Last night I interviewed two girls. They live about six miles from me, and the trip to their house should have been an easy one. Except that I turned west when the directions said east. By the time I got turned the right way, I was ten minutes late for the interview.
The visit with the girls, ages 11 and 15, made my wanderings worthwhile. They came to the United States from Russia five years ago when they were adopted by a local family. The stories they told about the changes they’ve endured – learning a new language, adjusting to a new culture and leaving their birth country behind – were astounding. Yet these girls were grateful for the changes and their new life, though they miss the grandmother they left behind.
On my way home, I noticed that the soybean fields have all turned from green to brown this past week. The assurance of expected changes of seasons steadied me as I drove up my familiar driveway. And I wondered if, the next time my life turns a new direction, I will accept the change with as much gratitude as did the two young girls with whom I shared an early fall evening.
