The Call to Prayer

“Do you even hear the call to prayer anymore?” my new friend asked me recently. She had just come back from two weeks in a neighboring village and was a little weary from waking up daily at 4:30 am when Allah Akbar was projected over the loud speaker near her bedroom window.

“Nope,” I answered, somewhat proud of my ability to tune it out after years of hearing it. Then I started feeling a little guilty about that pride. Why would I want to be deaf to such a frequent reminder that God is Great?

And that made me realize just how many times I really have missed a call to prayer, in the last month alone…

… in reports of earthquakes, lost lives, and fear.
… in announcements of friends leaving Indonesia soon.
… in updates of my ailing grandmother.
… in tearful phone calls with broken friends and former students.
… in letters, emails and text messages asking for help.
… in three consecutive trips canceled.
… in difficult and disappointing news.

These are my calls to pray. And I have been so unfaithful.

I forget.
I read and delete.
I think about it and fall asleep.
I listen and commiserate.
I try to use my own logic, strength and “wisdom” to find solutions.
Or I succumb to the overwhelming-ness of it all and settle for “what will be, will be.”

I am often guilty of being deaf to the call to prayer.

Who do I think the Father is? Do I think He is too far off to speak to? Do I merely pay homage to him as the Athenians did to the “unknown god?” (Acts 17)

Am I not familiar with the One I have devoted my life to serve? I know Him! So why, then, is it so hard to talk to Him?

Do I really believe He hears? Have I not read of His mighty works in response to the cries of His children throughout the ages? He has been consistently faithful to hear and to respond. And He promises to draw near to us if we would just draw near to Him. (James 4:8)

I guess it’s just hard sometimes when you don’t hear anything… when it seems like nothing happens. This morning as I was thinking about that silence, I ran across Prov 28:9. “If anyone turns a deaf ear to the law, even his prayers are detestable.” And it occurred to me that perhaps, it’s not just that I’m deaf to the call to prayer, but that from time to time, I may also be deaf to the law and straying from His Truth.

It doesn’t take a hearing aid to fix this deafness.

It takes humility and repentance.

It takes stillness and a quiet mind and heart.

And it takes simple faith to believe that, “The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their cry.” (Ps 34:15)

So I respond, again, to the call to prayer.

I acknowledge that He is Great.

I come asking for Him to show me my faults, and I confess and repent, so that I am right with Him… so that my prayers come before Him like a sweet fragrance… and so that others can see He is Great through my life.

And I ask Him to so captivate me that my thoughts are a stream of conversation with Him and that every life situation is funneled through that stream.

Ironically, as I finish this, the call to prayer bellows over the speakers outside. It says that God is great.

He who has ears, let Him hear.

Eye Issues

It’s been a long time since I have written. This is primarily due to the fact, I think, that I have had something in my eye since the last time I wrote in April. After my team got back from the islands around that time, my eye started feeling a little scratchy.

But amidst projects and camping trips and banquets and good-bye parties and finals and packing… phew. It was just nuts. I didn’t have time to sit down with a mirror and try to see what the problem was. As long as I was distracted and busy though, it didn’t really seem to bother me too much.

And then, on June 14, I moved to Batam, and all of the sudden, I became a LOT less busy. The bosses were away. Other employees were very busy with their own projects. My new housemate was packing to leave for 3 months. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t the busy one. So I bought a motorbike and started exploring the city. This is when I really started noticing this thing in my eye.

The drivers here are incredibly impatient. In Bandung, they honk to tell you they are passing or to announce that the light is almost ready to turn green. Here, they honk out of anger… or in combination with yelling “BULE!” out the window as they pass. For some reason, they feel the need to remind me I am a white person (the translation of bule). I hate it when they do that. I’m already frustrated enough with this thing in my eye.

I also hate it when I’m in line and people shove by me to move to the front. I mean, I really hate that. I was in a long line of motorbikes to get into a parking garage the other day, and this guy from the back pulled out of line and drove all the way to the front. I could not believe that the person in front let him in! It happened to me at the grocery store too. The checkers are so slow. Really slow. It doesn’t seem to phase them whether there is one person in line or 50. Same checking speed. So the lines are all really long, and there are always people in the back that start shoving… like we used to do in the drinking fountain line in elementary school. I usually just brace myself since I’m typically stronger and bigger than the average pushy woman in line. But sometimes they just come right around you and push all the way to the front of the line. I will confess that once, I sensed a woman was going to do that, so I just spread my legs a little wider apart… sort of like a defensive basketball stance… and basically blocked her out.

