We’ve covered over 2,300 miles in the last few weeks. Spent some time at the lake with the family, helped my dad build a gazebo, moved my son to Austin, Texas and read/listened to 5 books and countless podcasts. (I’m now an expert on the point-shaving scandal of Boston College basketball if you are interested.)

The next few weeks will include getting one daughter ready to go back to college and getting the other ready for her senior year of high school. I’ve been most concerned about my senior in high school. This is not shaping up to be exactly the senior year that every kid dreams of having. We are not excited about having another season of disappointment and unmet expectations.

My daughter showed me once again, I have much to learn.

She’s made a decision about her senior year. In her opinion, “I’ve got some options. I’m going to explore them and see which ones will work for me. I’m excited about it. Most of it, anyway. No – it wasn’t what I thought my senior year was going to be like, but this is not devastating.”

“This is NOT devastating.” What a perspective.

This is hard. Disappointing. Frustrating. Upsetting. But not devastating. It’s not going to crush me. It’s not going to send me into a dark pit of despair.

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January 2015.
Rick and I go to the Philippines with Trash Mountain Project. 56 hours of traveling on 8 hours of sleep. Missed flights, 10 hour van rides in the mountains to a new church plant in a trash dump community. The church building was a 50 square foot concrete pad with a recycled tin roof and no walls. Flea-ridden, malnourished dogs roamed the grounds along with chickens and flies. Millions of flies.

It was 90 degrees with 90% humidity, unless there was a breeze… that would bring in the stench from the trash dump 80 yards away which housed up to 2 square miles of trash. Dirty, half-naked children playing in the filth. Moms nursing babies, dads absent because they were working the trash dumps as new trash trucks would come in every 10-13 minutes.

I remember two distinct moments about that trip. Moment 1: After being on the site for 15 minutes, one of the guys went back to the van, climbed in, closed the door and just wept. He wept like a grown man. Not one of us judged him for it either. Eyes red, face wet with his tears, he looked up at me and said, “To think I complained about the food on the flight over here.”

Moment 2: The worship service. What a challenge. Outside venue. Two translators. Neither one of them had ever translated in front of an audience before. One translated from English to Tagalog. The other translated from Tagalog to the local dialect. Long. Inconvenient. Tiring. Lots of hand motions and questions.

Children crying. Trucks honking. Flies buzzing.

Place was packed. The smiles were fierce. The hugs and handshakes strong. We stayed three days. They were so thankful and appreciative of us that they had a feast for us the day we left. It was rice, noodles, and beans served from steel pots on open flames.
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I’m not always appreciative when Jesus works to gets my attention. Particularly when He uses my kids to do it. But He does. And let’s face it, I need it. I’m guessing you do, too.

This is not devastating. What a perspective from my daughter, and one I desperately needed to hear.