First Contact

There is a park close to Heartsease that is perfect for my children. We went there weekly even before we moved. It has the usual playground equipment — slide, swings, sandbox, climbing gym — and is nestled in a lot encircled by several apartment buildings. We’re never the only people playing there. Normally a few toddlers and their parents come and go, and less frequently gangs of school children. But while Miriam has played with several small acquaintances, none of their parents — who heard me speaking English to my children — have ever tried talking to me.

But one day Teo rode his little blue bike to the park, and another little boy wanted to play with it. His mother asked, in Czech, if he could borrow it, and I assured her he could. (It’s surprising how much you can understand through hand gestures and a few words). The little boy scooted around on Teo’s bike for a bit, then went to play in the sandbox where my kids were playing together. His mom returned the bike and thanked me before following him. A few minutes later, Miriam came up to me and said, “Mom,that lady was talking to me in English.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, looking towards the little boy’s mother.

“Yes. She said ‘hello’ to me.”

“Oh, well, that’s ok then,” I said. A lot of people know how to say hello.

I followed Miriam back over to the sandbox where she got me involved in a game of “ice cream shop.” She would ask me for my flavor preference, then pour sand into an available ice cream cone mold for me to “eat.” When Miriam offered the little boy’s mother an ice cream cone, I was surprised to hear her respond, in perfect English, “Yes,I would love ice cream. May I have a vanilla cone, please?” I laughed. “Thank you,” I said. “Miriam loves playing with other people.” To which the woman replied, “She’s very nice.”

Now I was getting excited. I had no idea how far this accidental park relationship would go, but it was nice to be talking to someone. At this point the little boy (who was probably two) decided he wanted to use Teo’s bike again, and this time his mother asked me, in English, if he could borrow it. “Of course,” I said, and watched him ride off, with his mother tailing him close behind.

Of course, as soon as she took her eyes off him for a moment to get something out of her bag, he took off down a dip in the walkway close to me and took a big tumble at the bottom. His mother and I both rushed over to help him as he cried and shrieked, and when she picked him up I saw that his chinwas covered in blood. “Oh no! I’m so sorry,” I said. I felt so bad that he’d injured himself on our bike, and I figured his mother would rush him away at once to bandage him up. But she was very chill. “It’s alright,” she said. “He’s always injuring himself somehow. This isn’t new.”

I offered her a bandage, but she was already dabbing up the blood and replied that they lived just next door in one of the apartment buildings, and that she’d take care of it there. But instead of leaving, she started to ask questions. Where did I live? That street? Her mother lived there. Why was I in Hradec? She’d lived in England for many years, and her oldest son had no one to speak English with. How long would we be here?

“Quite awhile,” I replied. “We love this area, and my daughter will be starting school just down the street.”

“Really?” She replied. “That school called my mother to come and help in a class because they were expecting a little English-speaking child. It must be your daughter. My mother has been so nervous, wondering how it would go, but now that I’ve seen Miriam I’ll be able to tell her she has absolutely nothing to worry about.” After which we said goodbye to each other and she went home.

I left the park super excited. Not only had I gotten the chance to talk to someone, but we had another picture now of how God was providing for Miriam at her new school. And sure enough, when we brought Miriam in for orientation day, the woman’s mother introduced herself to us and mentioned how I’d met her daughter and grandson in the park. It was a happy meet-up for me, another link in the chain of God’s goodness. And as we watched Miriam happily running off to play, I prayed there’d be more connections to follow.

About the author: Caity Lucchi started telling Bible stories as a teenager and never stopped. As an adult she left her home in Iowa to go “on mission” with her husband and two young children in the Czech Republic. She loves being able to share her passion for Jesus stories in the Czech Republic and across Europe. In her free time, Caity enjoys writing, traveling, learning new languages, and caring for her new lawn and garden.

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