Thou Shalt Not Curse at Missionaries

After coming home from a service trip to Swaziland a few years ago, I felt renewed, energetic and ready to go again. It wasn’t your average mission trip, we worked hard to prepare a home for abandoned infants, which is a big problem there. I loved every minute of it and started dreaming about another place to go.

You see, I like to build stuff. I’ve been doing it for years and have built almost all of the wood furniture in our house. I’ve finished rooms, our basement, and done some pretty big construction tasks over the years. I even got to build this table that now sits at the missionary house in Heart for Africa. I like to think it will be useful for a good purpose long after I am.image

I’m not the guy who is going to go door-to-door or perform street theater – but I’ll pour concrete, remove debris, or swing a hammer. It is wonderful when God marries a talent with a need and grants the ability to go somewhere to serve. When Sudan and South Sudan were splitting apart, I got burdened for the people of South Sudan and wanted to go. That got me started trolling for an opportunity and I found a cool mission group who work with an orphanage there.

I contacted a very nice lady name Rose. Several emails and a few calls later, I learned of a trip with building men like me that was perfect and I began praying about it. I emailed one last question to Rose from my iPad – “Is South Sudan a yellow fever area? Swaziland isn’t and I don’t have that sh-t.”

Whatever I typed, the glorious auto-correct feature from Apple naturally assumed I needed to discuss feces and not an inoculation. I didn’t notice until I got her response and read what I had sent. My mind went into overdrive:

Did I really send that??? To a missionary?? Why yes, yes I did!

Is there a commandment about that? Something about a special place in hell for people who cuss at missionaries?

I thought I should probably let it go, but didn’t want to be ostracized from the trip. So I sent an apology saying, “Obviously, I meant shot.”

I loved her response, “HaHa. I know, I got a snarky giggle out of it.”

Haha, indeed.

Unfortunately, the trip was cancelled due to instability in the country.  I’d still love to go there and other places to lend a hand. In the meantime, I’ll watch my words more closely and try to handle surprises that come my way with Rose’s grace and understanding.

Has God married a talent of yours with a need? I’d love to hear about it.

Irony & Ice Cream

I’ve always said that if the world could just taste Blue Bell Ice Cream, there would be no more wars. World peace is obtainable by the gallon for about $5.99.  It is so good that upon my first introduction to their chocolate chip cookie dough variety, I called my wife of about a year and said, “I think I just had an affair!”  Until then, I didn’t know I could love something so cold.  Funny thing is, I don’t really like chocolate.  I’ve found over the years it doesn’t matter what’s in it.  If they mix it, freeze it, and put their label on it – I’ll buy it.  They are a good Southern company which likely explains why so many Yankees are trying to get down here.

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My 30’s brought family busyness and extra pants sizes.  I really don’t blame Blue Bell.  If it is her fault, I readily forgive my velvety temptress.  I went back to the gym, ran a few marathons, and lost the weight while staying true to ice cream.  I still run so I can eat it.

All of that brings me to this week.  Tuesday, I had to pick up coffee to fuel my early morning writing obsession.  When I find myself in any store that has a freezer section, I am compelled to check the ice cream aisle.  Lo and behold, Blue Bell was on sale!  Most of my family prefers the aforementioned cookie dough, but I have one dissenter who likes cookies and cream (I think they might spell it with an ‘n’ instead of the word ‘and’ which is lazy, ugly, and I can’t bring myself to type it that way).  My last purchase had been cookie dough, so I dug out the last gallon of cookies AND cream.  When I got home, I stashed it and somehow forgot about it until today.  I was shaving this morning when my dissenter came and reminded me about her appointment to get a painful appliance added to her braces.  With her lip poked out, she said, “You should go and get me cookies AND cream ice cream today.”

My memory is not great, but my purchase came to mind immediately.  With my lance in hand, I gallantly mounted my white steed, lifted the faceguard on my suit of armor and simply said, “Check the freezer.”

Thank you, Lord for Blue Bell Ice Cream.  More importantly, thank you for the ironic way you love on my daughter and let me take a little credit.  I promise I’ll tell her…sometime.