The Desert journey to the Land of Promise

The wind has picked up, blowing sand into my eyes. I squint, covering my brow with my sun-weathered hand. I can see Him several yards ahead, keeping a steady, confident pace. We are two days past the Pleasant Settlement. He is focused on the destination.

My mind wanders back to my friends at Pleasant. Are they swimming in the quiet stream I drank of days ago? Are the children playing on the rope swing that hung from the large Oak, while their mothers laugh as they prepare the evening meal beneath the tree’s shade?

Another gust of wind brings me back to the moment. I feel the beads of sweat run down my back. Sun-scorched, exhausted… still following this God-man through the barren wasteland. My feet hurt. I look down to find the blood has dried between my toes. I long to rest them once again. I’m tired of these calluses that remind me of this difficult journey. A woman wasn’t built to travel such a distance. My heart longs to settle… to make a home… to have a family.

I can still hear the children giggling and see their eyes glitter with delight as they chased the lambs through the lush grass.

Pleasant seemed good enough.

But He said we needed to continue onto the Land of Promise.

That’s where we are going.

It sounds spectacular! A land flowing with milk and honey. A place of beauty and abundance the likes of which I have never seen. A place where I will be fulfill my destiny.

But I never knew it would take this long…

We had arrived at Pleasant a few weeks ago. I was tired and needed to rest. I quickly grew fond of the place and the people. I knew it wasn’t what He had described, but I secretly hoped it would be good enough. I just want the journey to be over!

I can still hear the crackling of the campfire the night He told me we must be moving on. Pleasant was not the Land of Promise. My cheeks burned with sadness and my heart winced with pain.

I looked off into the distance as He continued to talk, reminding me of His plans and promises. I touched my feet as though consoling them. These calluses would have to be built up again.

A tear streamed down my face as I lost myself in the gaze into the nothingness of the desert that lie ahead. The indefinite amount of time of this journey overwhelmed me. He wiped the tear from my face and said gently that He would be enough… and He would be with me.

His touch aroused the courage in my soul to grab a hold of the dream of the Land of Promise once again.

“We must leave at daylight.” I told Him. “There is no time to be wasted. My heart cannot be trusted to linger here another day… for it might fall in love with Pleasant and forget the Land of Promise.”

His smile was filled with pride and it made my heart swell.

So here I am again. Following Him. He has slowed down His pace for me. My heart is solemn. Believing that this desert will actually come to an end one day takes great faith. Great faith that without His constant encouragement… I do not have.

I look upon the back of the one I love and remember how He has cared for me. He refuses to let me settle before He delivers me His promise. This journey was His idea. I remember the day He chose me to be the recipient of this land of Promise! I was so honored… completely floored and humbled by the offer. How could I say no!?! I never imagined there would be so much suffering involved in this journey. Nor did I ever imagine how much wisdom, power, strength and comfort would flow from the hands of this God-man to help me along the way.

I have had so many moments of doubting Him. In fact, on multiple occasions I quit following Him and tried to find my own shortcuts to get out of this desert. I always ended up in a heap of trouble, near utter destruction. But He always came to find me. He would tend to my wounds, nurse me back to health and encourage my soul until I was strong enough to continue the journey. I have come to realize… He wants me to get to the destination MORE than I do!

I could’ve been happy to settle by that little stream in Pleasant. It was nice enough and beats desert camping! But when He said no… I knew He meant it. And I’ve come to learn, He’s much to stubborn to argue with and my reasoning is no match for His knowledge. He’s focused on something that I cannot sway Him from. And He knows how to pique my intrigue just enough to cause me to salivate with excitement for what lies ahead. How can one stay settled when you sleep next to a dreamer every night?

One thing I do love about this desert is the night sky. A symphony of stars littering the black canvas sing a mysterious melody that calls out to something deep inside of me. At first I didn’t hear it. But He taught me how to listen. Before long, I was reborn as I began to hear the heartbeat of the Creator call out to me through the wonder of His creation. Deep calling to deep. Under the stars I heard Him whisper to me similar things as my guide would say. Promises… Hope… Vision… Life… FUTURE. Dreams were born on the soil of my empty soul. They have grown into ideas that are taking over my life. You see… I cannot settle. The Land of Promise is already INSIDE of me.

