I went through a period of adjustment during my teen years, when I needed a bit of family encouragement to get me back to being the best I could be. I remember having greasy hair, being overweight, not remembering to wash my face and brush my teeth, hating to take a bath--and hating to get out once I got in there, never being on time, not knowing or caring how to match clothes, probably much, much more...but have absolutely no recollection of any of family saying anything. They're all things I told myself.
And when I tried to work on improving one area, I realized I was letting another area go, or forgetting to take my medicine—we were working on a health problem--or not practicing my piano or doing my homework, or keeping up with my friends at school, and of course, my spiritual life was struggling (but actually, I think I had to depend on God so much during this period; I recognize many verses now from having lived through them).
I’d done this for so long, even after I decided to stop,
I couldn’t stop the rock beat from going through my head!
But it was frustrating to the max. At that age, I often went to a corner where I wouldn't be found, turned to a radio station that gave me acid rock, got lost in my own world. I tried not to let the family know how much I was doing this—could they tell?
It was one of these times I heard Mommy looking for me (yes, I could hear her calling) and went down the basement steps a little. I'd been standing at the back screen door, ready to run. I gave this testimony before, so I will not repeat details.) Mommy came and found me. I told her, without looking up, I didn't deserve to belong to the family. It seemed she waited an eternity before answering. I believe she was praying for wisdom to know how to answer her daughter. Then she said,
"Maybe you don't. Maybe you don't deserve to belong to the family." That hit like a ton of bricks. Mommy, what are you saying? "But can any of us say we deserve to belong to the family of God?" That night, Mommy didn't try to encourage me by saying of course I was family or she loved me; she had me look at ONE WHO LOVED ME NO MATTER WHAT.
"He hath made Him to be sin for us who knew no sin that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him. I am crucified with Christ, nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me." The truths I had known and verses I had quoted before, she brought home again that night at the kitchen table. I cried. I can't say things changed overnight; they didn't. But little by little, things improved, and I think of that day as the turning point of taking my eyes off myself and putting them onto the One Who loved me.
Yes, missionary parents need wisdom to raise their children, and missionary kids need prayers that they find the Savior of life then plaster their heart-eyes on Him.
