LINDA & MINNIE

We certainly weren’t expecting company when we answered the front door that evening at 8. Not the usual time for people making house calls.  Opening the door we met a small-framed blond woman wearing shorts and an LSU T-shirt. She nervously explained that she lived a few doors down and had been looking for her yellow cat. She knew that we had left around the time he disappeared and worried that he might have jumped in the back of our truck when we left.  Maybe we’d seen it or had found it in our truck.   She was grasping at straws, but we understood perfectly how it feels to worry over the loss of a beloved pet. Wringing her hands, she explained how she had searched the surrounding area for six weeks, looking in garage windows, calling his name, and always scanning the streets she drove hoping against hope to spot an orange streak or hear a familiar meow.  We were her last hope to shed some light on his disappearance and give her peace to move on. Finally we asked if we could pray with her. She was more than happy to. She told us Linda. And her cat was Minnie (yes, she knew it was weird that he male cat was called Minnie, but she’d thought he was a girl when she first found him).  So we stood there on the porch, mosquitos buzzing around us, and prayed for Minnie and Linda.

   The whole encounter lasted only about ten minutes. It wasn’t earth-shattering or anything big.  And yet it was important to Linda.  It doesn’t take long or a great effort to simply listen to someone. It doesn’t require much more than asking, “Could we pray with you?”  Jesus commanded us to show love to one another. To take time to listen to their hurts. To celebrate their happiness. To pray with them. To dry a tear. To give a few moments of time so they can grieve and maybe begin to heal.  As missionaries, it is easy to get caught up in crossing the causeway into the “hood” to gut and build and win souls. And that is gloriously exciting stuff, but it really is about living each day on the lookout for the Lindas who just need a moment of our time. 

Monsoon Season in NOLA

Rain, rain, go away...come again another day. Well, it has been raining and raining and more raining ever since we returned to New Orleans. Oy vey.  Just Friday, we returned from working at the warehouse, and wouldn't you know it...it rained cats and dogs. Bud let me off to pick up the trash can and as I approached the drive at Haindel house where we live, I discovered the circular driveway was flooded on both sides. I picked up the mail then realized that I had no way to get  to the house without walking in water. Hmmm. I looked down at my new Tom's canvas shoes, deciding that I really didn't want to get them wet. I considered taking my shoes off, but considering that the drive is gravel I reconsidered walking on hard, pointy stones with nothing but my delicate tootsies. Soooo I decided to take the lesser of evils...and walk in the grass. NOT! My first step into the grass and my shoe sank deep into water. Dang. It didn't seem to make a lot of difference which way I went. There was NO way to get to the house without getting my shoes soaked.  Had I been a 6 year old, it would have been really fun splashing my way to the house. But I am not 6, and the prospect didn't excite me at all. I stepped into the water, and it came up to my ankles. What the heck. It is what it is. You know, I just figure that a pair of shoes are a small thing in the scope of things. My belly is full. I have a solid roof to sleep under. I am on the mission field with the best man I have ever met. I have the support of friends and family in my endeavors. So I have a soggy pair of Toms. There are worse things in life. How simple life is if we can just put things into perspective. My shoes are dry now and feel no different on my feet than before they were soaked. So what was I so worried about? Wet shoes or dry, God is still Lord of all, Jesus is in control, and the Holy Spirit lives within me. Is there anything more that I need? Life is good.