This desert. Oh this desert. I despised this desert for so long. Yet now it is so familiar, I find it oddly comfortable. I still hate when the wind kicks up sand into my eyes. I still hate the scorpions and the snakes. I still find cactuses’ needles a unnecessary frustration to a source of water.

But there is a stillness in this emptiness. It’s a stillness that surrounds me and finds it’s way inside of me when I embrace my lack of control. Many days my flesh fights with the elements. I want to change it. I beg God to make the sun set early or send a rain cloud. I want relief from the discomfort. I want to know HOW MUCH LONGER. I want to understand WHY we had to go this way. It feels as though we are doing circles at times. He’s God… He could blink and I would be there. But He has chosen… He has decided… and there’s no undoing what He has done.

Deep down I trust Him. Deep down I believe He is always good. And when I surrender to that belief and stop looking down at the sand or up at the dunes ahead, I find myself captivated by this God-Man who has brought me safely thus far. Not without battle wounds or scars… but I’m stronger, wiser, deeper, and somehow more than I was when this journey began.

My mind recalls all the time we have spent together… just Him and I. We have seen a lot of territory and had many conversations along the way. He teaches me how to think about things, how to maneuver through obstacles and how to be courageous in dire situations. At nights He showed me how to survive the desert cold and pointed out the constellations. I recall the first desert storm. He showed me how to make a shelter and comforted me when I was afraid. And as we walked with the sun beating down our necks, He always pointed out the beauty along the way. The first desert flower He plucked and gave to me is still tucked neatly in my book of journeys.

I was afraid to step out into this desert again. But tonight I’m finding it’s not so bad. I get to be with my Jesus without distraction. Just following Him… that’s all I’m doing. It’s not that difficult… so long as I remain humble enough to keep up. His presence is enough to satisfy my soul. His mystery enough to entice me to quicken my pace. His beauty captivates my attention and I desire to be just like Him.

In barrenness grows a beauty untold. New birth takes place on sallow ground. A soul once dark is enlightened and transformed. This desert I once hated has become the greatest gift. I still long for the Land of Promise… but I think I shall be a bit sad when we get there and things are different between me and my leader. It saddens me when I think how I have doubted him… but oh how I love Him. I don’t ever want to be apart from Him. When we are out of this desert… I wonder what it will be like. I know we will still be close. We will always share these memories… this bond. But for as long as I have with Him on this sandy trail… I shall be ever grateful. It’s just Him leading… and I am following. This desert… it isn’t actually barren. It’s the landscape of a beautiful redemption story… the blossoming relationship between God and a man. The desert… rich with new life.

The Wicked Wait

I went to open the door, but it was locked. I stood in the hallway for what seemed like 10 minutes. I could hear a little voice behind the door. I knew I should have had more grace for whatever child was in there… but I found myself tapping my food with impatience. It was a busy day at the coffee shop, and I had left two people on the floor as so I could run to the bathroom. Finally I heard the toilet flush and sighed in relief. The door opened and out filed a mother with her two children. “Sorry!” she said, “there was three of us!” “It’s okay!” I said, acting unperturbed. “It’s bound to take awhile with that crew!” She had no idea how annoyed I really was.

I suck at waiting. I’m a “go-getter” and “make-it-happen” kind of person. I work hard to get what I want and to be successful in whatever my hand finds to do. But there are certain things in my life that God has regularly thwarted all of my attempts to change or to obtain. His answer to certain desires of my heart has been “WAIT” for years! However, I usually ignore his whisper that says “wait,” and find myself striving to satisfy my heart that screams “Get it now!”

I am so prone to try and be my own Provider, my own Comforter, my own Sustainer and the Fulfiller of my every desire. It has been in the WAITING that I have come to know the true Savior.

In the Wait I met a Savior who is…

…the daily healer of a broken heart.

…the friend that is closer than a brother when all seems lost.

… the one who provides my daily bread.

… the one who picks me up when I fail and fall and strengthens me to keep moving forward.

… the presence that can bring peace to any turmoil of the soul.

… the giver of the best gifts.

