The experience of the World Race is sometimes referred to as
‘marriage training’. After all, it’s likely we spend more quality time with the
opposite sex in this environment than we one day will with our spouses in the
‘real world’. Not to mention the fact that here, every guy has four-five girls
to look out for on his team, and every girl has two-three guys.
It wasn’t until this month, though, that I experienced the
World Race can be training for parenting, as well. The community we lived in this month is
filled with children, and they are always welcome around the pastor’s house to
play in the yard, give a [small] hand when there are projects going on, and
scream when the pet spider monkey reaches out to be loved (Moy-moy is very
affectionate). Among the children is a little boy who needs special attention;
for the sake of privacy I will call him ‘Jarod’. Jarod needs special attention
because he isn’t loved very well at home, and so he often doesn’t do a good job
of respecting authority. He doesn’t play well with the animals – he might pull
the tail of a dog or hit Moy-moy lightly. Sometimes he’s a little too affectionate
with the World Race girls and puts his hands places where he shouldn’t. But he
speaks with the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard a child speak with. And even
though Jarod is often difficult for me to love, his Heavenly Father loves him
fiercely.
One day, I took Moy-moy off his chain to allow him to run
around and socialize with people in the yard. Releasing Moy-moy usually means
five minutes of good behavior while he’s being distracted by food and water,
followed by about ten minutes of trying to keep him away from ‘Lovely’, a dog
whom he is – quite appropriately – in love with. At that point, Lovely’s patience
is wearing thin and she’s thinking about eating him. Sometimes, though, he can
be persuaded to cuddle with an adult or play tag with the children. They run
away giggling until Moy-moy’s focus is grabbed by someone else, then they run back
to him to get back in on the game. This day, though, tag is getting a little
bit rough – Moy-moy is using his little teeth to bite their hands and feet, and
a group of the boys are antagonizing him. I decide to call it. I pick up
Moy-moy and walk away, though he squirms free a few times and runs back to
where the boys are waiting for him. I’m getting a little frustrated, and
for Lovely, the whole affair ceased to be entertaining ten minutes ago. If Moy-moy comes by her again, he’s going to lose some fur. Finally, I get a
good grip on him, and decide I need to get him out of viewing distance – his
little heart is beating like a hummingbird and he’s a ‘teenager’ who doesn’t have the
sense to stay away from a fight.
Unfortunately, the boys are still having a good time, and
they proceed to follow me up the trail. I tell them that play time is over, and
I need to take Moy-moy away until he settles down. They follow a bit further,
and one of my favorite kids, Jaypee, repeats my instructions to his friends.
They ignore him, though, and continue following. As I’m calling them out by
name, telling them they need to turn back, Moy-moy slips out of my grasp again. I’ve
had enough. I shout at Jarod – the one I’ve played with, sat and cuddled with,
the one who is now completely disregarding me and being a bad example for the
younger kids, even as Jaypee is advocating on my behalf. Raising my voice
doesn’t phase him, though, and in the end I have to give up on my attempt to
get away from the action and instead get someone’s help to tie Moy-moy.
Later that day, I apologize to Jarod for yelling at him. I
tell him he’s a good boy and Jesus loves him. Speaking truth over myself is
harder, though; I’m frustrated and confused. This is the first month of the
Race – the first time in my life – that I’ve actually enjoyed playing with the children, instead of merely feeling obligated to.
And now I’m yelling at them. The lies of the enemy start to creep in…I
shouldn’t have got myself into that situation…why did I have to let Moy-moy off
his chain in the first place?…maybe I should just leave playing with the kids
up to the girls, they’re so good at it anyway…God has equipped me more for
speaking to adults, to men…I don’t have the patience or the passion for kids…STOP! I’ve had enough of this, so I seek out my teammate Leah Mohrig – the one
who knows me best, the only one who’s been with me all eight months.
It turns out Leah had been nearby planning something with the other World Race girls, and she
came over the hill of the trail just in time. She informs me that she saw me yell at Jarod.
I was in control. I was acting out of love. He was out of line and needed to be
disciplined. I feel it come over me…peace. The peace of the Spirit. I feel like
I might cry. It’s been a long Race – a constant battle. Things haven’t always
been easy for Leah and I, and affirming words from her voice mean more than
they would from an easy friend. And here we stand, my sister defending me
against the lies that Satan would have me believe; perhaps putting aside something in herself to
speak true identity over her brother. And the truth is this: my giftings can’t be described in a short
list; I won’t stay in the bubble of ministry that Satan has already
relinquished – I have Jesus inside me, and He is always trying to get out more.
That nite, I approach Pastor Al and tell him about the experience
I had. He knows the community best, and he’s aware of the struggles with Jarod.
He shares with me the details of the story that I might have guessed – Jarod doesn’t
have a good family situation. The scars or bruises he once showed me on his
back that I remember looking like stripes are from an electrical cord that his
Grandfather uses. Like many others, his father probably isn’t
around, nor are than many positive male role models in the community – aside
from Pastor Al and his three disciples.
Pray for Jarod. Pray for me. Pray for the brothers and fathers and grandfathers that will be born from my generation.
There is grace for all sin, and the world needs better from us.
