I’m in a race.

There are times when I write this column days (and occasionally weeks…though rare) ahead of when it is due.  I am very used to living in a deadline-driven world and doing the things I have to do on the day they are due.

There are also times, like today, that my column was due yesterday, and all I could manage to provide was a blank page with the word “TITLE” at the top.

But now it’s serious.

Now, we are literally hours away from sending pages to press, and I do not think you will enjoy a blank page with the word TITLE at the top.  So, I am in a race.  On production days, whoever is around proofing pages and doing all the last-minute checks and quality control will usually share a meal.  Today, lunch is late, closer to supper than noon.  Of course, on production days, we do not really have time to cook…so someone will either pick up something, or we have it delivered.  Today, it’s pizza.  And, since I was still looking at a blank page when we ordered, I decided I would race the pizza delivery man.  Thirty minutes to write.  Can I win?

This past week, Wes and I were given an opportunity to host a sweet couple in our home who are moving to our community and were in town for a short time house hunting. They have been living in a foreign country and serving as missionaries there for the last three years.  It reminded me of the first time I ever had the opportunity to meet a mission family.  They were staying with my grandparents as they visited churches and congregations who helped support them.  I was so fascinated by the stories their children would tell of living in a land called Pakistan.  I have relived some of those memories this week as we have gotten to hear of this couple’s life and time spent in Tajikistan.  I had to get her to help me attempt to say it properly, because I was fairly certain it sounded like I sneezed the first time I tried!

As a young person and a minister’s daughter, I remember feeling that I should probably think of serving in the mission field.  I always kind of expected I would feel that call.  I never did.

Instead, I witnessed over and over my precious grandmother Wowo and my sweet mother opening their homes and a place at their tables to those who needed a place to stay or a good meal.  During a sweet conversation this morning, I was reminded how we all have our part to play.  Sometimes, it’s moving thousands of miles from home, and sometimes it’s providing a place to call home even for a short time.  I am thankful and grateful to carry on that legacy.

And no. I did not beat the pizza man and win the “race,” but there are words on the page, and I hope they encourage you to know you can do plenty…right where you are.

Until next time,