“When you come back Mama, I want to do this again. Have ice cream as a family.”
“YES!!” My younger toddler nodded furiously.
We walked home, our last walk home from the heartland bakery before I left, to find a funeral procession at our void deck.
Voice breaking, I told them the truth- that as much as I believed God would protect me, there was a small but also real possibility I might not return.
“What is a funeral Mama? Why do people die?”
I could not explain fully- except say that while I couldn’t wait to come home to have Milo and Mango icecreams with them again, if something bad happened, I might “die” and not be able to.
“What is die, Mama?”
I didn’t mean to be morbid. But the truth was that Cliff and I had become familiar with the usual conversations before our trips encompassing our wills.
Before the deployment, I’d to complete a series of intensive training courses covering what to do in the event of being held hostage, being mugged, getting raped.
I had my stomach in my throat the entire time.
Before I departed, I received a text message from a distant acquaintance expressing his disapproval for my leaving family behind to embark on this humanitarian deployment.
My eyebrows furrowed.
There is Risk in everything. As I watched the plane descend onto South Africa before I transferred into a car, I realized no one but God Himself can guarantee tomorrow.
“Dear God please let Mama be very happy. Let her have a good time. Keep her safe, let no one hurt her. Let her help many people.”
Most of all, I’d want my children to know- that no matter what happened, I’d echo the words of their Papa Cliff-
-that if I had one life to live, I’d spend it all for Christ.
