(Disclaimer: these events took place before 9/11 when airport security changed drastically...)
A part of my soul that I am never quite sure how to explain, and that’s usually easier to just not talk about is that I am a TCK: a Third Culture Kid. It means that I didn’t grow up in the country that my parents are from. It means I don’t belong in their culture, but I really don’t fit in in the culture of the countries where I grew up either. I am a misfit. I don’t really belong anywhere, and yet I have learned to adapt to being wherever I am. It also means that my life has been characterized by lots and lots of transition. Even the years when we lived in the same place, there was constant change because we lived in a fluid community where people came and went all the time. I have been through lots of loss. Lots of goodbyes. And lots of grief.
This is the story of the first major life transition that I can remember experiencing. I was seven years old. And everything I had known in my short life was in Guatemala. But we had to leave. My parents had finished the work we had gone there to do, and we would be relocating to a different country. But for the time being, we would be returning to the United States until we could be reassigned to another mission field.
I was heartbroken to be leaving behind my home. I was scared of the unknown that lie ahead. All I knew was that I had to say goodbye, and that my whole world was about to change. I was allowed to pack one small carry-on suitcase with my toys and favorite belongings. I carefully selected which special treasures I would take with me: an assortment of dolls and stuffed animals, my Bible memory awards from school, my Precious Moments children’s Bible, and a variety of other toys and trinkets. But most importantly, I packed my favorite jump rope. It was a yellow rope with green carved wooden frog handles. I loved skipping rope more than just about anything, and had even won the first grade jump-roping contest. It was a toy that I couldn’t go without!
I pulled my special little carry-on of treasures through the airport, clutching my teddy bear tightly, and bravely fighting back tears as the only world I had ever known was about to be left behind.
When we passed through airport security, I remember watching anxiously as the security agent dug through my suitcase, searching all my earthy belongings. “She can’t take this on the plane,” the lady said, holding up my precious jump rope, “It can be used as a weapon.” My parents tried to explain to me that the lady had to take the jump rope away, and I was very distraught. “But why?” I pleaded. When they told me she thought that I might try to hurt someone with it, I only cried more. I didn’t understand why she thought I would do something like that. I was a good kid! I wasn’t going to hurt anyone! I just wanted my jump rope back.
As I stood there sobbing and my perplexed parents tried to talk the lady into letting me keep the jump rope, the man who was behind us in line stepped forward and offered to help. He was an off-duty police officer, and was authorized to carry weapons onboard an aircraft. We wouldn’t be on the same flight, but he was also traveling back to the United States. He very kindly offered to put the jump rope in his own carry-on bag, and to mail it to us when we all got back to U.S. The agent gave him the jump rope.
My parents now explained that this was a nice man and he wanted to help. He was going to take the jump rope, but he would give it back to me. I was still a little apprehensive about handing the rope over to a complete stranger, but I understood that if the lady took it, I would never see it again. So I let him put it in his bag. A couple weeks later, my jump rope arrived in the mail.
Somehow, when your whole world feels like it’s falling apart, something as small as loosing your favorite jump rope can feel like a big deal. Especially to a little kid whose suitcase full of treasures was all she had. But we have a God who cares about the little things. He is a God big enough to sovereignly orchestrate that a kind police officer be in line at the airport behind a frightened child who would need his help. And He is a God compassionate enough to care about that little girl’s grieving heart, and to rescue her jump rope for her.
When life feels overwhelming and sad, it can be hard to believe that God is really there...that He really is good...that He really does care. So when you feel alone in your grief or sorrow, I hope you’ll remember this story of the kid and her jump rope. You have a Heavenly Father who sees your pain. He weeps with you. He feels the weight of every burden you carry. He cares for you deeply, and He is more than able to provide what your heart needs, even in unconventional and unexpected ways. If He cares about a kid’s jump rope, then you can know He cares for every small detail of your life. Even the things that feel too insignificant. He is with you always. He is the Home that lasts forever and the Friend that never leaves.
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