And I started noticing that the more this thing in my eye was annoying me, the more the “city life” in Batam annoyed me too.

So I was happy to find out that I would spend almost the whole month of July out on the islands with several groups of tourists. It was good to be away from Batam for a while. It’s a slower pace of life on the islands, and there are no long lines or road ragers. Finally some peace.

On the first island we visited, I came upon a group of little children playing a game together. The youngest boy of the group obviously did not know the rules to the game, but he was convinced he did. Every time a person “messed up” (according to him), he would call him or her stupid and tell the child not to play the game anymore. Unbelievably, the older children just went along with his rules, which changed continually throughout the game depending on whether he was winning or losing. Kids…

On another island, I watched a woman pester a three-year-old by jokingly trying to steal his helium balloon. The kid would respond by screaming, sticking his tongue out at her and then slapping her. Finally after several rounds of this, he got so mad at the woman provoking him that he threw the balloon over the dock so that the woman couldn’t have it. She caught it just before it slipped away, which made him even angrier. Later that day, I watched the father of that home teach that same kid how to smoke. Three years old! The man thought it was so funny and definitely wanted to make sure that the tourists staying in his home saw his brilliant idea.

Part of me thought those interactions were pretty funny. But part of me was frustrated by how they incessantly egged the child on. My eye was really bothering me that day though. There was no mirror in the bathroom and the lighting in the house was dim. I purposed to take the time to figure out what was wrong with my eye when I returned to Batam.

On my last day on the islands, there was a huge championship soccer match. Sixty-two other teams in the area had been eliminated. It was down to two, and one was our hosting island. So we all got in boats and rode over to a neighboring island to watch the event. When we arrived, I immediately noticed a covered area on the far end of the field. Under the canopy were very ornate “thrones.” Soon, a very important looking man was escorted to sit there, flanked by 6 bodyguards. What in the world??? This island population was probably less than 1000 people. The fans probably totaled 400 at most. Why would this guy possibly need bodyguards? It turned out that he was the one sponsoring the tournament. He was the head of a large fishing association in the region. It was explained to me that indeed, he did not need the bodyguards for protection. He brought them to show his power and wealth. For some reason, that just made my blood boil.

So when I returned home, I sat down to ponder the injustices and annoyances I had witnessed over the last month. What is it that bothered me so much? I certainly had lots of wonderful people while on the islands. I then recalled the sweet kid I met who had a persistent eye infection. His eyes were so red. I didn’t have any medicine to give him, but I told him I would ask the Father to heal him. I wondered how his eyes were doing now.

And that reminded me of my own eye issue. I reached to scratch my eye and felt something. It was big. I jumped to look in the mirror and gasped.

I had a plank in my eye.

How does a person go for months and not see it? I mean, shouldn’t it be so obvious? I’m in front of a mirror every day! I guess it all depends how much time you spend really looking.

Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye. Matt 7:3-5

Humanity is just full of itself, isn’t it? Actually… I’ll change the pronoun and just speak for myself here. I am full of self. Really, when it comes down to it, I love to be first, and I love to be right. If I don’t constantly check myself and my motives, I could easily monopolize every conversation to make myself be the hero. I can get defensive when I’m contradicted or not heard. I can pout and pity myself when I don’t get what I want. And all of this adds up to… hmm… probably about a two-by-four plank.

I’ve been teaching biology for almost seven years now, but I can’t quite understand this concept: How can a plank in a person’s eye act as a microscope? It’s solid, yet it literally magnifies every tiny thing in sight! Drivers, shoppers, parents, friends, kids… all of them and their faults become huge through the plank eye.

Sigh. So I go back to the Word, the mirror of the soul, and I find this:

For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it. Luke 9:24

It’s easy to try to preserve and justify my culture and my actions. But the Father never tells us to do that. He says, “Lose it.”

He says, “Deny yourself and follow me.” I walk around full of myself all day long, and He says empty yourself. I follow my own desires, but He says follow Him.

