Missions Work and Motherhood and Cellulite and Wobbly Bits

I was so excited when Noah asked me to go with him to Jamaica this year.  I really couldn't believe it--my son wants me to go with him!  International missions work!  Oh my gosh!  I was jumping up and down inside my brain while trying to maintain control of my body because you know, geez Mom, get a grip. OH MY GOSH MY TEENAGE SON WANTS ME TO GO TO JAMAICA WITH HIM, EVERYONE!!!!  AHHHHHHHHH!!!!  

Those were my first thoughts.  It took a few weeks for my heart and mind to settle down from that total elation.

Then my mind switched gears.

I'm afraid to admit my second thought was just a *bit* more superficial:  Oh my word, I'm going to have to wear shorts--and a bathing suit.  See you have to understand something--my legs have not seen sunlight in at least 22 years.  It's possible I have some body confidence issues, but that's another blog post.  When the Freshman 15 and Mom 45 caused my waistline to increase, they also caused my self confidence to decrease.  No one wants to see these legs!  I won't described what's going on--we'll just leave at 'wobbly bits and cellulite.' My clothes became baggier, and my skirts and pant legs became longer.  And, I believe, the last time I wore a bathing suit, someone unnecessarily called an ocean wildlife rescue phone number while attempting to haul me from the poolside to the oceanside, yelling, "BEACHED WHALE!"  True story, I swear.

So, there's my trepidation.  I don't want to scare any Jamaicans, right?  I mean, we'll be there to help and not hurt, after all.    And yes, I know how silly and stupid it sounds.

Noah's been after me though, and I love hearing the excitement in his voice.  "Oh Mom, dude (why, just once, can I not be Dudette, or just Mom? But I digress...), if we go to the blue hole, YOU ARE SOOOOO. GOING. IN!"  Now, I've seen this thing from pictures--I'm not sure that I would go in, even fully clothed.   I'm sure my freaked out imagination has blown it out of proportion, but there's something of quite a drop, after you've climbed up quite a ways, and you just jump, or swing out on a rope and drop down into this amazingly blue water--the choice is yours.  Yeahhhhhhh.  But, according to my teenage son, I do not have a choice.

There are other things too--like the children I'll get to work with.  The buildings I'll get to put nails in.  The little 3 year old with special needs at the orphanage I'll get to rock to sleep at night, and sing to during the day while we play games and I teach her about Jesus.  The memories I'll get to make with my son, working alongside him.  The growth I will get to see in him. I've been praying for a freedom from myself while I'm there.  I can't wait to see what God does!  It makes me giggly and dance-y and excited and just already amazed!

Here's the thing--Noah does not care about my wobbly bits and cellulite.  And these thoughts of mine, nor my hesitations, are not the things I want my children to remember about me.  He just wants me there beside him.  He just wants to make memories with me and spend time with me.  Neither of us know for sure if this will be our last opportunity for something like this before he leaves for whatever God has in store for him, so yes, I'm jumping (or dropping, or being shoved with my eyes shut tight)--God help me--into that blue hole, and I'm wearing shorts and I'm going to dance and laugh and clap and praise God and hold children and nail walls up and just be free of myself.  I'm going to hold on to my boy as though my life depends on it, and I'm going to cry (I mean come on, y'all know me well enough by now...) and just LOVE.

I don't know what those Jamaicans will think of this crazy emotional, sensitive American woman wearing shorts for the first time in 22 years with wobbly bits and cellulite, but one thing I do know--I hope they see Jesus in me.  I hope they meet him through me.  I hope I leave them better than I found them.