Marian emailed and said you weren’t feeling well, so I thought I’d call and check on you before I go to bed.”
“Thanks. It’s just a cold. I should be okay in a day or two.”
“Have you been taking care of yourself? Are you eating well and getting enough sleep? Taking your vitamins?”
Adrie couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, Mom, I’m being a good girl.”
“Sorry, honey. I know you’re an adult, but I’ll always be your mother, and I’m never going to stop loving you and wanting to know how you’re doing.”
Her throat tightened, and unexpected tears burned in her eyes. This was silly. She’d lived half a world away from her parents for almost seven years. But hearing her mother’s voice brought a fresh wave of pain to the surface.
“Thanks, Mom. I’m glad you called. Is Dad there?” The hope of talking to her father lifted her spirits. She loved him, but he wasn’t very good at staying in touch. It had been at least three months since they’d spoken on the phone.
“No, he’s up in Turkana teaching at a pastor’s conference this week.”
She tried to swallow away her disappointment. “Oh.”
“He’ll be back on Saturday. I’ll let him know we talked.”
Adrie cleared her throat. “Okay. You don’t have to tell him I’m sick. I’m sure I’ll be fine by then. I don’t want him to worry.”
“All right, dear.” Her mother launched into a review of her activities for the last few weeks. Then she shifted gears to tell her about a few friends. “Remember Ann Marie Snyder? She was a year behind you at RVA.”
“Sure. How is she doing?” Adrie nibbled on a cracker and stirred her soup. Fragrant steam rose and tickled her nose.
“Ann Marie married Michael Artman from your class. They came out to work in Nairobi with our mission last year, and they just had a baby girl. They named her Haley Joy. Oh, you should see her. She is just a little doll. She looks just like her mother.”
“Wow, Ann Marie and Mike had a baby?” It seemed like just yesterday she and Ann Marie had run across the RVA soccer fields, hiked to the waterfalls, and spent time laughing and talking about the future. Life had moved on for her friends and family, but that didn’t bother her nearly as much as realizing she was continents away and missing it all.
Memories filled her mind—her parents and younger brother, Steve; her school days at Rift Valley Academy; the beautiful dark-skinned African students from the Bible college where her father taught; the brilliant aqua Indian Ocean, colorful sunbirds, the purple jacaranda trees, the fresh scent of the rain after months of sunshine and endless red dust.
All that was familiar from her growing-up years in Kenya had been stripped away when she returned to the U.S. Her music had been the only constant, bridging her old life to the new. But even after seven years, she sometimes still felt like a disconnected stranger in her homeland.
A huge chunk of her heart remained in Kenya, and even music couldn’t begin to fill the gaping hole there. A tear slipped down her cheek. She sniffed and brushed it away.
Ross walked back into the room carrying the kitchen trash can. He glanced at her, and his steps slowed. Lines of concern creased his forehead.
She looked away, snatched a tissue and wiped her nose. Her mother continued talking, telling her how happy her African friends were now that the rainy season had started and they could expect a good harvest in a few weeks.
Such simple joys in such a complicated world.
Ross quietly circled the living room, tossed two days’ worth of old newspapers in the trash can. He knelt beside her and picked up the used tissues from the floor. He hesitated and their gazes met.
Adrie pulled the phone away from her ear. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay. Enjoy your conversation.” He stood and straightened the stack of magazines on the coffee table, then carried two dirty glasses and the trash can back to the
“Thanks. It’s just a cold. I should be okay in a day or two.”
“Have you been taking care of yourself? Are you eating well and getting enough sleep? Taking your vitamins?”
Adrie couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, Mom, I’m being a good girl.”
“Sorry, honey. I know you’re an adult, but I’ll always be your mother, and I’m never going to stop loving you and wanting to know how you’re doing.”
Her throat tightened, and unexpected tears burned in her eyes. This was silly. She’d lived half a world away from her parents for almost seven years. But hearing her mother’s voice brought a fresh wave of pain to the surface.
“Thanks, Mom. I’m glad you called. Is Dad there?” The hope of talking to her father lifted her spirits. She loved him, but he wasn’t very good at staying in touch. It had been at least three months since they’d spoken on the phone.
“No, he’s up in Turkana teaching at a pastor’s conference this week.”
She tried to swallow away her disappointment. “Oh.”
“He’ll be back on Saturday. I’ll let him know we talked.”
Adrie cleared her throat. “Okay. You don’t have to tell him I’m sick. I’m sure I’ll be fine by then. I don’t want him to worry.”
“All right, dear.” Her mother launched into a review of her activities for the last few weeks. Then she shifted gears to tell her about a few friends. “Remember Ann Marie Snyder? She was a year behind you at RVA.”
“Sure. How is she doing?” Adrie nibbled on a cracker and stirred her soup. Fragrant steam rose and tickled her nose.
“Ann Marie married Michael Artman from your class. They came out to work in Nairobi with our mission last year, and they just had a baby girl. They named her Haley Joy. Oh, you should see her. She is just a little doll. She looks just like her mother.”
“Wow, Ann Marie and Mike had a baby?” It seemed like just yesterday she and Ann Marie had run across the RVA soccer fields, hiked to the waterfalls, and spent time laughing and talking about the future. Life had moved on for her friends and family, but that didn’t bother her nearly as much as realizing she was continents away and missing it all.
Memories filled her mind—her parents and younger brother, Steve; her school days at Rift Valley Academy; the beautiful dark-skinned African students from the Bible college where her father taught; the brilliant aqua Indian Ocean, colorful sunbirds, the purple jacaranda trees, the fresh scent of the rain after months of sunshine and endless red dust.
All that was familiar from her growing-up years in Kenya had been stripped away when she returned to the U.S. Her music had been the only constant, bridging her old life to the new. But even after seven years, she sometimes still felt like a disconnected stranger in her homeland.
A huge chunk of her heart remained in Kenya, and even music couldn’t begin to fill the gaping hole there. A tear slipped down her cheek. She sniffed and brushed it away.
Ross walked back into the room carrying the kitchen trash can. He glanced at her, and his steps slowed. Lines of concern creased his forehead.
She looked away, snatched a tissue and wiped her nose. Her mother continued talking, telling her how happy her African friends were now that the rainy season had started and they could expect a good harvest in a few weeks.
Such simple joys in such a complicated world.
Ross quietly circled the living room, tossed two days’ worth of old newspapers in the trash can. He knelt beside her and picked up the used tissues from the floor. He hesitated and their gazes met.
Adrie pulled the phone away from her ear. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay. Enjoy your conversation.” He stood and straightened the stack of magazines on the coffee table, then carried two dirty glasses and the trash can back to the
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