What an interesting paradigm. So I look back through the stories of my last few months and now I can understand why these things frustrate me so much! I’m just seeing my own behavior acted out in others.

And so begins the journey of growing in humility. I was listening to a man talk about this topic the other day and he said (paraphrased), “We think we deserve all this stuff to make us happy. We feel like we have all these rights. But actually, all we really deserve is hell. That’s it. Just hell. Everything else is the Father’s grace demonstrated to us… even the pain and frustrations of life. Even those things are ultimately outpourings of His grace.”
There is no possible way to have that life perspective with a plank in the eye though. So I’ve scheduled an appointment with the Great Physician. He’s willing to do this multi-step surgery for free… and we’ve already begun the process. I know it’s going to hurt, but He is gentle and knows how much I can handle in a day.

I hear He still has space in His schedule if you’d like to make an appointment too.

Don’t Want to Miss a Thing

I didn’t grow up anywhere near the ocean. But for some reason I determined as a young child, after seeing a photo in an encyclopedia, that there was nothing scarier than a waterspout. So as I watched eerie clouds moving in toward base camp, I went out on the dock to see if one might develop. After awhile, the threatening clouds seemed to pass, and I went to meet the rest of our team for breakfast. From a distance, I heard one of the students yelling, “Did you see it???” And they told me the story how a waterspout had formed directly on the other side of my bungalow. The kids were so excited to have gotten pictures of the unusual phenomenon.

And the entire time, I faced the opposite direction, watching expectantly, but missed the whole thing!

At the end of our trip, our debriefing advisor asked us, “What is the story you want to take home with you?” For three hours I sat and thought about the question. I just could not think. For nine days, we had been out on the islands, meeting people, exchanging stories and laughing hard. It had been a fantastic time. But what was the keynote story to take home? Where was the unbelievable story of the healed paralytic girl or of the woman freed from dark spirit ties with her deceased husband that we had experienced in years before? We had fasted and asked the Father to go before us, softening hearts and moving in power. We had asked in great expectation for months.

Certainly there were some highlight conversations. I loved the afternoon we sat with our host family as they told us about how their house had been built on land received as an inheritance. We talked about wills and inheritances in Western culture, and we shared the story of the Prodigal Son and the story of the inheritance Jacob stole. They seemed to genuinely love the stories.

I also enjoyed the afternoon when a group of kids came by our host home, jumping up to grab leaves from their sukun (breadfruit) tree. The leaves had a rough, Velcro-like underside, and they giggled as they showed me how they could stick on their shirts. I stuck one on my shirt too, and they ran away laughing. An hour later, I still had the leaf on my shirt as I approached a group of Indonesian women sitting with some of my teammates. Immediately the women pointed out that I had a leaf stuck on my shirt. One of my teammates cleverly responded, “I know a story about a woman who wore leaves! Why don’t you tell it?” So, in broken Indonesian, I slowly told the story of Adam and Eve and the snake and temptation and sin and nakedness. Some listened and responded. And we laughed together.

And I loved the day that our team and many of the islanders gathered on the beach to watch the traditional boat races. As the event when on, some boys on our team went out to learn how to race the toy boats, while others walked along the shore carrying 3-4 children, climbing their bodies like monkeys. A group of us examined a sea cucumber with a group of little kids while others played games and swung kids playfully through the air. As I walked down the beach, I came across a team member struggling to communicate with an older woman. I sat with them for a while and listened to her talk about her husband’s leg injury and his long recovery process. In turn, I was able to share the story of my leg injury and how the Father had healed and taught great life lessons through the experience.

So as I sat at the end of our trip wondering what story to write, I realized that once again, as with the waterspout, I had been looking for the work of His hand, but I had missed it. I had been watching for something to happen but not looking in the right place.

I was reminded of 1 Cor 3:2 and Paul’s explanation of a seed. He planted, someone else watered, but the Father caused the growth. It’s hard to get excited when you plant seeds. You cover them with soil, and they are practically undetected. And then you just have to wait… and trust that important and foundational things are taking place out of sight.

