There are days when I come to my mid-day time with the Lord, and all I can do is lay on the couch and cry. It doesn't happen often, but a little more frequently these days. A couple days ago, was one of those days. In those times, I like to imagine that I'm laying in the Father's arms, and just listen to His gentle voice. I hear Him say the most amazing things: I'm proud of you; I love you just as you are; I'm everything you need; your obedience pleases me; I delight in you; Stay with me and just rest. Other times I receive a challenge: Go to your neighbor who needs a listening ear; Call so and so; Love your husband and your child - really love them; Keep moving ahead; Fear not, trust me! After those times, I always wonder why I don't stop and just listen more often. My soul is refreshed and my confidence is renewed.
A couple days ago, my neighbor friend was asking me why we were going to India - "Aren't they OK on their own? They have a religion they are happy with and they have a pretty good way of life going - in some ways better than our own. Aren't you just gonna mess that up, bringing your religion and culture?" I did my best to explain that we weren't going there to change their religion and culture, just to bring Hope and Love to those who have none. It was an interesting exchange and the questions didn't surprise me, but she was the first to actually question our motives. And even though I wasn't surprised, it did sting just a bit, having my motives questioned. That afternoon when I was laying on my couch, imagining myself in the Father's arms, He reminded me of the life of Jesus. How Christ was constantly questioned by the people around him. "What good can come from Nazareth??"; "Whose authority are you using - God's or Satan's?"; "What are you trying to do?". Obviously my friend's questions pale in comparison. I wondered where Jesus's confidence came from. Jesus was always able to answer, "I always/only do what the Father tells me."
The Father reminded me of the very intimate times Jesus spent with Him each and every morning before dawn, away in a quiet place. Jesus's confidence came from the same source that my confidence must come from: the Father. The truth of the matter is, the only reason that we are going to India is because we know that God is asking us to go. And that is all the confidence I need to move ahead.
I guess this is what I'm trying to get at. Jesus always knew what the Father's will was, because He spent intimate time with the Father each morning. Throughout the day, Jesus drew upon this intimacy with confidence to do amazing things - healed the sick, taught new truths to hardened hearts, discerned where he should and should not go, and ultimately faced death on a cross. He suffered criticism, shame, rejection, and was denied by His closest friends. But He always pressed on, knowing the mission His Father gave Him and His Father's delight in Him.
What is it that I need, that we all need, to carry on Jesus' kingdom work wherever we are? What is it that we need to obey God in full trust? What do we need to do amazing things that bring glory to the Father? Where does the confidence we need come from? It's pretty simple - intimacy with the Father. All else flows from there.
Father, fix my heart and my hope on You. Amen.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
That all things will be well: A Day at Momma T's
Morning Prayer said by the Missionaries of Charity:
"Dear Lord, the Great Healer, I kneel before You, since every perfect gift must come from You. I pray give skill to my hands, clear vision to my mind, kindness and meekness to my heart. Give me singleness of purpose, strength to lift up a part of the burden of my suffering fellow men, and a true realization of the privilege that is mine. Take from my heart all guile and worldliness, that with the simple faith of a child, I may rely on You. Amen.
We have our hope in Jesus
That all things will be well
in the Lord."
Grant and I spent one morning at one of Mother Teresa's homes for disabled, ill, and/or destitute adults. Prem Dan is located in on of the worst slums of the city. Just in front of the entrance, two dead rats where being eaten by crows. The shanty homes outside were pieced together by whatever materials could be salvaged from trash heaps. The home is just a short walk from the Eastern Railway Station where scores of homeless and beggars stake their ground on the platforms. Amidst this astonishing poverty is an oasis of greenery, clean walkways, and smiling nuns. As we were greeted by men and women with heart-wrenching ailments, I was astonished once again by the joy that the poor carry in their spirits. They are not "poor in spirit" by any means. As I reached out my hands and greetings to disfigured women, they gave even more - smiles, kisses, happiness that I had chosen to wear Bengali "marriage" bangles.