… the only fulfillment of my aching soul.

I am getting better at the wait. I am still tempted to try and make things happen for myself. But I’m learning to refrain and resist the urge. God is big enough to bring the things together in my life that he wants there in his timing. If I believe he has planned my every step like scripture says, why do I try so hard to plan my own life? My plans will fall painfully short of His masterful design.

I recently began taking yoga classes. There are a couple of poses that are very difficult for me. I get frustrated that I can’t balance my entire body on my forearms or fold forward in tree position. But I can’t… not yet. I have to work up to that level of strength and flexibility. And when I try, it hurts! My instructor often says, “Relax into the discomfort and the pose will become easier.” She’s right. Every time I relax, I’m able to go further than before.

Relax into the discomfort. I usually resist the discomfort of waiting. Could it be that if I stopped resisting the WAIT, it would get easier? I pray I can trust God more and relax into the discomfort of waiting. Deep down I know my Father is good and he has only the best of intentions towards me. I long to live and operate with that truth coursing through my being.

Ecclesiastes 6:10 “Everything has already been decided. It was known long ago what each person would be. So there’s no use arguing with God about your destiny.”

So wait… I will for my God to fulfill his best laid plans for me.

My Angst...

“Later, Matthew invited Jesus and his disciples to his home as dinner guests, along with many tax collectors and other disreputable sinners. But when the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with such scum?”

“When Jesus heard this, he said, “Healthy people don’t need a doctor – sick people do.”

Then he added, “No go and learn the meaning of this scripture: ‘I want you to show mercy, not offer sacrifices.’ For I have come to call not those who think they are righteous, but those who know they are sinners.” Matthew 10:10-13

I have recently heard of a church growth philosophy that makes my stomach turn. It’s a philosophy that targets a certain class of society that will be able to financially support the ministry and purposefully ignores the poor that might “scare away” the sugar-daddy’s. In other words… there are churches that say, “We don’t do homeless.”

I can’t decide if I should throw something out of righteous anger or cry. I feel the Christ in me do both.

How has the apple fallen so far from the tree? Christ PURSUED the down-trodden, the lost and hopeless, the broken and outcasts. Do we really think as the body of Christ that we are serving his mission if we pursue anyone else?

We spend our money building magnificent buildings for our worship gatherings, while neglecting to put a roof over someone’s head. We provide kids a Disneyland-worthy play land on Sunday mornings, while 1 in 5 children live in poverty. We perform the gospel each Sunday Morning under the lights and cameras, while girls are forced to “perform” all week long to pay their rent.

Are we really being the body of Christ? Or are we enjoying spending our money on ourselves so that we can have the coolest church in the city?

What is the gospel if it’s simply proclaimed every Sunday morning from a sound system but never seen in practical acts of love throughout the week?

Jesus healed the sick… he mended the broken… he sought out the outcasts.

For the first time in my life I have the pleasure of attending a worship gathering with homeless people, with drug addicts, and people still drunk from the night before. There is no huge building, no stage, no impressive lights or cameras. Just Jesus and His family, His gospel, and His transforming power working through practical acts of love. I finally feel like I am part of a mission worth dying for. A mission I will spend all my days living for… pursuing the forgotten.

To Choose Christ

Indecisiveness has plagued me for 27 years. I love going out to eat, but I hate the process of deciding what to eat. What do I feel like? What’s the healthy option? Do I want to splurge and get dessert? How much do I want to spend? What sounds good? What is recommended? Salmon or Steak? Medium or Well Done? Blue Cheese or Honey Mustard? Oy vey!

Our society is inundated with millions of choices everyday. Whatever your desire… there is a feast of options set before you.

Are you a foodie? ZAGAT has rated over 788 Seattle restaurants… that’s enough to keep you busy for 2 years.

Are you a wino? Just walk into any grocery store and you will find nearly 2 or 3 aisles dedicated to you.

Are you a coffee snob? Google maps lists 9,368 exist in Seattle so take your pick! I doubt you will have to walk far to find one.

Are you a gym rat? There’s yoga, hot yoga and pilates studios, small neighborhood gyms, mega-gyms, outdoor boot camps, cycling classes, personal running coaches, Zumba classes, Kinesis training… I think I’ve made my point.