So in that light, I recalled again that beautiful day at the beach racing boats. I was overcome with gratitude for the opportunity to be planting seed with such an amazing group of students and adults. It was a privilege to get to work side by side with teenagers in love with the Father. It was an honor to sit by the fire in the wee hours of the morning with our team, singing, laughing, reflecting and sharpening one another. The talks with small groups and individuals from our team throughout the trip were ones I will not soon forget.

We will likely never know during our lives on earth what impact our team made on the islands we visited. We’ll probably never know how we impacted each other for the six months our team was together. And we’ll all go on our separate ways just not knowing. But one day, the Father will show us clearly the things He did that we couldn’t see.

Because He didn’t miss a thing.

He Holds It All Together

“He holds all things together.” This phrase was posted on signs in the hallway starting about 10 days ago. It advertised the theme of the middle school retreat this weekend. How fitting for the events of late…

He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together. –Col 1:17

This week, after months of planning and consulting with a neighbor Indonesian farmer, Pak Nandang, we planted a rice field on the school property. The initial hopes were that we would have an Olympic-sized swimming pool in that location, however funds were short to complete it for awhile, and instead it sat as a swampy pit filled with weeds, fish, snakes and mosquito larvae. With the help of some school staff, students, local Indonesian farmers and a couple of water buffalo, the pit was transformed into a perfect muddy field for planting rice.

One month ago, Pak Nandang helped my AP Biology class plant the rice nursery. For the nursery location, he chose a 2 x 3 meter rocky plot of clay so sticky that the art class uses it to make pottery. “Pak, are you sure this is a good place?”  Oh yes, he ensured us. It would be just fine.  With no experience in rice farming, who was I to argue? In three hours, we had plowed up the soil by hand, scattered the seed densely over the area, fertilized it, and covered it with a dense layer of grass. How would the seeds be able to push through the clay? How would the tiny seedlings be able to grow through all of the weeds we laid over the top?

I was especially skeptical about all the weeds and grass covering the seeds. We actually ran out of our pile of dried grass before it was completely covered, and he warned me that I must finish covering it before the morning. However, the day got busy, and I forgot to cover the last eighth of the plot. Two days later, my class and I went out to see how the nursery was doing. And then we understood why the grass and weeds were necessary. A flock of birds sat on that uncovered area eating the rice seed. We chased them off and covered the area, but the damage had been done, and later few seedlings grew on that end. I guess that farmer actually did know what he was talking about.

It was so exciting to watch the tiny plants growing each day. After approximately 20 days, we would be able to transfer the dense stand of rice into the large muddy field. My plan was to have all 70 high school students take a half-day off school to help with the planting day. I soon realized that the structured life of a teacher and the fluid life of a farmer don’t easily merge. I would ask Pak Nandang, “What day do you think the rice will be ready to plant?”  He would reply, “Oh… maybe in 7-10 days.”  And I would again explain that I needed to know an exact day so that I could let all teachers know when the students would be missing their classes.  “When it’s ready, then you need to plant it.”

I have an American friend here who is an agricultural consultant, and one day I was sharing with him the tension of trying to be a teacher and a farmer.  I talked about how difficult it was to get direct answers from Pak Nandang, and I shared my concerns about whether there would be enough rice in the nursery to fill the field we had cultivated. He laughed and said, “This is such a good opportunity for you and your class. Seventy to eighty percent of Asia’s labor force feels this same kind of tension every day as farmers… except it can be life or death for them if their crop does not survive.”  That definitely put my stress in perspective. I feel a little bit of stress because I want students to see the end product. But really, it doesn’t matter if the crop fails. On the other hand, subsistence farmers all over the world watch their crops daily, hoping it will be spared from insects, fungus and storms and that they will be able to sell their crop to put food on their tables and possibly put their children through elementary school. (Our size of field may yield $300, a huge sum of money for the average Indonesian.)

On the day we planted, I went out early in the quiet of the morning to see the seedlings and the unplanted field.  I plucked a couple of the small rice stalks and held them in my hand. He holds all things together…  There was something overwhelming about holding that grain and knowing that it existed because of Him and for Him (Heb 2:10).  (The rice is planted now and you can see pictures of planting day at http://picasaweb.google.com/indonesia0809/RiceField?authkey=Gv1sRgCP37lp3P3bmDdA&feat=directlink)

This verse from Colossians continued to ring in my ears this week as each day brought a new challenge. On Wednesday, I found out that a dear former student of mine was in a car wreck this week in New Zealand. She was the driver and was taken to a hospital in serious condition. Her visiting friend, a backseat passenger, was killed on impact.

