It's raining buckets today. Sideways buckets of cold cats and dogs pouring down and soaking every square inch of anything daring to venture outside. There's no umbrella big enough to keep you dry today and no sprint fast enough or short enough to prevent you from getting totally drenched.
I've been thinking a lot about Quincy today. Ya'll remember Quincy; our surrogate child who has been a part of our lives and poster child for our ministry since we moved in. We have watched him grow from averting his eyes whenever you spoke to him and being unable to express his complex emotions to laughing at himself, at life, and being able to both ask for and extend forgiveness. He was the only neighborhood child at the Mercy Street staff Christmas party because he said, "I work here, too.", and he made his own business cards out of Trey's extras.
Quincy Hill, Helper.
Last week, he moved from West Dallas. Like so many we see, and have seen especially lately, our kids' broken families move to try to escape a difficult situation, neighborhood, relationship, or school system hoping the next will be a way out. It will be better, more affordable, more stable, and more fair. Sometimes it is better; most times it is the same with a different backdrop. I had a friend tell me once that it doesn't matter where you go, you still have to take you with you. The issue is not the location, it is the condition.
Sure, we'll get to see him some but I miss him. I miss him stopping by on his way home from school running around the house with the kids. I miss hugging his neck and kissing his forehead telling him we were having spinach and brussel sprouts for dinner and would he like to stay. As it pours down today, I wonder how wet and cold Quincy will be when he walks into an empty apartment this afternoon. There are strangers above him, below him, and on either side and nothing is familiar.
I pray that he leans into the One who knows him most intimately and who never moves or changes. I pray He will extend our reach far beyond this zip code.