You'll Understand When You're Older

I have long hated the phrase "you'll understand when you're older".  I've also hated it's brother "oh, you're too young to understand" and it's good-for-nothing boyfriend "when you get to be my age, you'll see".  It's probably my repressed frustration with authority.  Or working with teenagers.  Or the fact that I secretly believe that I know everything.  Either way, I hate it.

And today, I must admit that it might just be true.

Let me explain.  I am historically a person who has never understood why folks at home worry about folks on the road.  I would come home late and wonder why my mom was upset.  My theory was that if the hospital or police were involved, she would get a call and what else was there to worry about?  One summer, I traveled around the country leading mission trips and only called home twice.  Mom has yet to let me live that one down.  It's not that I don't care, truly.  It's just that I understand that when you are on an adventure, calling home to talk down a worrying family member isn't my idea of fun.

Then I entered full-time ministry and I learned that parents are always happier when you force their kids to call home.  I did not do this because I became a believer in the 'call your mother and let her know you're ok' theory.  Oh, no!  It was purely a selfish motive to help parents like and trust me more.  (Sidenote: it's really hard doing youth ministry when you get mistaken for a teenager, cut me some slack?)

And then, a week ago, I dropped my favorite husband in the world off at the airport for a two and a half week trip to Haiti.  As his parents called me for updates, I told them that no news was good news - calls from Haiti were really only if he got really sick/kidnapped/arrested.  The internet access where they are at is spotty, too.  I said all this, to lots of people, and then it happened.

The phone rang at the office.  I overheard the receptionist mentioned that it was one of the women in charge of the Haiti team.  So, I did the only rational thing and ran to her desk and hover awkwardly behind her as she completed her call, then asked her to tell Hubs I love him and inquired as to just how sunburned my ginger husband had gotten.  In that moment, I became my mother.  (gasp)  I was scrambling for details, wondering how he was, aching to talk to him and realizing just how much my mother must have wanted to slap me when I gave her that line about the hospital calling her if they needed her.

Hubs did call me tonight, briefly.  He wanted to know if I was ok, tell me about how much he is loving his experience there and make sure I was harvesting the peas from the garden.  It was only a couple of minutes, but hearing his voice was so good.  I miss him so much, but I believe in the work that he is doing and I believe God will use this to make my husband's heart more like Jesus.

So the next time I make a student call home on a trip, it won't be to make their mom like me more.

JB