"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door . . . you step into the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to . . . ". These familiar words have found a strange new meaning to me recently, as I’ve considered the 365+ days that have slipped past since returning to India last June. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like had I not made that first trip in 2005. Or even the 2 following trips. I wonder what it would be like to wake up every morning to bare walls; absent of the large map of New Delhi prominently displayed over my desk, framed by newspaper articles and newsletters. I wonder what I would keep on my dresser, aside from the several framed photos of people I would die for, accentuated by a handmade Indian scarf (who’s tribal colors would, I’ve been told, get me killed no-questions-asked, were I to wear it in certain areas of North India), an 18-inch Maharaja sword, a signed Cricket ball, and a hand-made leather journal, among many other keepsakes thats meaning (and value) would be lost to anyone but myself.
It’s been a long 5 years. I haven’t had the flu since then. It’s odd; I keep thinking I’ll get it any day, but year after year goes by and I don’t get sick. My theory is that I picked up some strange foreign bacteria that first trip and it has altered my immune system such that the common flu cannot affect me anymore, though I have no evidence to back it up. Since that first trip I've been on 6 more mission trips, 4 of them just within the past 2 years. I guess you could say I've got the travelling bug. I bought a car. I've finished 2 years of college. I am now a proud Uncle twice over. Life has moved on, and moved on quickly. You may be wondering why I haven’t come back to explain the Lord of the Rings quote in my opening line. Could be that it’s after 3 AM and my thoughts are jumbled. Could be that I figure if you’ve read this far, you won’t mind reading a bit further for the connection (which isn’t terribly difficult to figure out on your own by the way). Perhaps this is an inaccurate assumption on my part and the last thing you will have remembered reading that I’ve written is this seemingly structure-less monologue. In that case I won’t apologize for boring you because you’ve already stopped reading.
In all seriousness, I don’t necessarily expect much of what I’m trying to convey to make sense. I cannot say that all of it makes sense to me. I suppose that’s sort of the point. This journey has changed me in ways that words will not begin to justify. That’s why Bilbo’s musings resonate so deeply in my heart when I think about how the things I’ve experienced have had such a profound impact on the way I view things—every single waking moment of my life since. I’m not talking about some cute, warm and fuzzy, super-spiritual kumbaya feeling in the deepest depths of my tummy. I’m telling you my life will never be the same again, whether I want it to or not. When you experience things that have this kind of impact on your life, it changes you. For better, or for worse--it changes you forever. And I really hope that you wanted to be changed, because ignoring it doesn't work. I've seen people try. It just makes them miserable.
When you step out your door, whether that step was by your own naïve decision or caused in part by some fantastical (or not so much) wizardry invoked by someone who knows you far too well, you are confronted with things that will be irrevocably captured in your memory. Why do you think I’m still awake? My life has become quite (frustratingly at times) tangled with the plotline of this new story. There was a collision, and the world I lived in previous to the beginning of my real life has been shattered beyond repair. The sad part is that I don’t always want what’s real.
Last week I held my niece for the second time. As she slept in my arms I remembered an orphanage I visited outside Delhi last year. Even outside of comparison to other children’s homes I’ve visited, this place was a palace. I have no doubts that the children living there were receiving the best possible care in the country, maybe even the best possible, period. Nevertheless, all it took was one sleeping child to rock my entire world back on its heels. She was lying asleep in a crib. She couldn’t have been more than 2 or 3 months old. She was severely malnourished; legs and arms nothing but skin and bone. But oddly enough it was not these facts that struck me. It was her face. It is an image that, even over a year later, is perfectly etched on my memory and is not likely to fade any time soon. Her face was perfect. I don’t think I could ever make anyone understand what I mean when I say perfect. I mean that this tiny child, peacefully oblivious of the dire reality surrounding her and even threatening her very life while she dreamt, was possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. I mean that my lungs suddenly felt painfully short of air, and I quickly passed her crib because the urge to pick her up and hold her was much too strong. Had I even been privileged enough to have permission to do this, I may have still turned down the opportunity simply because letting her go would have been too painful. You can call me melodramatic if you like, but my hands still shake while I type this.
