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Friday, March 16, 2012

Adventure Boots

    "April 24, '02  
     Airplane

      We just took off. We're heading to Vietnam where we will adopt a little boy named Sinh. We are really             excited. ..."
      Matthew Sinh Moody turned 14 years old this past week. Almost 10 years earlier, my 10-year old self was sitting in a plane staring into the big blue expanse of sky, kicking my feet for adventure. I was writing even then, but apparently I didn't know about contractions or the differences between "where" "wear" and "we're" so I amended all that for the first bit above. It was the beginning of a grace adventure.
     My experience of Vietnam was something that belonged in one of the books stuffed in my backpack, it seemed to me at the time. I traipsed around everywhere with my family, as brown as a walnut, shodded with Teva's and equipped with a hot pink Barbie Polaroid around my neck. According to my journal Matthew was quite taken with that camera the first time I met him. I don't remember that, but I do remember the amount of film he used on pictures of the ceiling fan. I was happy in this exotic corner of the earth, sucking down fresh-squeezed watermelon juice every chance I got and avoiding any meat-like substance after the discovery that my parents had been sneaking me squid. There were water buffalo and monkeys, puppet shows and pagodas. I remember being in awe of the sheer masses of people, watching the crowds from the balcony of a noodle shop. Having a new little brother was fun: he ate french fries with chopsticks and blue playdough and he giggled all the time. We all got to take a 'cruise' during which I have vivid memories of the cockroach that crawled over my feet at night. I chose to sleep on the deck after that.
    Coming home was 'topsy-turvy'- another one of my small self's observations. I think that's the only time of life I've ever used that phrase, but I have always associated it with the circus, so it made sense to use it- coming home felt like a circus. The thought had never crossed my mind that this little boy hadn't lived with a family before and didn't really know how they worked. It didn't cross my mind that he had his own will that maybe wouldn't always assimilate to ours. This was the other side of adventuring. No more treks overseas, just home, living, day in, day out.
    I got a text (from my mom) this summer saying love was a grace adventure. Me- being the clever daughter I am- listened to that piece of wisdom and decided to expound upon it: life is a grace adventure. Adventures appeal to my 20-year old self just as much as my 10-year old self. See, the key element to an adventure is excitement. They are never, ever boring. For clarification, I'm not sure excitement always equates with the sense of euphoria that comes from sucking helium. Take for example all the adventure books you read as a child. Ok, I didn't read many, but I read lots of fairy tales and those are mostly the same thing. Scary things happened in those stories: evil spells, enchanted forests, goblins, etc. It wouldn't be an adventure without the scary stuff, and, in the end, it was always worth it.
   Life, then, is a grace adventure. Adventure because it's full of crazy, exciting, scary, weird stuff. Grace because we've been given the perfect amount for every minute of un-expected adventure. I can't help but close with a Winnie-the Pooh quote, a pithy prod to go and find your own  boots and the accompanying adventure-
       “When you see someone putting on his Big Boots, you can be pretty sure that an Adventure is going to happen.” 
 Or, maybe, it could be said another way:
      "Therefore put on the full armor of God...with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the Gospel of peace" (Ephesians 6:13 & 15, NIV).