Our family has made an art out of preparing for summer road-trips. In under an hour, we can pack suitcases, prepare snacks, gather blankets and pillows, find lost flip-flops, hook up the DVD player, map the route and visit the restroom one last time to maximize our time on the road.
Then, we’re off on our next family adventure!
A child doesn’t need sophisticated tools to or complicated gadgets to get to the Truth of the matter.
My daughter found what she needed very close at hand: scraps of yarn, slips of paper, some tape, a square of toilet paper and a Bible story from the Gospel of Luke. She closed the door of her room, and made me promise I wouldn’t peek until she was finished.
I ran as hard and as fast as I could. After each training session, I would stumble off the treadmill, not at all like that energetic Forrest Gump who trotted across the country. Rather, I was a jelly-limbed Gumby, panting like a thirsty mutt and quite possibly in need of an EMT – or at least a corner in which to curl up and whimper.
Our home is a House of Prayer.
We start our mornings in prayer, and we end our days the same way. We pray around the dinner table, over the telephone and in the prayer chair by the living-room windows. We pray for scraped knees and hurt feelings and soft rain to make the crops grow. And we bow our heads and lift our voices whenever we hear the medical helicopter fly overhead.
But our home wasn’t always a House of Prayer. It took time to build it, in the same way it takes time and effort to build any house.
Love thy neighbor, Jesus says. And I think that I do.
But in this racing world, have I slowed down enough to really love my neighbor?