Yesterday my house helper’s husband was hospitalized with repeated seizures due to a mass in his brain the size of an apple. The family’s sole income is from the work his wife does at our home, and she is frantically trying to figure out how to provide food for her family, pay for medical bills, and cope with the fact that her husband is dying. And as I talked with each of these families this week, the Father reminded me, “I hold all things together.”

And as I laid in bed sick this weekend, pondering the week’s events and realizing with teary eyes that I will be moving in three months, He assured me again: I hold all things together.

By His power, He brings everything under His control (Phil 3:21). From the germination of seeds in the most unlikely of places, to the unexpected events and crises of our lives, He maintains control. He isn’t like a cartoon character balancing two tall stacks of plates, shifting from side to side maniacally trying to gain control. He isn’t so focused on one crisis in the world that out of the corner of His eye He sees two cars about to wreck and drops everything to try to save them, only to be just a fraction of a second too late. No… He’s nothing like that.

Jer 31 says that nothing is too hard for Him.

John 1 says that everything is made by Him and without Him there would be nothing.

Job 37 says that He controls when the snow or rain falls to the earth and that by His breath the “broad waters” become ice.

Acts 17 says that He gives all men life and breath and everything else, and that he has determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. It says we live and move and have our being in HIM!

Rev 4 says He created all things, and by His WILL they were created and have their being.

It’s hard to understand the “whys” sometimes. It’s hard to believe that anything good can come of the rocky, sticky, impossible soil that we find ourselves in. But the Great Farmer knows the bigger picture. He is not surprised by anything. What good is it then for us to worry or be anxious? It may be hard for us to see right now, and we may not understand until He explains it all to us in person, but if we trust His Word, we can be confident that He is cultivating good things.

He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together. –Col 1:17

Growing Up

I had sort of a mini-revelation recently. I’m getting older every day. Questions of age don’t seem to be too big of an issue in Indonesia. In fact, many people don’t even know exactly when their birthdays are! If a Westerner uses that as an excuse, however, you can almost bet they actually mean, “Mind your own business.”

I recently went out to lunch with my roommate and a family with two small children. During the meal, the three-year-old boy came up with a really clever way to ask this rather sensitive question. “How long ago were you a baby?”

I’ve been around young children quite frequently this year. They are so carefree and simple. I love what I can learn from them. A dad says to his daughter, “Hey! You want to come with me?” and she responds with a giggle of delight to jump onto his shoulders. It’s very doubtful that before making her decision, she pondered questions like, “Is anyone cool watching me?” or, “Before I give you my answer, I want to know exactly where we are going, how we’re going to get there, what we’re going to do there, how long we’re going to be there, what the weather will be like, and who else is going to be there?”  

No. She probably doesn’t ask any of those things. She just jumps up into their dad’s arms and goes.

Then the children start to grow up. I was teaching a group of 14 year olds about planets last week. “Did you know that all of the planets in our solar system could fit inside of Jupiter?” No response. A few kids scrawled it into their notes. Then the following week, my students were asked to give planet presentations to the 5th graders who were studying the same thing. I watched that elementary class listen intently as one of my students shared the Jupiter fact. The class broke out into oooooos and ahhhhs.

It’s interesting how age can affect us.

Despite not being avid fans of astronomical data, my students are an incredible group of young people who are constantly teaching me and challenging me through their questions and insight. In the last three weeks, I have been so encouraged by student after student coming by my classroom to share their struggles and ask for guidance or accountability. And I was so proud of the Student Council for choosing Eph 4:1b as their banner verse, “…I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received.” After a great discussion about this passage, the council was asked to sign a statement that they would live above reproach in their dealings in and out of school. Several students wanted to spend a few days counting the cost before blindly signing a paper with a commitment they were not willing to make. I was impressed with how seriously they internalized that passage. My students challenge me to press onward in my walk.

