No, I'm not talking about controversial theories. I'm talking about our lives, and what happens sometimes when you live your life on faith and obedience. Sometimes, just sometimes, you get a Big Bang from God himself.
So here we are, wandering along, and one morning I open my email and there it is, my Big Bang. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Cricket and I were planning this splendid adventure in Haiti together. I'd been, he hadn't, and he made me promise him that I'd not go again without him. I agreed and we pulled out the calendar to block off three weeks of good times with dusty feet- simple enough. But we never could pin down dates (clue number one), and I never could decide just exactly how to begin fundraising (clue two) or what exactly we were going to do for three weeks aside from walking around randomly feeding people (food, amongst other things). And there was the issue of Rooster, my little chicken, who is terrified of mosquitoes and malaria endemic countries, who refused to go to any place else where he'd have to take malaria medications. He'd had malaria once, and he was bound and determined to not ever have it again. Was I seriously going to leave him behind?
The answer to that ended up being no. Our Call (with a capital C) is a family call, and where one goes, three go. I made this decision, and just about the same time, behold, I received the Big Bang.
I got an email from my good friends the Perthians, needing my help with a specific task. Could I spare them, say, 2012?
Yup. Or any length of time during that year.
Ok, where to?
No, London England.
Well, let me just think about this...
Now before you go thinking that I was jumping and screaming for joy, let me tell you a little about myself- Jemima. I am a confessed anglophile. I love all things English. I can Jane Austen, Dr. Who, and Cornish pasty you around the block and back again. I cannot get enough. I am actually thankful that we don't have the BBC on our cable lineup because I'd never get my beehiney off of the couch and do anything if I had unfettered access to that much information all day. So why did my stomach take a flying leap off the Tower Bridge when I heard "London?" For all of my love of those absurdly uptight, highly fashionable, quick witted people, I am, admittedly, more than a little intimidated. If you know me, you know that I put my dirty feet into my dusty rubber clogs with my grubby t shirt and my shorts that have definitely seen better days, and I'm good for going. . . anywhere.
Anywhere except London.
This is my fairy tale city. The in-your-wildest-dreams fantasy town. And I'm going looking like- THIS? I couldn't even pull a pair of good panty hose over my crusty, haven't-had-a-pedicure-since-Cricket-was-a-baby, water buffalo hooves without catching a good ladder in the first try. How am I going to swing this one? I don't want to be the water buffalo loose in Notting Hill. I want to be the fine lady in Banbury Cross with rings on her fingers and bells on her toes.
There ought to be a reality show, "When Fantasy Becomes Reality" because when fantasy actually does become reality, what do we make of our dreams?
I finally remembered, at some point, what Paul said in 1 Corinthians 9, "I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some." So there you have it. If it means that I must wear real shoes and visit a hairdresser regularly, and maybe slap some polish on my hooves (I mean toenails), then so be it. Big Bang.
And guess what? Stubborn old Rooster is excited! He's actually looking forward to it. Cricket is excited too, but he's always excited. That boy has an ant farm up his caboose somewhere. So we're going. To London. God willing. July 2012. For six months. Big, big bang.
Photo courtesy of constantin jurcut.