A Map Home

Last Saturday, Lindsay babysat until Heidi's inlaws (who were from out of towm) could get there and stay with the kids.  Since no one would be home at our house, the plan was for Heidi's father-in-law to give Lindsay a ride home.  So, at the end of the driveway, he said to Lindsay, "Which way?" 

Poor Lindsay. She leaned forward and looked first one way and then the other, saying, "Oh!  I'm... not really good at directions."  For the eleven years of her life, my daughter has 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.