The Invitation That Was Never Received

(This blog is a follow up to my last one)

I don't want this blog to be sad.

As a matter of fact, I want it to have an ending filled with joy.  So I hope I can navigate through today's events with you and somehow discover the joy that I know is there, but seemingly hidden at the moment.

At 6:00 this morning, I sat at my dining room table with my old green laptop, leather Bible and peanut butter, craisin oatmeal in front of me trying to figure out what to say in a Christmas Eve invitation to a boy I have only met once and his family whom I've never met. I only know the boy is 12, has run away from home 8 times, loves pasta drenched in Olive Garden's white sauce, can house several peanut butter cookies (with the Hershey kiss on top) in his mouth all at once, and like our own son, likes to sleep with the bedroom door....open.

So trying to figure out how to invite him and his family to a church they've never been to after he so enthusiastically said he wanted to go, but knowing nothing about the faith of his parents, or their take on a United Methodist Church, took some thinking through and prayer on my part.

I created what I hoped would be taken as a warm and hospitable invitation to our Christmas Eve service, as seen in the above picture.  And the plan was to have my son's teacher give it to the boy's teacher, who would then give it to the boy, "Antonio."  The plan was perfect.  I sent Jared to school with the note in his bag and then sent his teacher a message notifying I had packed the Christmas invitation. She was awesome. She totally supported this effort to reach the boy who had wandered into our home just a few short days ago.  She confirmed she had the Christmas invitation and was going to get it to the other teacher.  I admit that I was excited about the possible outcome of seeing this boy again on Christmas Eve and during Silent Night, literally taking my lit candle to his unlit candle and then watching his candle dance and grow into a big ol beautiful flame of God's amazing grace.

I went about my day.

 Around 1:00, while I was preparing my lunch on the church's kitchen counter, she messaged me with "Ms. Snedaker, I'm sorry to tell you, but "Antonio" has not been in school all week."

I quickly responded, "Has anyone called his home?"
"Yes.  But his teacher isn't allowed to talk about it."

I wish I could describe what I felt as my creative mind started to fill in the blanks to this story.  It wasn't becoming what I had hoped and prayed for.
Mainly, it was a deep sadness that I felt; a sadness that was pretty uncomfortable to feel at that moment during my busy work day!   There had been a sweet sweet child in my home Friday night thanking me for "shelter," "being so nice," and for "missing your morning bike ride because of me."
That same kid didn't show up at school on Monday.

Or Tuesday.
Or Wednesday.
Or Thursday.

And then a part of me wished I had done more...
What if I had sent him home with my phone number? 
What if I had written a note to his parents saying "Hey, call me if life gets to be too much, here is my number..." 

What if I had hugged him?

My mind flashed back to last Friday night, what he said about choosing our door because of the Christmas tree and the angel.  And how my husband, our little Leah, and our loving Jared didn't even bat an eyelash at our unexpected visitor during our family movie night.  They welcomed and played with him like he had been here 1,000 times.  He sat quietly on our couch during the movie, eyes lighting up every time he was spoken to.  It was all so surreal.

I admit it:  I began to cry.
I realized that while I had a role in a situation that God presented me with, I certainly had no control over it.  So all I could do then, and all I can do from now on, is live my life in such a way that I can respond to a need - whether that need be shelter, food, water, clothing... or cuddling on the couch for a Friday night movie.  I can't control situations like this boy's, but what I can do is teach my children about radical hospitality and what it means to say "yes" without passing judgement to someone who asks "Can I have some water?" or "May I come in?"

I DO have control over what I teach my children about welcoming the unexpected stranger.  And to live and be in places where they will stumble across opportunities to do so, over and over and over....building more love, more grace, and more justice in this unfair world.

I DO have control over what I teach my children about experiencing what may seem ordinary as extraordinary...to actually seek out gospel moments in which God's presence is just waiting to be discovered, felt, and shared... allowing their own hearts to grow in joy and peace, fruits of the spirit found in community with another...
And I can hold hope in my heart that one night of feeling not judgement, but pure kindness, could forever resonate in the heart of a little boy who will someday have to make choices about who he decides to be in this crazy world.

And I hope that our crazy world doesn't give up on each other.  Because Jesus didn't give up on us and God never will.  So wherever, whenever, and with whomever, I can spread more joy and hope to, I promise I will.  Even if just for a moment in time.
I promise to welcome the stranger and extend God's grace because I believe it is, in the end, only God's grace that actually makes a heart content and a soul fulfilled.

Friends, I am thankful for incredible teachers.  And Jared's teacher is one of them.
May all of us take the time and heart to follow through on situations that concern us.

May your heart be content and may you allow your soul to be filled by the grace of God that comes to us through no other than a young, unexpected boy.



Peace to you and yours,
Annette