Grand Central Station

I am sitting outside tonight, talking on my cell phone, as dusk settles in around me. This town is absolutely silent. It truly is podunkville, but I love every part of it! It's gorgeous with it's rolling hills, gurgling streams, vegetable gardens, and Amish buggies. As I'm talking, lights glow in the townhouses across the parking lot. Other families from training are staying there. One set of parents have opened up their townhouse to all of the teens, and you can hear them playing a game. It's rowdy, involves group participation, and must be extremely addictive, because I've noticed them playing it all week. Every once in a while cheers from the townhouse will float across the parking lot to me. And in that moment, it dawns on me. Those parents must be the coolest parents on this trip. I know. How? Well, because I know what it's like to have the coolest parents in the world. Parents who allow the door to swing open on its hinges more than shut. Parents who gladly welcome in all ages of teens -- feed them, listen to them, and love them. I grew up with parents who allowed our youth group to take over our house. Mom always referred to our house as Grand Central Station. She was right. It was. And I'm glad to see that there are other parents out there just like that.