In the last couple of months, I have been mulling over two passages:

“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” Ps 139:23-24

“Test me, O Lord, and try me, examine my mind and my heart.” Ps 26:2

I shared these with a teen recently and her response was very honest. “Isn’t it scary to ask that?” We had a great talk about having clean hearts before the Father and not, under any circumstance, knowingly allowing dark places to remain hidden. I loved how open she was to respond! She chose to follow the Father in His call for complete submission.

Certainly the Word is laced with the value of having child-like faith. However, it does not call us to remain childish. 1 Cor 13:11 says, “When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.” Seems rather paradoxical, doesn’t it?

Heb 5 begins by discussing some rather weighty issues to a group of struggling Jewish believers. And upon finishing the mini-sermon, the writer follows it with:

“We have much to say about this, but it is hard to explain because you are slow to learn. In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil. Therefore let us leave the elementary teachings about Christ and go on to maturity…” (Heb 5:11-6:1a)

That is an intense statement… and it’s one that I have been drawn to more and more as I see this incredible yearning in the hearts of teens. Am I pressing on in my walk? Do I ask the Father with boldness and without fear to examine me and show me the places that need surrendered?

It’s funny to be an adult. I don’t know if this ever happens to you, but somewhere along the line, after working with kids all the time and encouraging and challenging them to live above mediocrity, I can wake up and find myself needing to stop and chew on my own words. It’s easy to become prideful, apathetic and slothful. It’s easy to hold grudges and be unforgiving. And I think, if we aren’t mindful of this, we as adults are quite susceptible to feeling as though we have arrived at some maturity level that gives us permission to settle into a groove that we never leave.

2 Chron 16:9 says that the eyes of the LORD move to and fro throughout the earth that He may strongly support those whose heart is completely His. What a challenging and inspiring passage! I suppose it takes a lifetime of being in constant battle with the enemy to achieve a totally surrendered heart. But we should, as aging adults, be striving for this passionately. We should frequently be examining our foundation for cracks and prioritizing their repairs. We should be digging further into the Word and not just be content to know our few favorite verses or soapboxes from Scripture.

As we grow older, we should be pleading, as David did, for the Father to clearly show us our weaknesses and the areas of darkness in our hearts. And we should relentlessly pursue freedom from those sins, asking the Father to do whatever kind of surgery it requires to heal us and form us more like His image… being renewed day by day, not shriveling away.

And this is not just for our own sakes! It is also for the questioning children, hungry teens and others in our lives that come to us looking for counsel and clarity. Can our life experiences alone sate the longings of their hearts? I hope we never fall into believing that lie.

May we pursue Him deeply as He blesses us with each day… not with the intent that our lives would some day leave legacies, but that through our lives His name would be made great.

The Star

Kids are so funny. I was on lunch duty a few days ago and a group of middle school Korean boys were all gathered around a piece of paper. As I got nearer, I heard them reciting, “Deck the halls with… what is that word again? Bows? Bogs? Fa la la la la la la la la la la…” “No! That’s too many la las!” It’s funny to me that they don’t know that song. It’s so familiar to me.

Friday night was our school Christmas music program. During the dress rehearsal that afternoon while we all sang, “The First Noel,” I stared out the window mouthing the words and watching the mysterious cloud formations creeping over the mountains of Kota Baru. As my eyes shifted back into the room, I looked down at the lyrics and there, in a carol I’ve sang my whole life, were the words, “…to search for a King was their intent, and they followed the star wherever it went.” Isn’t interesting how familiar words can impact at the most unsuspecting times?

Historical accounts tell us that the wise men must have followed the star for about two years. For two years of their lives, they devoted themselves to a star? No. Not to a star. But to what the star promised. A child. They devoted themselves to the One who had been promised to them.

It’s hard to follow the Star, isn’t it? Especially when it moves into difficult places. It’s fun when He asks us to stay somewhere nice and cozy and comfortable. But it’s another thing when the star leads us out into the lonely, unknown, and hard places and beckons us to follow there.

Do you ever ask, as I do, “Is it worth it?”

In the past few months, I have wrestled much about whether or not I made the right decision to leave Bandung for next school year. The story I have continued to return to is that of Abraham and Isaac. Abraham waited decade after decade for the promise that had been made to him – a son. And then he was asked to sacrifice him. Can you imagine the emotions associated with such a call? What an incredibly wise man to obediently follow wherever the Father went!

