Truffles from Heaven

It is utterly amazing that the majestic, all powerful God who created the very universe is interested in caring for my every heartache. I often think of God as a provider, but sometimes I focus so closely on His providing for my physical needs (e.g. food on the table, clothes on my back, etc) that I forget the intimate way He cares for my soul.

As a single missionary living an ocean away from the people I love and care for most in this world, I have come to cherish God in a way I never really understood before; as the Lover of my Soul. In a country where I can barely speak the language let alone understand the cross cultural boundaries, there are days that my heart cries out to be loved. Days like today when my puppy (who we adopted in a perhaps slightly misguided attempt to break the ice and meet new people) has diarrhea all over my kitchen floor... all over the sidewalk... all over the street. In front of disgusted passers-by... in front of a carload of people stopped at a light... in front of a horrified me who wants to crawl into a hole of embarrassment.

Holding my breath against the chemical warfare quality smell, I look at the brown puddle coagulating next to a parked car. Shoulders sagging I switch my gaze to the ever so tiny, heart imprinted poopy bag I've pulled from the cutesy 'I-just-had-to-have-it-plastic-fire-hydrant-baggie-holder' and I know a moment of defeat.

People on the street stop and stare as if to say “You'd better clean that up off our beautiful Italian streets you stupid foreigner.”

I stand and stare at the mess as if to say, “I don't know what I'm going to do... I really am a stupid foreigner.”

And my puppy is sitting on the sidewalk staring up at me as if to say, “Where is my treat and by the way, what ARE you going to do?”

I shake my head. Why did I want a puppy again? It's the kind of day where I'd rather curl into a ball and melt into oblivion rather than face reality. But God knows and He sees the depths of my heart even in a situation that is far from dire.

I make a pathetic attempt to clean up the mess and decide to take the long way around the block to get back to my apartment (better that no one see where I live). Heading home I round one corner and then the next and walk straight into two little boys playing on the sidewalk. I'm fully prepared to steer my tiny bundle of frustration far, far around them. But as in America, little boys in Italy must be puppy magnets too.

The boys run towards the dog, the dog run towards the boys, and somewhere in the middle the happy threesome meet. Their little faces are aglow with puppy love as they pummel me with questions (in Italian). “What is her name?” “How old is she?” “Isn't she so cute?”

My brain struggles to keep up as I mentally fumble to translate and answer over and over again. Then they hit me with it, the question I don't understand. A long rambling question that I can't translate or even guess at what it means. My face falls as I admit almost begrudgingly, “non parlo molto Italiano.” (I don't speak lots of Italian). The boys look at me funny and I feel the need to explain that I speak English.

Their eyebrows shoot sky high, “English?” They repeat it as if it were Martian.

“Si Englese. Sono Americana,” (Yes English, I'm an American).

This time their eyes light up like little Christmas trees as they jump up and down giggling, “Americana? Americana? BELLISIMA! Americana... bella bella bellisima...” I miss half the words that are tumbling out of their little mouths but one thing is clear, their joy in meeting a real live American is contagious and pretty soon I'm grinning and giggling right along with them. One of the boys jumps up and runs down the street, “Mama, Mama!!! Americana!” Before I know it I am surrounded by people asking me questions and smiling from ear to ear. My puppy is sitting like a little angel, relishing in all the attention and I feel like my heart is smiling. Not because I'm surrounded by a sidewalk full of people who love Americans, but because I have a Father who knew my heartache and sent two sweet little boys to share their joy.

A friend recently told me to, “keep looking out for those 'truffles from Heaven' those yummy sweet blessings that God sends to remind us that He made us, He loves us, and He showers us with blessings.” It truly amazes me that I have a God who loves me so much He delights in giving me smiles when sometimes all I have is frowns.


***Written December 2009***