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November 20, 2000 Dear
Gabby,
My
family immigrated to the United States last year.
In our old country, our family lived in two rooms and did not have much
food to eat. America is rich! The girls at church have many dresses and shoes.
They have cars. They have much money to spend.
Why are they sad that they don’t have a new dress for the banquet?
Why aren’t American Christians thankful to God for all they have? Miss
Indiana Immigrant Dear
Miss Immigrant,
I’ll
never forget the summer I was 15. That
was the year gorgeous Julietta Turner Armstrong came to stay with us. We’d heard about the Armstrongs our entire lives.
My sweet mama’s school chum Elizabeth Turner had married the wealthiest
man in our state, Arthur W. Armstrong the II.
Their daughter Julietta was born two months after I was and our mothers
wrote long letters to each other through the years.
We never met until we were 15, though. When
my sweet mama announced the eminent arrival of Miss Julietta Armstrong, I was
horrified. I knew she was rich.
She’d have beautiful clothes and would be sure to look down her
aristocratic nose at our modest home and my homemade dresses.
“I
don’t care is she does get seasick,” I stormed at my sweet mama, “She’ll
get better once the ship arrives in Europe.”
But
our mothers’ greatest hope was that we’d be friends and, despite all my
protests, Julietta arrived a few days later. She
had long, shiny blond hair, a trunk-full of lovely, store-bought dresses and
shoes to match. Everything she
brought illuminated the shabby plainness of my life.
I was humiliated. Of course,
my snide little sister Susannah gushed over Julietta and everything she brought.
And eight year-old Stanley was in love!
But I refused to open up and be friendly to Julietta even though we were
sharing a room. Poor
Julietta. She wanted to fit in and
enjoy the family. (She was an only
child.) And it wasn’t her fault
that her family was rich. My
sweet mama watched it all and then, like the wise woman she was, decided to
teach us all an important lesson. I’ll
never forget that day as long as I live, and I’ve lived a long time, I can
assure you! The sun was just rising
over the horizon when Mama shook us awake.
She was mysteriously silent when we asked her where we were going and
what we were doing. We
found ourselves in the poorest part of our town.
It was an area where families were hungry.
The children had no shoes. They
only owned one pitiful, ragged outfit each.
Their houses were leaning over and patched with pieces of metal and
cardboard. We
unloaded our pots and pans, vegetables, meat, fruit, and a bunch of our outgrown
clothes into an abandoned old house. My
sweet mama put Stanley to work gathering scrap wood to get the cook stove
started. We girls cleaned up the
area and then peeled and chopped and sliced meat and vegetables.
Mama stirred up some cake batter. Once
the nutritious soup was bubbling over the fire and the cakes were baking in the
coals, Mama sent the four of us out to all the homes in the area to invite the
tired mothers and their hungry families to lunch.
And
they came, bringing chipped old bowls and bent spoons.
We served up all the soup. We
passed out all the cake. We gave
away our outgrown clothes. At one
point, I even saw Julietta reach down, take off her shoes, and give them to a
young mom with a baby on her hip. I
immediately grabbed my sweater and gave it away, too.
That was the first time I saw Stanley in public wearing his undershirt
without his outer shirt. I even saw
my snide little sister Susannah’s well-loved doll in the arms of a tiny
bare-foot freckle-faced redhead. That
evening, arriving back at our house with the flowers blooming in front, I looked
at it with different eyes. I was
filled with thankfulness for what I had¾even
if it was handmade and not store-bought like Julietta’s.
Being warm and fed felt pretty wealthy to me.
I never asked Julietta what she was thinking that day.
All I know is that we became fast friends that summer and the difference
in our financial status lost its importance when compared to the people who
didn’t have anything at all. We
went back to the poor side of town several more times that summer, which started
a tradition for us all¾especially for Julietta.
Even after she married Jean Paul Le Fleur and her net worth tripled, she
gave and gave and gave to the poor. “I
just have more to give,” she told me once. If
the young folks in America could spend some time serving the poor among us,
their focus on owning things would be changed to a focus of thankfulness. Miss Immigrant, always keep your heart of full of
thanksgiving. Sincerely
Sincere, Dear
Gabby,
I’m
going through a major trial in my life right now.
I want to trust that God is in control of the circumstances, but what if
He’s not? How do I know that God
will help me through this? Tested
in Texas Dear
Tested,
I
was visiting my great granddaughter Laurie when her son Jeremy was just a
toddler. She was sitting on the
floor folding clothes while we chatted that day.
Little Jeremy played with his toys nearby.
At one point, Jeremy decided he wanted his mommy, so he went over near
her, backed up, and plopped down onto her lap.
He didn’t look first to make sure Laurie’s lap was still there or
even that it was available for him to sit on.
He just knew his mommy’s lap belonged to him whenever he needed to be
held. God is like that with us. His lap is always available. His strong arms are there to close around us and help us feel safe. It doesn’t matter if it’s dark all around us. It doesn’t matter if we don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Little Jeremy sure didn’t spend any time thinking about tomorrow. He just knew that, right then, he needed a hug. At
any point during this difficult time you’re going through, feel free to climb
into the lap of Jesus and hang on tight. Just
like Laurie was looking out for Jeremy¾even
though he was too young to understand that¾Jesus
is looking out for us. Trust him,
okay? Sincerely
Sincere, ninetyandnine.com ã 2000, ninetyandnine.com --------- Gabrigail VanBurden
has been offering advice for longer than most of you have been alive.
Email your practical Apostolic life questions to Gabby@ninetyandnine.com
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