March 18, 2014

heroes of the faith

"Why do we have to go out for Indian food?!" exclaims my son Gene, suddenly deflated. I have just told him of our evening plans.

"Because Daddy's boss is taking us out, Gene. It's very nice of him."

"Well he's not my boss! I never asked Daddy to do this for a living. I never asked to be raised all the way over here. I didn't eat the apple! I hate Adam and Eve!"

Oh dear.

"I'll tell you what," I venture. "Why don't you stay behind and eat dinner at Mrs. Ko's house with Emma? Would you like that?" I know Tanja won't mind. She loves Gene.

He considers, brightening. "What are they having for dinner?"

"Homemade Russian dumplings," chimes in Emma, who has been shuffling around nervously, pretending to be interested in our radish nursery in the windowsill. "My mother has been making the dumplings all day."

"That sounds good," sniffs Gene.

Whew. Crisis averted.

There is a group of people coming from America next week to minister to our kids ages 8-12. They will be leading our kids in discussions and fun activities to help them process their feelings. They can't get here fast enough.

It would be a challenging way to grow up, on the other side of the world from your culture and your people, without ever having signed up for it yourself.

My kids are my heroes.