys to not have ID’s or consistency, and about why – WHY – runaway girls in grave danger still get washed up into the ho-hum-hopelessness of “Africa time”!?!

 When every single one of this little boy and that little girl’s breaths, days and weeks are exactly as valuable and intentional as the ones of those so comfortably tucked into clean sheets in painted rooms in America.

And when every day of these kids lives were written before they were born by His hand, just like mine and yours.

But as I melt onto this couch after the busiest day of rest I can remember, I can’t help but remember that I could have done it that way or this way.

And God would be there either way.

He knew I’d do it this way today.

The juice box, mom-voice way.

That I’d get more life and more restoration from this exhaustion than from an extra nap or cup of coffee.

And even when it doesn’t make sense for it to be this way, He HAS to be here.

Because HE IS LOVE. And He loves love.

And Family.

He wishes a lot of things were another way.

Nandi’s story.

Lifa’s story.

A good chunk of my internal dialogue that you’ll never get me to publish.

But He knows.

And He shows up.

He’s always going to come. Even when it’s still this way.

When it hurts. When the timing’s not right. When we are still whispering or still waiting. When it doesn’t make sense. Even when we’re doing it all wrong.

This way or that way.

He comes.

It’s Show-Up Saturday.

Thank You, Jesus.

Thank You for today.