I’ve been thinking about how our parents are our first teachers. In particular, I’ve been thinking about how they provide our foundational relationship training. And the thought has made me a little uncomfortable. (Okay, perhaps, all out terrified!)
By the time the doctor in a small town in northern Thailand diagnosed my 11-year-old daughter with Typhoid, we had been on the road for 234 days, fallen asleep in 92 different beds, learned to say cheers in 24 different languages, and dealt with one other major illness. We had learned that strangers can become dear friends, that relics in the form of decaying body parts can make a boring church interesting, and that with the right attitude you can deal with most anything.