As I looked around at the simpleness of their accommodation, lifestyle, beds, food, the cockroaches crawling in beds and on walls, the many heads infested with lice, I wondered if these women truly felt cared for. And yet, there was not even a hint that these women were disgruntled. They had been lifted from homelessness, railroad platforms, rescued from fires, abuse, and utter neglect. To be touched, healed, bathed, clothed, fed, and given a safe place to sleep - that was enough. More than enough actually. Standing in my position, as a middle-class American, the conditions seemed much less than adequate. To these women who'd only known desperate poverty - Prem Dan offered abundant life.
I was struck by the community among these sick, maimed, and battered women. They really cared for each other. The seeing helped the blind. The mobile helped the immobile. If a woman had lice, all the others made sure she was brought over to have her head shaved. If one needed a cup of water, the others called out for an "auntie's" attention. They laughed. Those that could dance, danced. They shared one another's joys and burdens, on the most elementary level of life. There were no fights or arguments. This was a place of peace.
It was an amazing privilege to serve them. Scrubbing mattresses, making beds, helping women go to the bathroom, changing their clothes, feeding a woman who hadn't eaten in days. Feeding a blind woman her lunch. Washing up the dishes. Jesus words from Matthew 25 kept ringing in my ears, "as you did it to one of the least of these my [sisters], you did it to Me." It was beautiful to work alongside the nuns. I can't imagine working at Prem Dan day in and day out. What strength of heart and body these dear woman have. I was humbled in their presence. Working with the other volunteers from around the world was just as humbling. Folks from Japan, China, Korea, Sweden, Germany, Italy, Mexico, Ohio, San Francisco, Pittsburgh. From all races, backgrounds, and religions, but all with the desire to help the poor and take part in something greater than themselves; to help carry on the legacy of one small woman, Momma T (as Mother Teresa is affectionately known). There was tremendous unity and community among us.
I don't know if I'll ever make my way back to Prem Dan. But the few hours I spent there are etched in my memory. The 2000 passages of Scripture speaking of the poor have whole new meaning now. My desire to serve the poor is greater, much greater.
"Dear Lord, the Great Healer, I kneel before You, since every perfect gift must come from You. I pray give skill to my hands, clear vision to my mind, kindness and meekness to my heart. Give me singleness of purpose, strength to lift up a part of the burden of my suffering fellow men, and a true realization of the privilege that is mine. Take from my heart all guile and worldliness, that with the simple faith of a child, I may rely on You. Amen.
We have our hope in Jesus
That all things will be well
in the Lord."
Grant and I spent one morning at one of Mother Teresa's homes for disabled, ill, and/or destitute adults. Prem Dan is located in on of the worst slums of the city. Just in front of the entrance, two dead rats where being eaten by crows. The shanty homes outside were pieced together by whatever materials could be salvaged from trash heaps. The home is just a short walk from the Eastern Railway Station where scores of homeless and beggars stake their ground on the platforms. Amidst this astonishing poverty is an oasis of greenery, clean walkways, and smiling nuns. As we were greeted by men and women with heart-wrenching ailments, I was astonished once again by the joy that the poor carry in their spirits. They are not "poor in spirit" by any means. As I reached out my hands and greetings to disfigured women, they gave even more - smiles, kisses, happiness that I had chosen to wear Bengali "marriage" bangles.
As I looked around at the simpleness of their accommodation, lifestyle, beds, food, the cockroaches crawling in beds and on walls, the many heads infested with lice, I wondered if these women truly felt cared for. And yet, there was not even a hint that these women were disgruntled. They had been lifted from homelessness, railroad platforms, rescued from fires, abuse, and utter neglect. To be touched, healed, bathed, clothed, fed, and given a safe place to sleep - that was enough. More than enough actually. Standing in my position, as a middle-class American, the conditions seemed much less than adequate. To these women who'd only known desperate poverty - Prem Dan offered abundant life.
I was struck by the community among these sick, maimed, and battered women. They really cared for each other. The seeing helped the blind. The mobile helped the immobile. If a woman had lice, all the others made sure she was brought over to have her head shaved. If one needed a cup of water, the others called out for an "auntie's" attention. They laughed. Those that could dance, danced. They shared one another's joys and burdens, on the most elementary level of life. There were no fights or arguments. This was a place of peace.
