In honor of Mother's Day this past weekend, I wanted to post the following, about my mom--and as a shout-out of tribute to those of you who offer your kids for the sake of the Gospel.
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It was past eleven this past Monday evening; my children’s fingers curled limply around the edges of their mattresses, and my husband contentedly read in our bedroom. But my legs were crossed Indian-style on our thinning rug in the living room, the glow of a screen reflecting on my face: time to talk with my Mom, overseas in America. My four sisters and I are flung onto four separate continents around the earth’s axis.
Compared to missionaries in the past, I’ve got a pretty cushy gig. My kids giggle with their grandparents on FaceTime, parading across their latest Lego creations. I own a microwave. Kampala imports Oreos. This is not a bad deal. But you know, there is only one mom. Did I hear a catch in her voice, or was that simply the iffy wi-fi reception? “I’m so glad you called,” she said, her tone a little throatier than usual. “I was just really missing you.”...
Read the rest here.
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