Joel loves Larry so much.
It is just so dear to see Joel’s eyes light up when he talks about his “Papi,” his Daddy. For a while, Joel called Larry “amigo,” because Larry introduced Joel to someone in town as “my friend, Joel.”
When Joel’s dad died several years ago, we asked Joel how he felt. He told us that at the funeral he felt God say to him, “I am your Father. Now Larry is your Dad.” After that, Larry was only known as Papi.
In 2013, Larry’s brother and family visited and invited us to go to the island north of Honduras for a family vacation. Larry asked Joel, “Joel, do you want to go with me,” to which Joel interrupted him and said, “yes.” With no knowledge of where, when, how long or to do what, all Joel knew was that he wanted to be with his Papi.
When I told him he needed to pack a bag for this mystery trip, he gave his side smile of excitement. When we pulled up to the harbor, he was giggly. Consciously keeping information from him at this point, we said, “hey Joel, where are you going?” He just laughed, grabbed Larry’s arm, probably snorted and gave him a head nuzzle. He had never seen a sea-worthy yacht, had certainly never been on one, had no knowledge of where he was going or if he would ever return.
But he was with his dad. And that’s what mattered.
When Joel goes on Agua Viva water projects with Larry, he tells me, “Larry and I are going on the project. You’re not going. You’re going to stay here. With the kids,” he adds. Finger pointing emphasizes these truths.
But early Sunday morning, Larry and Joel leaving for the water project. Larry started the car but then realized he forgot something. He jumped out and I jumped into the truck and said, “I’m going to go on the trip instead of Larry.” I pursed my lips and looked at him through my own side-eye to see his reaction. At first he laughed and said, “oh you.” But then looked straight at me and said, “no. My dad’s going. You’re not. Larry.” After the final finger point, he turned away as if to say, “this is not a joking matter.”
Joel loves me. I don’t question it at all. And I know he doesn’t question my love for him.
But I’m not Larry. I’m not his Papi.
So when Larry called me a half hour later to say Joel had two big seizures and he didn’t think he should take him on the trip, we were both so sad for Joel. I drove down the road as Larry drove up, and Larry tried to explain to the post-seizure-foggy Joel that he couldn’t take him on the trip. We put his bag in the bed of the truck heading back home and he got in the truck. All day I explained to Joel that Larry had gone on the trip, that he couldn’t go because of the seizures, and that Larry would miss him.
The next morning he said, “I prayed for you and Larry last night,” which is pretty normal morning Joel conversation. But then he said, “I prayed Larry would come back.”
Not, prayed for him to tell the community about Jesus, not prayed that he would have clear thoughts for his many teachings, not for strength in the physical challenges, or even that he would have a good time. Nope. “That he comes back.”
I am sure part of Joel’s prayer is dealing with abandonment. His parents left him when they left each other when Joel was about thirteen years old. When his mom was alive she would visit her other children in the community, but not him. She sold the property where he was living once she found out he was staying with us. Joel would visit her in town after he sold his bottles and she would send him to the corner store to buy food for them all for lunch. So Joel has some legitimate abandonment issues to work through.
But I really feel like Joel’s prayer for Larry to come back was more than just feeling excluded. I see it with all our kids: they want to do anything that Larry is doing. And Larry is really good at looking for ways for each one to be included so they feel special and loved.
I took Joel with me in the car one day this week because I didn’t want to leave him alone in case of another seizure. I pulled the truck out of the dirt driveway, closed the iron gate, got back into the truck and headed out. He said, “Hoy si,” which is like, “here we go.” But it was immediately followed by, “I miss my Papi.” I felt his longing for Larry as he was heading out on an unknown adventure. He was glad to be along, glad to be involved, but he missed his dad.
Since Joel’s “yes” in 2013 to be with Larry in whatever situation, I have looked at it as an example for me of how I want to be with God. When God says, “do you want to go with me” I don’t want to need any more details. I don’t want to ask when, where, why, how much, or am I ever coming back. I want my immediate response to be “yes”—and not necessarily even a super enthusiastic one. I want it to be a normal and everyday response. Because being with God is what I want.
I want my “yes” to be quick and automatic because I know God. And I know that he is good. And I know that he is love. And I know that he has his best for me. And that there is nothing in all creation that can separate me from him and there is nothing that is more fulfilling or worthwhile than being with him and joining him in the work that he has prepared for me to do.
Give us this confidence, Father, of your love for us and your promises not to harm us. To lead us not into temptation but to deliver us from evil. To bring us to the mountain of praise and to be the one who invites us to be his beloved. Let us say when we feel far from you, “I miss my daddy” and to give you a head nuzzle when we are close to you again.
