By Marta Castillo, Pastor at Nueva Vida Norristown New Life
“My mom just said that she can’t handle it! She is not willing to take care of the kids. She is afraid that it is going to be too much for her. What am I going to do? I have to go to rehab or I am going to lose my children. This is my last chance.”
God’s Spirit nudged me so hard I almost fell out of the chair I was sitting in. The words that came out of my mouth surprised me. “We will do it. We will form a team from people at the church and we will support your mother and take care of the children so you can go to get the care that you need. Don’t worry. That is what church is supposed to do. We will work it out.”
And amazingly, yes, we did. I sat down with my sister in Christ, the social worker, the boyfriend, and the grandmother and we worked out a schedule of care that included having me sleeping on the living room floor several nights a week so the children could stay in their own home overnight. The boyfriend covered the nights that he wasn’t working, and the grandmother covered afternoons and early evenings. We signed the children up for half day summer camp at the program where I worked. Church members planned special trips to the park, to their houses, and the zoo for the weekends and picked the children and their grandmother up for church on Sundays. There were offers to help buy groceries, prepare meals, and provide transportation. The whole team supported the core figure, the grandmother, as best as we could for three weeks.
Last Sunday, my sister in Christ told me that in June she will celebrate her one year anniversary of being drug-free. She faithfully attends Narcotics Anonymous meetings, has a job and a car, and has no fear that her children will be taken away. She is outspoken about the wonderful works God has done in her life and thankful to the team who made caring for herself possible. Challenges remain, but she knows that she is not alone, her mother is not alone, her family is not alone. She has company on the hard, long journey.
There are times when acts of hospitality make no logical sense in our culture and even in our church thinking. Being hospitable is inconvenient and stretches us beyond our comfort zones. We are not sure of the “how” but we are sure of the “why”. We must be hospitable to represent the hospitality of our Lord who welcomes all in the name of Jesus.
“Now the Lord appeared to him by the oaks of Mamre, while he was sitting at the tent door in the heat of the day. 2 When he lifted up his eyes and looked, behold, three men were standing opposite him; and when he saw them, he ran from the tent door to meet them and bowed himself to the earth, 3 and said, “My Lord, if now I have found favor in Your sight, please do not pass Your servant by. 4 Please let a little water be brought and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree; 5 and I will bring a piece of bread, that you may refresh yourselves; after that you may go on, since you have visited your servant.” And they said, “So do, as you have said.” 6 So Abraham hurried into the tent to Sarah, and said, “Quickly, prepare three measures of fine flour, knead it and make bread cakes.” 7 Abraham also ran to the herd, and took a tender and choice calf and gave it to the servant, and he hurried to prepare it. 8 He took curds and milk and the calf which he had prepared, and placed it before them; and he was standing by them under the tree as they ate.”
My 4-year-old daughter invited me to join her picnic, complete with plastic fruit. I looked at the stuffed animal guests, “Wow, you have very different friends. Aren’t you afraid the bear will eat the dogs or the dogs will eat the cats?” She patiently responded, “No Mommy. That is not going to happen because Jesus is with us.” She pointed to a doll wrapped in white lying on the edge of the picnic blanket. “See?”
As a young boy, I enjoyed going to my grandparent’s house to explore the many knick-knacks that were displayed around their home. Of all the fun items to see, the one that intrigued me more than any other was my great grandfather’s tuning fork. I would spend countless hours repeatedly striking it against the heel of my shoe and then holding it to my ear to listen to the sound of the vibrations – a concert A – over and over again. I would then attempt to match the pitch that I heard in my ear with my own voice while imagining myself as a chorister leading a hymn. The inscription pressed into the metal on one of the tuning fork’s tines stated “A = 440 vibrations guaranteed,” meaning that the sound in my ear would always be the same – guaranteed! But although I always heard the same pitch in my ear, somehow my ability to match that pitch with the sound of my voice was less than a perfect match.
by Barbie Fischer