In three days I’ll get on a plane with a bunch of women (and two husbands), head out over the ocean for a cluster of islands known as the Philippines. Where children are sold into slavery, tuberculosis and malaria are endemic in some areas, and families of many Compassion children we’ll meet work for $2 a day.
But first, biscuits.
My three kids are getting dressed and brushing hair, preparing for Daddy Day. Every Wednesday we spend the day together like this. But not quite like this.
Today is special – as every Wednesday should be. I have a greater awareness of grace before these trips I wish I could live in year round. A gratitude for arms and legs and minds intact. For pantry shelves full. For a closet of choices. For these three.
We’re heading out the door in a few minutes for the Loveless Cafe, where we’ll eat drop biscuits and waffles and whatever else they want to order. We’ll head next door to the art galleries and gift shop. Then we’ll…well, whatever they want.
Today we fill up. More present than most.
Why does it take separation to make together better? Poverty to stir gratitude?