Every time I go home to my parents house, on my way back I think: I need to write a blog about my parents and just tell some of their stories. I’ve drafted and deleted this post so many times. I feel like I’m trying to make some grandiose point about helping others and being a servant and giving of your time and resources, but nothing really stuck. So I thought, I will just tell some of their stories about my parents “Saying Yes.” And who doesn’t want a bunch of feel good stories during a quarantine. Also mom and dad, if I get any of these stories wrong or you feel like I misrepresented you, I guess you should write a book to defend yourselves.
My parents have gone on missions trips to El Salvador, Puerto Rico, and Nicaragua. They have been a part of disaster relief and food distributions to small towns in North Dakota. They have been on mission teams to some of the poorest places in America. Their backyard and their community is their daily mission field.
“Say Yes” my mom has this framed in the house, my parents proudly say that they are living in chapter three of their lives. They moved off the farm and into town a couple of years ago. During this time, they have had opportunities to be missionaries in their backyard and in the community. Simply by “saying yes.”
My parent’s backyard is the city park, and they (my mom) walk the dog 2-3 times a day and they have met all kinds of people. Sometimes these strangers become overnight guests in my parents basement. There was a man who was biking across America as a fundraiser, maybe missions, I don’t remember. But as my parents were walking the dog, they got to talking to him and invited him to stay in a bed and have a hot meal before the next part of his journey. My absolute favorite stranger in the park to house guest story is the newly-wed couple.
My parents were walking the dog in the park. They had met a newly-wed couple on a cross-country road trip. The newly-weds were tenting in the park and it was either going to rain that night or it was supposed to be bad weather that night. And, as my dad tells it: If it were my kids I would want someone to help them. So they offered this young couple to stay in the basement over night to stay dry and warm. Now, I hear this and my first thought is: MURDER. This couple could have murdered my parents. This is probably why they are traveling across the country: they’re on the lam. My second thought is: Does this couple not know about stranger danger? I mean scenario #1 is the nice man in the park with the dog. Obviously, I watch too many murder documentaries. Because the reality is that this couple have kind of a cool story to tell, and they can pass that kindness along. My parents were an example to a young couple of the importance of helping others and offering what you can. Who knows maybe this couple will grow up to use a dog to entice strangers in their local park to come stay in their basement.
“Who is staying in the basement this week?” A real question I ask my parents. Because they often have house guests in their basement for an extended period of time. Recently, a nurse from the Phillippines who was moving to Australia. I’m not 100% sure on the story, but basically, her lease was up, and she had planned to couch surf for a month, or something. (I mean if my parents were to write a book we could have the full story, just saying.) Well, my parents saw an opportunity to “Say Yes” and offered her to stay in their basement for a month, no cost, no questions asked. My parent’s basement has a little kitchenette, a den, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. So it’s private and you really can live in the basement. However, she was more than a “tenant” for my parents. They (my mom) cooked for her. They socialized with her. They helped her sell her car. They took her to Fargo to help her send her stuff to Australia. They took her to the airport. It’s a relationship formed simply by my parents saying yes to an opportunity to help an acquaintance. It’s a part of this nurse’s life, and she can always tell the story of living in my parents’ basement.
There are others’ that have fallen on hard times, some who have had unexpected life events happen to them. All have had a home for a week, a month, sometimes 2-3 months in my parents’ basement. And for my parents it’s about “saying yes.” It’s about answering a calling.
So that’s my parents’ basement. Let’s talk about another part of my parents’ house: the kitchen/dinner table.
Since moving to town, my parents have guests over for Sunday dinner, ALMOST every week. I would say 3 of 4 Sundays per month my parents have people over for Sunday dinner. My mom always told the story of her grandma’s magic soup pot. My mom’s grandma would make a pot of soup on Sunday, and when she got to church, she would start inviting people over. My mom’s grandma never knew how many people would come, but no matter what: The magic soup pot had enough to feed everyone. Well, my mom has a magic dinner table. No matter how many people show up, there is always room at my mom’s dinner table.
For about a year, every time I came home for the weekend, there was ALWAYS a Sunday dinner guest. And I would get so mad. I was just like “Why can’t I just have time with my parents, why do they always have to have someone over?” I think it was jealousy. Not jealousy of my parents time, but that I was jealous that my home church had people like my parents. People who are mindful of new people at church and make a point to make them feel welcome. I grew up in the church, and I never thought that going to church by yourself can be such a “scary” thing. But it is. I moved out and had to start at zero with church: going to a new place, having to meet new people. Plus you have this added “pressure” of church where we are “supposed to present our best selves.” One of the coolest things my parents do is invite people over for Sunday dinner. It’s a weekly “Say Yes” to your calling.
I could go on about my parents and their mission field. They actually stopped getting the local paper. Why? Well they had met cashiers at the gas station. Instead of the paper coming in the mail weekly, they would buy the paper at the gas station. This gave them an opportunity to continue to minister to the cashiers at the gas station. There are countless people who have been blessed by my parents.
Wouldn’t it be great to hear all the stories? Like in the form of a book written by my parents? Sorry mom and dad, but the people want to hear it! Write it! Honestly, my parents will never write a book, because they would see it as “bragging” or as self-centered, but if enough people ask, maybe they will?
“Saying Yes.” For my parents, it’s not about “Saying Yes” to other people. It’s about saying yes to the Lord. God has called my parents. And they are the living example of answering God’s calling on your life.
“….When did we see you you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go visit you? The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'” Matthew 25:37-40
Because She Dared 