My father-in-law and stepmother-in-law are moving up from Florida today. They’re buying our old house, which is pretty cool. When we moved out, the boys were so upset…they just loved that house. I remember sitting at the table with them, when Zach said, “I just wish that somebody we know would buy this house so I can come back to it and visit.” He had the saddest little face when he said that.
So, stepping out onto a limb of faith (and having NO idea that my FIL or anyone else for that matter was interested in living there), I said, “You know what? Let’s pray for that then.” And my two sons and I held hands and prayed a simple, sincere prayer for God to grant the desire of their hearts.
When we found out that Grandpa and Nana Penny were coming, I reminded the boys that they were seeing the answer to their prayers. And you should’ve seen their faces light up. I’m sure that they’d forgotten that brief prayer at the table that day, but when they remembered, they smiled like it was Christmas morning. I mean, what better people to live in your beloved old house than your grandparents?
It probably sounds sappy, but I’m actually tearing up now typing this as I think about the goodness of God, how he heard the prayers of those two little boys, and provided this for them. And, wow…it’s just such an amazing privilege to mother these boys and be able to witness them growing in their faith. It’s just indescribable, really, how fulfilling that feels. I want them to know the reality of God. How beautiful to see them taste it in such a tangible way.
Now you must be asking, “Where in the world do banjos come into the picture?” Well, see…I love my relatives, and I’m glad that they’re moving here. But as I told a friend recently, I will soon have more redneck stories in my arsenal than Jeff Foxworthy. (By the way, did I ever tell you that my Uncle Don coached Jeff’s high school baseball team? True story.)
See, my FIL is a big-hearted, heavily tattooed, country-music-loving, truck-driving, fishing, boating, hunting outdoorsy type. When we mentioned that we often see deer in our backyard, he replied, “You know, I could come over there with my bow and arrow and take one out without making a sound. No one would ever know…” So that’s why I say, if a soundtrack accompanied the story of his moving here, it would rely heavily on the banjos…and maybe a fiddle and an old guy blowing into a moonshine jug.