I’m a sucker for false promises and advertising. I’ve been the girl that falls for the online ad that sells a boat load of promises for just $9.99! Only to forget to cancel the subscription and get charged a whopping $89.99 the next month! I get excited about the “latest” thing and sell my soul for a few weeks until I realize it was all smoke and mirrors. In the meantime… my soul wilts. Parched and dry I seek harder for REAL WATER only to remember… AGAIN… it’s only found in one source.

“But those who drink the water I give will never be thirsty again. It becomes a fresh, bubbling spring within them, giving them eternal life.” - Jesus Christ, John 4:14

I’m so prone to forget this. I’m so prone to let my desires for this life on earth lead me down empty, lonely trails that cause only entanglement and destruction. I constantly choose to meet my immediate needs and stresses with whatever problem-solving strategies or coping tools I can find. But all that is accomplished is momentary distraction from how thirsty my soul is for living water.

I thirst for Jesus. I desire intimacy with my completer. But he is often the most neglected person in my life as I wade through the myriad of choices that promise to meet my more surface desires.

“Yes, everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have discarded everything else, counting it all as garbage, so that I could gain Christ and become one with him.” Apostle Paul, Philippians 3:8-9.

I need to learn from Paul and downgrade my earthly desires to garbage status. Perhaps then the thirst of my soul will scream louder than my thirst for possessions, power or prestige.

I often think this might be easier if I had fewer options. I sometimes dream of living in wide-open spaces, in one of those single stop sign towns where the hustle and bustle of life moves at the pace of a slug. I imagine that I would spend all of my spare time with Jesus. But that’s a pipe dream. After living in the middle of nowhere in India for six weeks, I found it’s still hard to choose Christ even when there is no internet to surf, no phone to call home, and few people who speak English to talk to! There I thought my soul would be satisfied if only I could check my facebook or talk to my mom or get a cup of real coffee! I’m left without an excuse.

Underneath, deep calls to deep. My soul thirsts for Christ. My mind might think that gnawing of my soul will be satisfied with earthly whims and fantasies, but it will not. I’m always left with greater emptiness and a more anemic soul. To choose Christ requires that we believe this world and it’s promises will fail. Our desires are superfluous, unnecessary and a distraction from the water that will enrich our soul, give us peace, joy and the security we truly desire.

Today… I choose Christ.

Abba, may the things of this world grow strangely dim, in the light of your glory and grace.

and then I pierced my nose...

Some say Stupid... I say hardcore:)

teaching english... learning hindi

I pulled my backpack on loaded with paper, pens, folders, flash cards and candy. I stepped out into the Indian jungle humidity and with a gigantic smile on my face began the quarter-mile trek to the boys unit. I suddenly felt like I was in the middle of a memoir of some brave soul who had traveled to the remotest places of the earth to teach English. Although, my experience was much cushier than any of those romantic adventure stories, it didn’t matter. I was elated. I had four back-to-back classes to teach for boy’s ages 8 to 17… and I fell in love.

Jessica, my partner in crime and teaching buddy, arrived later that day. Our schedule was rigorous.

6am - Wake up whistle

7am - Devotions (we lead these half of the time)

7:30am – Breakfast (Monday’s our favorite breakfast was served – CHIPATI & gravy)

8:15am – Teaching young women ages 16 to 25

11:30 am to 5pm – We taught either four boys classes or we traveled 30 minutes into the city to teach the teenage girls in Badlapur

5pm – Tea Time

6:30pm – Beginners English class with the women

8pm – Dinner

9pm - Once a week Jessica taught a counseling group called Visions

10pm – Everyone else lights out… Jessica and I had lesson planning

Midnight – We passed out under our mosquito net

We had an absolute blast teaching English. It was incredibly exhausting to try to speak in simple English and try to understand broken English 24/7. But our students kept us energized because of their eagerness to learn. We often would break them up into groups and have them create short skits in English on the given topic of the day. Prior to this trip I don’t think I full understood the term “miscommunication.” The boys were so funny and I laughed until I cried on a number of occasions. The older women, whom are called the Auntie’s, were equally entertaining, generally causing the entire class to erupt in laughter as their response revealed they completely misunderstood the question.