Thinking back on this journey it’s impossible not to reflect on the relationships that have been formed along the way. Like the lessons learned and the things I’ve experienced, the people I’ve met and worked side-by-side with have left a mark on my life that will never leave me alone. Much akin to the unlikely "Fellowship" of Tolkien’s stories, my own journey has included a Fellowship of its own—I daresay even more unlikely and diverse than anything Tolkien could have ever dreamed up. Truth really is stranger than fiction, after all. These are not people that I would choose for my "Dream Team" of travelling companions. They are not necessarily people I would have expected or wanted along for the ride. But the pieces of life we’ve shared are more precious to me than any souvenir. I could spend hours simply telling you what I’ve learned from these little pieces. Some of these people I can’t even discuss in detail for their own safety’s sake. These people have taken lives. These are people the world gave up on. They have sacrificed health, money, and fame. They left behind their families, their countries, and their homes. Once dead, now transformed; once cut off and downtrodden, now sisters and brothers, brought together for one purpose—to do such a work that you would not believe, even if I told you.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Letting Go: Michelle & Melena
". . . I'm not a schemer. I try to show the schemers how pathetic their attempts to control things really are . . . It's the schemers that put you where you are. You were a schemer, you had plans, and uh, look where that got you. I just did what I do best. I took your little plan and I turned it on itself . . . You know what I noticed? Nobody panics when things go according to plan. Even if the plan is horrifying . . . nobody panics, because it's all, part of the plan."
-Joker, Excerpts from "The Dark Knight"
It was one of those nights that almost seemed like it was going to be totally unremarkable when it was all said and done. My doubts about my purpose in coming to Daytona Beach for Spring Break had caught up with me and were wreaking havoc on my confidence that this was in fact God’s will for me. This was the eighth mission trip I’d been on--my fifth just within the past 2 years. Sometimes it’s hard to gauge whether you’re actually called to go back, or whether you’re just looking for a spiritual "high" that often accompanies a service trip. My second-guessing continued well into this particular week and intensified ten-fold after the first day and a half, only having one conversation in the total of six hours we’d hit the beach and boardwalk doing contact evangelism. I tried to battle the discouragement and frustration that quickly arose as we approached people, and time after time were rejected. I didn’t want to have a bad attitude, but I had come with the intention of having good conversations with people about the Gospel, not wandering aimlessly down the beach, begging God to just let someone give us the time of day. I didn’t understand. And I couldn’t help asking God, why? I’m here. I’m willing. I came with pure intentions. So why can’t I just have "that one conversation"? As is often the case, God was simply preparing me for something bigger—I just didn’t realize it yet.
I am one of these aforementioned "schemers", trying to control my little world. Time and again God pries my hands off of what rightfully belongs to Him, and I am humbled and reminded that nothing is in my control. I need to let go. I’d like to say that these were my thoughts as our caravan neared the boardwalk on the evening of March 30th, but while I had certainly decided to let go, my attitude was much closer to that of shrugging my shoulders and saying "whatever", than that of trusting God to see His will accomplished.
My partner, Rebekah, and I had barely met previous to this particular evening, so as we strolled towards the boardwalk we began getting to know each other a bit better. We arrived at an open courtyard behind a strip of Bars & Restaurants, a Cinema Complex, and other tourist shops and attractions. There was a stage where concerts are obviously held off to our left, and straight ahead was a wall bordering the boardwalk. Along the wall we saw several pockets of people, high school kids, couples, even families, no doubt taking in the beautiful evening view of the beach. "What about them?" Rebekah asked me. She pointed towards two silhouettes almost directly in front of us across the courtyard. I couldn’t make out who these two individuals might be because they happened to be standing under the only light along the wall that was not currently functioning. I shrugged, "Sure, why not?" I said. After all, the worst they can do is say they don’t want to talk, right? We approached and introduced ourselves. They were mother and daughter, and though at this moment the four of us were far from any realizations about this encounter, this meeting had been set in place before the beginning of time; a divine appointment that could have only been arranged by an Almighty Creator.
