I recently had a revelation about life. It was the summer before my third year of Seminary and I was returning home for two months to help my parents move. I thought it would be beneficial to chip in since they were going to be moving some of my things as well. Two weeks before driving across country from Texas to Illinois, my mom mentions that my dad is finally getting the dog he’s been asking for for years. He’s getting a sheltie puppy who will be named Abby. I’m excited for my dad because I know this is something he’s wanted since our last dog died when I was in junior high. As she’s describing the details I come to a realization. Even though my parents are moving, they’re still going to be working full time right up to the move. That’s at least three weeks into my stay. After the move, both will be working at their new jobs right away. Who exactly was going to take care of this puppy?
You probably guessed right, it was my job to train this puppy less than a week after I returned to Illinois. Abby was adorable from the beginning. She quickly grew out of her shaky nervousness and started taking hold of the house. Everything was a toy, especially any rag you used to clean up messes she made. It quickly became apparent that training Abby would take up all my time. I would have to play with her if she was awake and read her motions to know when she needed to go outside. I could only eat when she fell asleep and hope I made it through the meal before she awoke.
After spending every single day with her for two months, I was in love with her. I still am to this day. Even though I haven’t been home for more than a couple weeks in a year and a half, I know I will always get a warm welcome from Abby. Still, I learned a valuable lesson from that summer: I’m not ready for kids. If having a puppy can in any way be compared to having a baby, then I knew then and there I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to give up my independence so completely.
Here I am, more than two years later and I’ve come to the same conclusion. I’m not ready for kids. This month, we have been living in an orphanage in northern Zambia. Everyone has a bit of a different schedule, but my days start with helping Alyssa to teach the first grade class. In the afternoons, I look over the babies with Allison. The group consists of 1-4 year olds. Now, this doesn’t seem like a demanding schedule, and I haven’t really found it to be either. What is not taken into the equation is that we live in the orphanage. My room is two doors down from the nursery. The babies pass by on the way to every meal. The older kids aren’t supposed to be in our hallway, but they just can’t resist the temptation to find out what exactly we’re doing in our rooms. From the time the kids wake up around six until all of them are finally in bed around seven, I’m answering questions, playing, and supervising. 28 children under the age of 10 has seemed a larger and larger number every week. I’m not ready for kids of my own.
Don’t get me wrong, I love these kids. When little Josephine runs up to me with a huge smile, my heart melts. When I have to discipline Johnny again, my heart breaks. When I get a hug from Henry for simply entering the room, my heart if filled. Leaving these kids at the end of the week is going to be one of the hardest days on the Race so far. One day, when I meet the right person, I will be ready for kids. Until then, I must pray for strength and step into the crowded hallway. I will love these kids with all my heart for two more days.
