Ridin Dirty

I don't really pick up hitchhikers, or strangers walking down the road. I mean, maybe I've given a ride to a woman and her child before, or maybe some kids from my neighborhood, just to shorten their walk home or to get them to their destination. But, my husband Chuck tells me that I'm not allowed to give rides to "strangers," if it's just my girls and I in the car. He on the other hand, oftentimes gets mistaken for the city bus. But for real! I'm pretty positive that he has given more rides to strangers, than he has to me. Which is fine, because he's in the ministry and his truck stays a disaster. It's like a ministrymobile, or a VBS on wheels. And it tends to smell of feet and fart. It just does. 

I say all of that to set the stage. 

There was one particular day exactly two years ago this month, on which my husband picked up another "stranger." I've heard this part of the story over and over and I never get sick of it. My husband was taking our 5-year-old daughter to dance, and he pulled over to see if this kid needed a ride. The kid said yes, and hopped into the stank mobile. That kid was 15 years old and went to the middle school right behind our house. He had just finished up cross-country practice and was waiting on a ride, but the ride was a no show that day, so he just started home. 

Trimming up that part of the story, I'll throw in that the kid lived 7 miles away from the school and often walked those 7 miles home. He was quiet. Thankful for the ride. And that was that. 

Or so we thought, until Chuck passed him again the next day. He slowed down and pulled over to the side as usual. The window comes down, and then, "Wanna ride?" It's his go-to. Nothing special just, "Wanna ride?" And you would actually be surprised at how many people are NOT afraid of a white male with super long dreads, in a blacked out truck. They just hop on in, like it ain't no thing. I'd for sure be dialing 9-1-1 on my cell phone off to the side where he couldn't see. But that's just me. 

It was the same situation. He had a cross-country meet and needed a way home. He couldn't find a ride, so he got to walking. No big deal. Chuck began to strike up a conversation this time. The kid was still quiet, a little insecure. Who could blame him?! Random nice guy gives me a ride two days in a row?! What's up here? 

This time, Chuck leaves the kid with his phone number and tells him anytime he gets stuck without a ride to just give him a call. And with that gesture, a gesture that showed genuine care and compassion and follow through, something incredible happened. 

Fast-forward two years to present day. 

I have three little girls. The oldest will be 7 in April. The middle just turned 5. And my youngest little precious angel baby darling is every bit of two and a stinking half. Can I get an amen?! Yea. And then there's Josh. He's 17 now. He adores basketball. Loves pizza and grapes. He eats ranch on everything. He's the cleanest and most hygienic teenage boy I know.  He likes school and does his own laundry. He's a homebody. His smile lights up the room. He loves Jesus and bringing friends to church. 

He lives with us now. He is 100% a part of our family. 

There are a million posts to be written about that period of time between when that phone number was given out, and now. There have been a million tears shed and a million battles fought. A million laughs laughed and a million memories made. There are posts that I long to share. Posts that up until now, I haven't felt released to tell. But now, it's time. Because I know that God has done something truly and absolutely beautiful under my family's roof. Something miraculous. Something insane. Something that could only have happened within His will and guidance. 

It's a dirty story. Dirty in a sense of flat out mess. And that is what life is about. Entering into mess. Getting dirty in ways that are sometimes uncomfortable or out of our cute little Christian worlds. I didn't even know I lived in a cute little Christian world until Josh. Until humility. Until discipleship. Until sacrifice. Until obedience. Until all of these things that I thought I knew, were quickly squashed. 

I look forward to sharing a huge part of our lives. If for no other reason than to have a written form of all that has happened over the past two years. Or....maybe just maybe....our dirty, messy story can be used by God as an encouragement to others to do the same. Surely not for our own glory. Quite the contrary, my hope is that Christ would be the only one seen and heard through ANY of this. For it is Him who we seek to imitate. 

Matthew 20:28

"For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve others and to give His life as a ransom for many."

Humility is something I suck at. I could've received a full scholarship to a university of my choice if the ACT cared about how prideful a person was. But when I pray to my Jesus and tell Him that I want to be more like Him, and that I want more of Him and less of me, or that I want to be lower and lower, so that in my life He can be lifted higher and higher, best believe that He'll  begin that work. And Lord knows it won't ever be a work that is finished, but I will certainly let Him do that work in me. No matter the cost. I'll say yes. I choose to serve. I choose obedience. And mess.  

Just your basic family pumpkin patch picture.