After stating why we had approached them, Melena, the mother, started firing off questions at us, not even giving us much chance to answer.
"Why are you doing this? What do you believe? Do you believe in abortion?" She finally paused, waiting.
"No" we both answered.
"We do!" she stated emphatically. She waited, clearly expecting a reaction from us.
If she was expecting us to scream at her or pull out our Bibles and start beating her with them, she was disappointed. I can’t say at this point that I was expecting this conversation to progress much further, but then Melena asked, "How do you feel about me asking you guys all these questions?"
We laughed and stated that we were happy to answer her questions.
Though I didn’t realize it at that moment, the first barrier had just fallen. Melena and her daughter, Michelle, completely opened up to us and shared about their long and diverse history with religion. Michelle had just graduated from high school and was actually considering a major in religious studies. This family had experienced everything from Lutheran services, to Catholic, Mormon and Pentecostal churches, to Muslim mosques. They hadn’t been terribly impressed with any of them, and in some cases had faced blatant rejection for everything from the fact that Melena was bi-racial, to living with her partner outside marriage, to bringing her gay Nephew and his partner to these services. My heart broke for them with the knowledge that they were seeking answers so passionately and yet coming up short time after time. I shared briefly with them that I too, though from an entirely different background, had also faced rejection and a sense of isolation in the church. It had taken a serious faith crisis and a trip halfway across the world, to India, for me to make my faith my own and question what made my faith the one and only absolute truth.
At a certain point it hit me that this conversation had gone far beyond four strangers standing on the boardwalk talking. We were four friends, four fellow travelers, discussing life’s un-answerable questions, trying to come to a conclusion about the meaning of life and what God’s purpose might be for us. I didn’t just want to see them come to know Christ because I wanted to be able to say it happened and I was there to see it, I wanted to go before God—fall on my face and weep; beg that He reveal Himself to them; to set them free. My heart was broken for them in much the same way that I’m sure God’s heart breaks for those who do not know Him. I loved them.
Occasionally you will hear someone say that the words they spoke were not their own when they were sharing the Gospel. It’s cliché, I know. But it’s also true. There was no "out of body" experience, no flashing lights or tongues of fire. But I know that I never have and never will be capable of speaking the way I spoke that night outside the power of the Holy Spirit. Rebekah and I had barely met, yet we were finishing each other’s thoughts as if we’d been tag-teaming for years. Michelle and Melena spoke with us for almost an hour. We shared the entire Gospel with them—when it was all said and done we’d both shared our testimonies, as well as attempting to answer 5 or 6 tough questions that these two threw at us. There was no prayer at the end. No conversion or promise of one. We said goodnight and headed our separate ways.
Part of me wishes I had thought to ask for their contact information. But I’m glad I didn’t. It would have been another failed attempt on my part to close my fist around it. To try and control it. It’s in God’s hands—as it always has been. As it should be. We sat on a nearby bench for almost 20 minutes after we’d parted ways with Michelle and Melena and cried out to God, praising Him for His power and mercy, His eternal love for us. I couldn’t even stand; I was shaking so badly. I don’t think I’ll ever stop scheming. I’ll always struggle with trying to plan everything out. Trying to hold on tightly; trying to arrest control or at least maintain some illusion of it. But when I do, I might think twice. I may think back to the night I met Michelle and Melena. And I might remember what happens when I let go.
-Joker, Excerpts from "The Dark Knight"
It was one of those nights that almost seemed like it was going to be totally unremarkable when it was all said and done. My doubts about my purpose in coming to Daytona Beach for Spring Break had caught up with me and were wreaking havoc on my confidence that this was in fact God’s will for me. This was the eighth mission trip I’d been on--my fifth just within the past 2 years. Sometimes it’s hard to gauge whether you’re actually called to go back, or whether you’re just looking for a spiritual "high" that often accompanies a service trip. My second-guessing continued well into this particular week and intensified ten-fold after the first day and a half, only having one conversation in the total of six hours we’d hit the beach and boardwalk doing contact evangelism. I tried to battle the discouragement and frustration that quickly arose as we approached people, and time after time were rejected. I didn’t want to have a bad attitude, but I had come with the intention of having good conversations with people about the Gospel, not wandering aimlessly down the beach, begging God to just let someone give us the time of day. I didn’t understand. And I couldn’t help asking God, why? I’m here. I’m willing. I came with pure intentions. So why can’t I just have "that one conversation"? As is often the case, God was simply preparing me for something bigger—I just didn’t realize it yet.
