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“Hey, Mr. Scott?” Woong plopped onto the couch and wiped ketchup stains off his face with the back of his hand. “You know what I’m wondering?”
Scott felt so relaxed even though he knew he had to get back to his apartment soon. Carl was famous for his Sunday afternoon naps, and Scott didn’t want to impose on his family’s hospitality more than he already had.
“No,” he answered Woong. “What?”
“What I’m wondering is how come God sends out tapestries in the first place.”
Scott tried to make sense of the question. The Lindgrens had adopted Woong from a South Korean orphanage, and even though there wasn’t a trace of an accent to his English, he still got his words confused every once in a while. “Tapestries?”
“Yeah. You know, people who travel all over to Africa and Alaska and stuff and nonsense like that to teach them folks who never asked Jesus into their hearts how to do it right.”
Scott chuckled. “They’re called missionaries.”
Woong frowned and cocked his head to the side. “Isn’t that what I said? Why’s God have people do that?”
Scott was about to tell Woong about the Great Commission, Jesus’ last command to his disciples before he was taken up to heaven, but Woong still had more questions.
“Here’s what I mean. Dad says that God already knows who’s going to heaven and who isn’t. I even heard him talk about it one Sunday. There was some sort of fancy word for it. The doctor of electives, I think he called it, or something close to it.”
Before Scott could offer any corrections, Woong continued.
“And here’s what I was thinking. Let’s say my dad’s right, which I know he is on account of him being a pastor and stuff and nonsense like that. So that means God already knows which folks are on their way to heaven and which folks have to spend forever in the other place. Now what I’m wanting to know is why people like you bother going out and being tapestries since God’s already got his mind made up.”
Scott stared at Woong, wondering how to simplify a debate that had made waves in the Christian church for centuries. “Well,” he began, not because he knew what he was going to say next but because he figured he had to start somewhere. “The important thing to remember when we talk about the Lord is that ...”
“Woong, honey,” Sandy called from the kitchen, “I need you to clear those dishes off the table and gave Mr. Scott a chance to relax, ok, baby?”
Woong pouted. “I’m not a baby,” he grumbled and slid off the couch.
Carl came down the hall after taking off his tie. He lowered himself into the chair across from Scott with a groan. “I’m getting too old for this.”
From the dining room, Woong asked his mom questions which she answered patiently as she loaded up the dishwasher. Scott was always impressed when he came to the Lindgrens’ home. There was a peacefulness here, a kind of calm that he couldn’t quite explain. He wasn’t sure if it was a result of Sandy’s homemaking skills, maybe all the framed Bible verses she put up on the walls, or the love that radiated from this couple who’d spent their lives raising foster kids, adopted kids, biological kids, and grandkids.
All he knew was that he felt more at peace here than he did anywhere else on the globe. And no matter how far away God called him in the future, it would be nice to have a place like this waiting for him upon his return.
A place to call home.