A Map Home

I forgot to tell my daughter how to get home. 

The plan was to drop her off at Heidi's, when I picked Heidi up for the shower.  She would watch Heidi's kids until Heidi's inlaws could get there, and they would bring her home.  Only Heidi's inlaws didn't know how to get to our home.  And neither did she.

Poor Lindsay.  At the end of the driveway, Heidi's father-in-law said, "Which way?"  In surprise, Lindsay responded, "Oh!  I'm... not really good at directions."  For the eleven years of her life she's been riding around looking out windows with no thought of how the roads lead toward home.  She only knows that eventually she gets there.  Only, now she wasn't so sure she ever would.

They picked a direction and drove, looking for something that would jog her memory.  A familiar corner?  A recognizable business?  A street?  A sign?  A hint?  Nope.  None.  For an HOUR they continued on this aimless trajectory. (This has to be one of the most patient men ever created by God.)  Then she saw it.  The high school!  Shining in all of its glory.  She had her ticket home.  (We drive to and from the high school most every night for swim practice.)

Oh, how I wish I had drawn her a map.  I felt so incredibly inconsiderate!  I felt totally responsible!  I had wasted a stranger's Saturday afternoon, and my daughter's confidence. 

I'm sure there will be other times that I forget to draw her a map.  No parent maps out every situation that her daughter will encounter with painstaking perfection.  But if she's to go out into the world, I must fervently teach her how to get home.  Home to the support and advice and perspective and love that only parents can give.  Home base is where tears can be loosed, guards let down, and feelings exposed.  Home is where we can put it all together again.  Lord, please keep her coming home.