I am one of these aforementioned "schemers", trying to control my little world. Time and again God pries my hands off of what rightfully belongs to Him, and I am humbled and reminded that nothing is in my control. I need to let go. I’d like to say that these were my thoughts as our caravan neared the boardwalk on the evening of March 30th, but while I had certainly decided to let go, my attitude was much closer to that of shrugging my shoulders and saying "whatever", than that of trusting God to see His will accomplished.
My partner, Rebekah, and I had barely met previous to this particular evening, so as we strolled towards the boardwalk we began getting to know each other a bit better. We arrived at an open courtyard behind a strip of Bars & Restaurants, a Cinema Complex, and other tourist shops and attractions. There was a stage where concerts are obviously held off to our left, and straight ahead was a wall bordering the boardwalk. Along the wall we saw several pockets of people, high school kids, couples, even families, no doubt taking in the beautiful evening view of the beach. "What about them?" Rebekah asked me. She pointed towards two silhouettes almost directly in front of us across the courtyard. I couldn’t make out who these two individuals might be because they happened to be standing under the only light along the wall that was not currently functioning. I shrugged, "Sure, why not?" I said. After all, the worst they can do is say they don’t want to talk, right? We approached and introduced ourselves. They were mother and daughter, and though at this moment the four of us were far from any realizations about this encounter, this meeting had been set in place before the beginning of time; a divine appointment that could have only been arranged by an Almighty Creator.
After stating why we had approached them, Melena, the mother, started firing off questions at us, not even giving us much chance to answer.
"Why are you doing this? What do you believe? Do you believe in abortion?" She finally paused, waiting.
"No" we both answered.
"We do!" she stated emphatically. She waited, clearly expecting a reaction from us.
If she was expecting us to scream at her or pull out our Bibles and start beating her with them, she was disappointed. I can’t say at this point that I was expecting this conversation to progress much further, but then Melena asked, "How do you feel about me asking you guys all these questions?"
We laughed and stated that we were happy to answer her questions.
Though I didn’t realize it at that moment, the first barrier had just fallen. Melena and her daughter, Michelle, completely opened up to us and shared about their long and diverse history with religion. Michelle had just graduated from high school and was actually considering a major in religious studies. This family had experienced everything from Lutheran services, to Catholic, Mormon and Pentecostal churches, to Muslim mosques. They hadn’t been terribly impressed with any of them, and in some cases had faced blatant rejection for everything from the fact that Melena was bi-racial, to living with her partner outside marriage, to bringing her gay Nephew and his partner to these services. My heart broke for them with the knowledge that they were seeking answers so passionately and yet coming up short time after time. I shared briefly with them that I too, though from an entirely different background, had also faced rejection and a sense of isolation in the church. It had taken a serious faith crisis and a trip halfway across the world, to India, for me to make my faith my own and question what made my faith the one and only absolute truth.
At a certain point it hit me that this conversation had gone far beyond four strangers standing on the boardwalk talking. We were four friends, four fellow travelers, discussing life’s un-answerable questions, trying to come to a conclusion about the meaning of life and what God’s purpose might be for us. I didn’t just want to see them come to know Christ because I wanted to be able to say it happened and I was there to see it, I wanted to go before God—fall on my face and weep; beg that He reveal Himself to them; to set them free. My heart was broken for them in much the same way that I’m sure God’s heart breaks for those who do not know Him. I loved them.
Occasionally you will hear someone say that the words they spoke were not their own when they were sharing the Gospel. It’s cliché, I know. But it’s also true. There was no "out of body" experience, no flashing lights or tongues of fire. But I know that I never have and never will be capable of speaking the way I spoke that night outside the power of the Holy Spirit. Rebekah and I had barely met, yet we were finishing each other’s thoughts as if we’d been tag-teaming for years. Michelle and Melena spoke with us for almost an hour. We shared the entire Gospel with them—when it was all said and done we’d both shared our testimonies, as well as attempting to answer 5 or 6 tough questions that these two threw at us. There was no prayer at the end. No conversion or promise of one. We said goodnight and headed our separate ways.