These Auntie’s however, had their revenge on us each morning and evening as we walked to the dining hall. They would walk arm in arm with Jessica and I, grilling us on Hindi and teaching us new phrases. It was such a good reminder for us daily of how difficult it can be to learn a new language. Hindi is beautiful… and so different. I swore I could repeat exactly what I heard them say and I would still be saying it wrong. It got to be exasperating at times. I just don’t know how to contort my mouth to make those sounds!

I have never done such rewarding work in my life. As we left they showered us with thanks, telling us how much they learned. I didn’t feel like we did that much! But in the short six weeks that we were there, we saw a great amount of improvement. These people so value their education. They consider it such a privilege to learn and to be taught English by a native-English speaker is quite rare. I fell in love with all of my students and somewhat feel like I bailed on them when I came home. Part of my heart is still somewhere in the jungle of India… I hope I get to return someday soon.

Worship of the Rescued

The sound of hands softly beating a drum carried up to our room. The rhythm had a sort of entrancing effect as it echoed through the courtyard, arriving to announce that the day was beginning. Next came the voices of 50 women singing as loudly as their lungs would allow. The choir sang in unison praises to God as though joining King David and presenting prayers as incense before the throne of the Almighty.

Words cannot convey its beauty.

I hadn’t the slightest clue what the song was about… but tears streaked down my cheeks. My soul felt the depth of their love and passion for the same Jesus that I call Savior. My heart sunk into solemn reverence, suddenly aware that I had been ushered into the presence of the King. I had come here to minister to them… so I thought. Instead, they were teaching me how to worship. With all the horror they had seen, I would understand if they doubted God’s love. But here they stood with lifted hands and tear-soaked cheeks, praising their King with all that they had.

I buried my face in my hands. “I’m so sorry, Jesus.” I felt ashamed to be in the presence of the King among my sisters. Their passion made my faith seem so small. I neglect to praise the King far too often. I find so many other things to praise… so many other things to give my attention and passion to. Often I allow my questions regarding his ways to keep me from giving him the acknowledgement of his worth. How conditional my love is.

Each morning as we joined them in this habit of devotion, I realized how out of “worship practice” I was. I tired easily. But it seemed like they would have gone on for hours if the breakfast whistle never blew. All around me stood young girls and old women who have seen untold atrocities, beginning each day holding nothing back in prayer and glorious praise to the Author of Life. They didn’t base their love for God on what He did NOT do in their lives… instead they celebrated what He HAS done. He could have prevented what happened to them, yet he chose not to for reasons we cannot know. It is what God does not do that often causes us question if He truly loves. However, were it not for the fact that these women needed physical rescue, they would have never experienced the spiritual rescue that they now know.

Could it be that God allows us to see hell on earth because it is

there we will encounter Him?

These women had truly been saved in everyway imaginable… from poverty, hunger, abuse, neglect and spiritual darkness. God violently ripped them out of the pit of hell they lived in, to show them his radical love and give them a hope and a future. That’s the kind of God I want to serve… He’s the kind of King worth all the acknowledgement and attention I can offer. He is worthy of praise… no matter how much we don’t understand His ways.

“Love the Lord your God, with ALL your heart, ALL your soul and ALL your mind.” – Matt. 22:38

Initiation

It was Day 3. I was finally able to reach my mother for a grand total of 5 minutes before I was cut off. I quickly learned that was about as much as I could hope for. So far I had spent most of my time recovering from my journey and trying to acclimate to the new environment. I’m a fairly adaptable person… but this was a whole new ball game.

