The grim reality of what it will cost to go on the World Race sinks deeper, lately. Telling people that I’m going on the World Race elicits a lot of “Wow” and “Woah” and, my favorite, “That’s crazy,” as responses. But the reaction I got when I told my mom strikes me most.
I finally told her this Thanksgiving, and she reacted as my brother and I had suspected she would – not pleased, worried, unable to understand why (I decided to table that discussion), but in the end, resigned. She was not going to stop me. Our (my brother and I) speculations proved true yet I was still surprised (in a forlorn sort of way) and it showed. My mom told me, “Don’t be sad. You’ll just
have to struggle through.”
Perhaps I am incorrectly interpreting the verses, but I sure felt the sting of Luke 12:53 and Matthew 10:34-37:
“Don’t think I’ve come to make life cozy. I’ve come to cut—make a
sharp knife-cut between son and father, daughter and mother, bride and
mother-in-law—cut through these cozy domestic arrangements and free you
for God. Well-meaning family members can be your worst enemies. If you
prefer father or mother over me, you don’t deserve me. If you prefer
son or daughter over me, you don’t deserve me.” (The Message)
I must be so frustrating a daughter for a mother who is truly as well-meaning as anyone can be. She wants and strives for the best of intentions for everyone else but herself. Yet even as my face fell as she tried to make sense of what I was doing, I knew (no, I know) that there’s no turning back.
Choosing God over my parents – my mom, mostly – does not sadden me. I’ve been doing it for years, but now I’ve taken it to another level at which they can barely tolerate. I’ve already been labeled by my own mother as “some kind of religious freak,” and I suppose this recent repartee is just another one for the books.
The actual source of my sorrow, then, is not being abandoned emotionally. It stems from her inability to comprehend why this particular almost-year-long journey, or missions in general, is worth it. I know, though not fully (as I will elaborate in a subsequent post), that the rewards of this pilgrimage will far exceed its costs. The One who calls me to go is worth risking my life for; He already laid down His own for me. His life on earth and most importantly, the Cross, is proof that He loves me; that which He calls me to give up is “rubbish,” as Paul would say, compared to the riches He wants to lavish on me.
And I wish my mom could know that for her own sake. Sure, if she could understand all that, she would approve and might even support me as I go on this pilgrimage. But I won’t dare to be that selfish. Oh Lord, be gracious; Holy Spirit, illuminate her!