Part of me wishes I had thought to ask for their contact information. But I’m glad I didn’t. It would have been another failed attempt on my part to close my fist around it. To try and control it. It’s in God’s hands—as it always has been. As it should be. We sat on a nearby bench for almost 20 minutes after we’d parted ways with Michelle and Melena and cried out to God, praising Him for His power and mercy, His eternal love for us. I couldn’t even stand; I was shaking so badly. I don’t think I’ll ever stop scheming. I’ll always struggle with trying to plan everything out. Trying to hold on tightly; trying to arrest control or at least maintain some illusion of it. But when I do, I might think twice. I may think back to the night I met Michelle and Melena. And I might remember what happens when I let go.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Death is the Road to Awe
Someone recently told me they were afraid to die. I laughed it off. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because the thought of someone so young dying seemed so unlikely. I don’t know why. Death has no prejudice. It doesn’t play favorites. No one escapes its grasp. I do know this. In fact, death is something I have spent a fair measure of time thinking about as well. I just finished watching "The Fountain", a movie about the journey of a man coming to terms with the death of his wife. It was beautiful. Thomas, the main character, spends a large portion of the movie trying to discover a cure for his wife’s brain tumor. "Death is a disease", he exclaims at one point. "It’s like any other. And there’s a cure. And I will find it."
His wife, Izzy, on the other hand, seems to have very few qualms about leaving her life. In fact, many a time throughout the story she seems to be more alive than he is. I almost wonder if that was the whole point. During his race to find a cure, it crossed my mind that Thomas was letting his precious time to spend with her slip past, while he toiled away, trying to slow down the inevitable. All the while, his wife patiently waits for him to listen, as she tries to convince him, there is nothing to fear in death. "The road to awe", she calls it.
Eternity is hard to wrap our fragile minds around. Immortality. It may be hard to grasp, but we still try. Yet many of us fail to realize, like Thomas, that we are spending our entire lives chasing something we already have. We will live forever. Jesus said He came and died to give us eternal life. I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in this almost inconceivable concept of eternity that we fail to realize the key word here is life. We were created to be immortal. We were destined from our first breath to live eternally. Our sin brought physical death to humanity, but it did not change the reality that we are eternal beings.
So maybe we’ve got it all backwards. Is that so hard to imagine? Maybe it’s not eternity we should be chasing. Maybe we misunderstand our thirst for immortality. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe life is what we’re chasing. And maybe we aren’t actually living it the way we should. Maybe we’re chasing after the One who showed us how to live it. Or maybe we should be.
His wife, Izzy, on the other hand, seems to have very few qualms about leaving her life. In fact, many a time throughout the story she seems to be more alive than he is. I almost wonder if that was the whole point. During his race to find a cure, it crossed my mind that Thomas was letting his precious time to spend with her slip past, while he toiled away, trying to slow down the inevitable. All the while, his wife patiently waits for him to listen, as she tries to convince him, there is nothing to fear in death. "The road to awe", she calls it.
Eternity is hard to wrap our fragile minds around. Immortality. It may be hard to grasp, but we still try. Yet many of us fail to realize, like Thomas, that we are spending our entire lives chasing something we already have. We will live forever. Jesus said He came and died to give us eternal life. I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in this almost inconceivable concept of eternity that we fail to realize the key word here is life. We were created to be immortal. We were destined from our first breath to live eternally. Our sin brought physical death to humanity, but it did not change the reality that we are eternal beings.
So maybe we’ve got it all backwards. Is that so hard to imagine? Maybe it’s not eternity we should be chasing. Maybe we misunderstand our thirst for immortality. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe life is what we’re chasing. And maybe we aren’t actually living it the way we should. Maybe we’re chasing after the One who showed us how to live it. Or maybe we should be.
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