It was an amazing privilege to serve them. Scrubbing mattresses, making beds, helping women go to the bathroom, changing their clothes, feeding a woman who hadn't eaten in days. Feeding a blind woman her lunch. Washing up the dishes. Jesus words from Matthew 25 kept ringing in my ears, "as you did it to one of the least of these my [sisters], you did it to Me." It was beautiful to work alongside the nuns. I can't imagine working at Prem Dan day in and day out. What strength of heart and body these dear woman have. I was humbled in their presence. Working with the other volunteers from around the world was just as humbling. Folks from Japan, China, Korea, Sweden, Germany, Italy, Mexico, Ohio, San Francisco, Pittsburgh. From all races, backgrounds, and religions, but all with the desire to help the poor and take part in something greater than themselves; to help carry on the legacy of one small woman, Momma T (as Mother Teresa is affectionately known). There was tremendous unity and community among us.
I don't know if I'll ever make my way back to Prem Dan. But the few hours I spent there are etched in my memory. The 2000 passages of Scripture speaking of the poor have whole new meaning now. My desire to serve the poor is greater, much greater.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Release
For the righteous will never be moved;
he will be remembered forever.
He is not afraid of bad news;
his trust is firm, trusting in the LORD.
His heart is steady; he will not be afraid,
until he looks in triumph on his adversaries.
-Psalm 112
FEAR. How many times have I found myself in the clutches of this ever looming adversary? How many times has it kept me from obedience, from confidence, from speaking Truth? Why do I find myself again in its torrid throws?
In the past, fear has kept me from moving forward, from doing what I know God is asking me to do. I've often feared loss of my reputation, rejection, failure, even for my life a time or two. But today, my fear is a bit different, and much the same.
Grant and I just came home from spending two weeks in K-town, India. We were hosted by a team that we are looking to join for long-term service in the near future. We spent our days living in, breathing in, and interacting with a world very unfamiliar. I constantly asked myself, "Can I do this?" Can I hack the heat and humidity? Can I cope with no running water in my home? Can I deal with the crowds, the staring men, the new language and culture? The answer was always yes, I can do this (with the help of God, of course!).
The last couple of days in K-town, I suddenly felt this "adversary" arise in my heart once again. Part of it was a fear that the team might reject us. But a larger part was fear for my innocent baby boy. The one aspect of life in India that I have yet to reconcile is that Judah is going to suffer because of a calling God has put on Grant and I. His suffering is inevitable. Grant and I fully understand what we are doing and why - we are moving to a slum because we believe that God loves the people living there and that He desires to see their hearts and lives transformed. Judah, not yet three years old, has no concept of what we are doing or why. God has prepared Grant and I for years for this upcoming step. Judah, in a way, is an innocent bystander, thrust into this journey by his parents. How will he react? How will he handle being the only white kid in his neighborhood? How will he respond the first time he is bullied, and every time after that? Can he live on Indian food, with few protein sources? Will any of the schooling options work for him? Although we got a good picture of what our life would look like, I still have no answers for these questions for Judah. As I walked back into the USA and saw normal kids doing normal things, I began to long for Judah to just be a normal kid, to not have to deal with the difficulties that India will bring to him.
I know in my head all the answers to these common missionary family fears. "If God is leading you, He is leading your kids." "There are dangers in America and every place." "Judah could be bullied here just as much as India." Seeing two beautiful MKs living happily in an Indian slum, brings some peace of mind. But still my heart fears. What it comes down to is, do I trust God with my son? At this moment, the fear in my heart is letting me know, no, I don't trust Him.
So, now I have two options. I can allow these fears to hold me and my family back from God's call. I can decide that the suffering we will endure is not worth it. Or, I can bring these fears before God's throne and release them. Release Judah. Release him into the very powerful, loving, gracious hands of his Eternal Father. I can choose to trust. I can obey Jesus' command to "Fear not!"
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