It is just so dear to see Joel’s eyes light up when he talks about his “Papi,” his Daddy. For a while, Joel called Larry “amigo,” because Larry introduced Joel to someone in town as “my friend, Joel.”
When Joel’s dad died several years ago, we asked Joel how he felt. He told us that at the funeral he felt God say to him, “I am your Father. Now Larry is your Dad.” After that, Larry was only known as Papi.
In 2013, Larry’s brother and family visited and invited us to go to the island north of Honduras for a family vacation. Larry asked Joel, “Joel, do you want to go with me,” to which Joel interrupted him and said, “yes.” With no knowledge of where, when, how long or to do what, all Joel knew was that he wanted to be with his Papi.
When I told him he needed to pack a bag for this mystery trip, he gave his side smile of excitement. When we pulled up to the harbor, he was giggly. Consciously keeping information from him at this point, we said, “hey Joel, where are you going?” He just laughed, grabbed Larry’s arm, probably snorted and gave him a head nuzzle. He had never seen a sea-worthy yacht, had certainly never been on one, had no knowledge of where he was going or if he would ever return.
But he was with his dad. And that’s what mattered.
When Joel goes on Agua Viva water projects with Larry, he tells me, “Larry and I are going on the project. You’re not going. You’re going to stay here. With the kids,” he adds. Finger pointing emphasizes these truths.
But early Sunday morning, Larry and Joel leaving for the water project. Larry started the car but then realized he forgot something. He jumped out and I jumped into the truck and said, “I’m going to go on the trip instead of Larry.” I pursed my lips and looked at him through my own side-eye to see his reaction. At first he laughed and said, “oh you.” But then looked straight at me and said, “no. My dad’s going. You’re not. Larry.” After the final finger point, he turned away as if to say, “this is not a joking matter.”
Joel loves me. I don’t question it at all. And I know he doesn’t question my love for him.
But I’m not Larry. I’m not his Papi.
So when Larry called me a half hour later to say Joel had two big seizures and he didn’t think he should take him on the trip, we were both so sad for Joel. I drove down the road as Larry drove up, and Larry tried to explain to the post-seizure-foggy Joel that he couldn’t take him on the trip. We put his bag in the bed of the truck heading back home and he got in the truck. All day I explained to Joel that Larry had gone on the trip, that he couldn’t go because of the seizures, and that Larry would miss him.
The next morning he said, “I prayed for you and Larry last night,” which is pretty normal morning Joel conversation. But then he said, “I prayed Larry would come back.”
Not, prayed for him to tell the community about Jesus, not prayed that he would have clear thoughts for his many teachings, not for strength in the physical challenges, or even that he would have a good time. Nope. “That he comes back.”
I am sure part of Joel’s prayer is dealing with abandonment. His parents left him when they left each other when Joel was about thirteen years old. When his mom was alive she would visit her other children in the community, but not him. She sold the property where he was living once she found out he was staying with us. Joel would visit her in town after he sold his bottles and she would send him to the corner store to buy food for them all for lunch. So Joel has some legitimate abandonment issues to work through.
But I really feel like Joel’s prayer for Larry to come back was more than just feeling excluded. I see it with all our kids: they want to do anything that Larry is doing. And Larry is really good at looking for ways for each one to be included so they feel special and loved.
I took Joel with me in the car one day this week because I didn’t want to leave him alone in case of another seizure. I pulled the truck out of the dirt driveway, closed the iron gate, got back into the truck and headed out. He said, “Hoy si,” which is like, “here we go.” But it was immediately followed by, “I miss my Papi.” I felt his longing for Larry as he was heading out on an unknown adventure. He was glad to be along, glad to be involved, but he missed his dad.
Since Joel’s “yes” in 2013 to be with Larry in whatever situation, I have looked at it as an example for me of how I want to be with God. When God says, “do you want to go with me” I don’t want to need any more details. I don’t want to ask when, where, why, how much, or am I ever coming back. I want my immediate response to be “yes”—and not necessarily even a super enthusiastic one. I want it to be a normal and everyday response. Because being with God is what I want.
I want my “yes” to be quick and automatic because I know God. And I know that he is good. And I know that he is love. And I know that he has his best for me. And that there is nothing in all creation that can separate me from him and there is nothing that is more fulfilling or worthwhile than being with him and joining him in the work that he has prepared for me to do.
Give us this confidence, Father, of your love for us and your promises not to harm us. To lead us not into temptation but to deliver us from evil. To bring us to the mountain of praise and to be the one who invites us to be his beloved. Let us say when we feel far from you, “I miss my daddy” and to give you a head nuzzle when we are close to you again.