Eight extra hands

About a month into the school year, Barrett’s teacher told me that Barrett and another little boy, Garrison, had become good friends. “Garrison is very quiet,” she said, “but they have been inseparable.”

When I got home, I asked Barrett, “So, you and Garrison are friends?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “He was all alone and no one was playing with him, so I asked him if he wanted to be my friend.”

I got down onto my knees and hugged Barrett, tears in my eyes. “That was so kind, buddy,” I said. “That was like Jesus.” His eyes reflected my pride and happiness. 

I have felt bursts of impatience, wishing I could do more to help others. I want to get out of my cozy home - away from my homeschool-mom-angst - and grapple with true need and despair. But my place is here. 

And that day, it was demonstrated more powerfully than ever before that my time is not being wasted. I couldn’t have impacted that little boy, but my son could. And he did. I am (oh God, I hope I am) training - striving to train - four more people to work hard, to be kind, and to follow Jesus in such a committed way that they are willing to live their lives for him and not for themselves.

One day, God permitting, I will be able to help out there. Oh, there is so much need. But when I feel that frustrated longing, I remind myself that on that future day, I will hopefully know that four others are doing the same, in other parts of the world. My eight extra hands.