The compound was beautiful. White Frangipani trees were in bloom in the courtyard, wafting a heavenly fragrance into my room. I was trying to learn the names of the 53 women I would be living with. I am usually great at this game, however, I had never heard these names before and many of them terribly similar: Sunita, Sarita, Savita, Surekha, Rekha, Amreeta… I thought my head was going to explode! Much of the time I sat with the girls as they spoke Hindi to each other. I would occasionally interrupt with some sort of simple question in English as I desperately tried to make a connection. It seemed like they were sizing me up; trying to decide if they liked me, if they would trust me. Some were quick to trust. They brought me to their rooms and showed me all their belongings and photos. Others simply ignored my existence as if to let me know they didn’t need me. These were the girls I circled in my mind to win over before I was gone. It was a challenge I enjoyed. I was surprised how comfortable I was with never having a clue what was happening around me. A few took pity on me since I was alone and painstakingly tried to communicate. I discovered that most of them knew more English than they initially would let on. But I began to pray without ceasing that my friend Jessica would be granted her VISA and meet me in the jungle.

My room was great. It was perfectly clean, 6 beds to myself, a western toilet, a water heater for the shower and even a refrigerator! Many more amenities than I had expected. About day three, however, I discovered that I was not alone. I walked into the room only to find a pink little hairless creature with skin still covering it’s eyes, and twitching helplessly on the floor as ants were attacking it!

I quickly did what any adventuresome, missionary-type would do… I ran and got help!

My Indian Auntie informed me that this was a baby rat. Ew!

The next day… two of these baby rats being attacked by ants appeared on the floor in the same location! I ran to get more help. As we looked at them, another rat suddenly appeared, seeming to have fallen from the top of the closet! We discovered a rat’s nest up there, but apparently the army ants of India had declared war upon the nest first. These ants were pushing the rats from the top of the 8-foot tall closet in an attempt to carry them to their anthill to… eat? It was horrific. But I was thoroughly impressed with the ants. I continued to keep my eye on these tiny little black insects as they would daily carry dead insects 100 times their size to feed their tribe. Amazing. And disgusting.

Three days in and I already felt appropriately initiated into the Indian Jungle.

My first three hours in India…

My heart was pounding when the wheels of the plane hit the runway. Not because I am afraid of “the landing,” but the nerves that had been stored during my 30-hour venture to a country on the other side of the globe finally made themselves known in my chest.
I had arrived in Mumbai. Alone. My traveling companion had found a foe at the Indian Consulate and they were sitting on her Visa application.

I stepped out of the airport with six plus weeks worth of luggage looking for a sign that read “Bombay Teen Challenge.” I gasped for air, nearly choking as the combination of anxiety and humidity waged war against my trachea.

I frantically searched the crowd of brown faces, trying not to make contact so as to give away my vulnerability (as if my white skin didn’t do that already). No sign was to be found. Standing in the middle of the atrium surrounded by gawking strangers reminded me of that nightmare in which you suddenly realize everyone is staring because you do not have clothes on. After quite some time I couldn’t take being on display any longer.
I had a phone number… now if I could only find a phone.

An Indian mad approached me. “Oh no… I’ve been discovered!” I thought. Without my consent he took hold of my suitcase and dragged me over to a booth with a phone and a man who demanded 50 rupees for a phone call. And the man who’d assisted me without my permission wanted a tip. Luckily, I made contact. They had forgotten their sign and I was to look for a girl with a blue shirt on. Whew… or not. Half the crowd was wearing blue!

It was a great relief when I finally found Devki. She welcomed me with fantastic English and a hug that told me I was already family. Sanjay, the driver, threw my luggage into the back of a cruiser. Off we were to the BTC compound.

My stomach began to settle only to find it’s way back into my throat as we skirted around cars and motorcycles at excessive speeds on terribly narrow roads. I took deep breaths and drew in the gorgeous sights of India as we headed deeper and deeper into the jungle. I had so many questions… but for now I was taking in every detail as we whizzed past. Dirty-faced children playing outside of shacks created by a collage of bricks and tarps; cows eating out of the trash heaps along the roadside; two men adorning traditional Muslim fashion straddling a motorcycle, women in Sarees carrying baskets five times the size of their thin frames on their heads; all were living life as lush green foliage and mountains painted a masterful backdrop. It was paradoxical to see breath-taking beauty and mind-blowing poverty side-by-side.

I turned on my cell phone to see if I could find signal to tell my mom that I was okay. Sorry Mom, no luck. I said a prayer that God would let her know I was safe. And I said a prayer that God would indeed keep me safe. I had no idea where I was on a map. I only knew God had called me the middle of the jungle in India to love some of his children.