Missionaries and Swords

   As I was walking my son to his class this past Sunday, we came across the table that our visiting missionary  from Wales had set up in the foyer.  Double mortification here. 
     First off, they had a sword on the table and were so niceley offering for my four year old son to be able to touch it.  Are you kidding?  They have no idea the trouble with swords in our house.  My son will weild anything over two feet long.  We’ve replaced at least six in the past two years.  A sad array of sticks, foam swords, light sabers and glowy batons that all lost the battle with this little man.  Almost daily the boy says “Momma we need to get me a new sword.” to which I reply that he needs to learn how to take care of them.  I know this is utter nonsense to his mind.  I’m sure if I could peak in, he’d be thinking, “what am I doing wrong?  They’re for hitting right?  Can I help it if they don’t stand up to what’s being hit?  Does this woman know how many ‘bad guys’ I’ve saved her from with all of those swords?”  Nearly all the walls in the house have an area of needed repair or repaint and the dogs take off running at the sight of him with one of his swords.  However, I didn’t want to disappoint the missionary so I stood there with little man and “helped” him touch the sword.  Like one of those “helicopter” moms who don’t let their kids out of their sight for a second, I stood there uttering,  “th th thats enough.  put ,put it, put the sword down.”  He was amazed and in awe of the gleaming replicated blade and the impressive weight.  I’m sure as he sleeps now he’s dreaming of the dragons he could slay with that thing. 
     The second reason for mortification, was the very realization of who these missionaries were.  I knew them right away, no need for introduction.  Thankfully they didn’t remember me, or chose not to reveal any remembrance.  Thirteen years ago when 2nd man and I moved here, we were living in our church’s missions house.  Being a new bride I loved the idea of hosting someone for dinner.  During our very first missions conference with this church, these very missionaries I stood before today, were there.  I was going to pamper and impress them.  I might add, this was during my Martha Stewart adoration days.  I decided to make a brisket.  Seemed like a “fancy” cut of meat that people in Oklahoma were impressed with, though I’d never really had it growing up in Ohio.  Well, I cooked that thing into beef jerky and…I served it proudly, as if I’d accomplished something great.  They were very polite guests and as we all sat around chewing, and chewing, and chewing, we had nice conversations about cookware that she (the missionary’s wife) recommended.  After they left, I vowed never to cook anything “new” for guests again, at my husbands request.
      I’m still no Martha Stewart (as my husband and kids will attest over the corndogs I served them for dinner last night), but hopefully, I’ve learned a few things over the years.  One of those being  – take the missionaries out to eat.  That way they can eat what they want.  My husband and I can both focus on the conversation. and they won’t feel entrapped in your house if they need to get down the road to the next church or would like to go back to the hotel/missions house to rest.  But, one word of advice…..leave the swords in the car.

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