As I consider what keeps me from wanting to follow Him wholeheartedly sometimes, I continue to come back to the need to be surrendered. Indeed Abraham must have been completely surrendered in order to willingly sacrifice his promised child! About two months ago, I made a list of the things I was not willing to surrender. I would like to have thought that my list would be very short, but it wasn’t. There were ten bullet points that surfaced. So I started asking the Father to give me the ability to look at those things as loaned items, not possessions. And I asked Him to give me the strength to open my hands.

I cannot describe to you how He has honored that request. I do not understand the subtleties of His spirit inside me, but He has, one by one, begun to help me see the points on this list as HIS and not mine. And in turn, I also cannot describe the freedom and the peace that comes from trusting Him. It truly is so sweet to trust in Him… to take Him at His Word… to rest upon His promises.

I don’t know what all was involved in the Magi taking off to follow a star. I don’t know what kind of persecution or ridicule they might have received as they left all they knew to follow a star. I don’t know what they had to give up in order to go. But what I do know is that they had a single-minded purpose and stopped at nothing (not even an audience with King Herod himself) to fulfill it. Matt 2:2 tells us that their single purpose was simply to worship Him.

To worship Him. One desire. One focus and mission. To worship Him.

Imagine the absolute thrill when all of the sudden, the star stopped. This was it! This house held the Promise! And they were filled with exceedingly great joy. I think it’s safe to assume at that point that they probably weren’t regretting all they had left behind in their far away country. I highly doubt they cared what others thought of them bowing down to a small child.

We don’t know the rest of the story of these men’s lives. But we do know one thing. They left with overflowing with joy. And I bet that joy sloshed out of them every step of their trip home and over every person they encountered.

So is it worth it? Is it worth the trip to follow the Star wherever it goes? Is it worth it to surrender our comforts and our perceived needs? 2 Cor 4:17 says that these minor troubles we are going through for a breath of time are going to be SO worth it… achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs anything we’re facing.

It’s worth it, wise friends. So let’s commit to follow the Star together! Let’s help each other out when the journey is hard, reminding one another of the JOY that is set before us! And then one day, not too far off, that Star is going to stop. No longer will that joy be set BEFORE us… but we will enter into it! I long for the day when we will rejoice together in it for eternity with the Son.

It will be worth it.

Baby Steps

I’ve learned to do a lot of things since I’ve come to Indonesia. I know how and where to get what I need. I know how to prioritize my time and how to multi-task projects. I’m able to handle a lot more stress than I ever did when I was younger. I can generate lots of possible solutions to problems and can think outside the box. I know how to fend for myself when I need to. I can plan and coordinate events left and right.

While talking with a new friend who just arrived to Indonesia, I was recently reminded of my own first year in Indonesia when I could hardly tie my shoe without help and how I felt totally at the mercy of others for survival.

So I asked myself yesterday, “When was I better off? Now or then?”

Today was our school’s new building dedication. I was on the committee to plan the event. It was a lot of work, but I was excited about the opportunity to bring together dignitaries from Indonesia, Singapore and America to an event like this so they could see how incredible the Father has been to us.  My main responsibility for the day was organizing two ensembles – a Preschool-12th grade choir and a staff choir. It was fun to work with the groups, and on the whole, the day was a success. But I walked away feeling empty.

As the kids sang, “Step by step You lead me, and I will follow You all of my days,” the words sunk deep into my spirit. What does it look like to be led step by step? Maybe it looks a little like a toddler walking forward and holding on to both of his dad’s hands… those awkward, exaggerated steps which cause the little body to struggle to maintain balance.

Or perhaps it’s a little like me climbing up Mt. Bromo last weekend while on vacation in east Indonesia. The trek involved trudging through a basin filled with volcanic ash followed by a long staircase up the side of the volcano. By the time I got to the base of those stairs, I was wheezing from the pace we took, mixed with dust and altitude. Half way up, my legs were numb and I nearly had to use my arms to pick up each leg to take the next step. That’s what I think of when I hear ‘step by step.’ It’s the kind of work that’s involved with having to think about every move you make.

And it was through that song from the mouths of my kids that I realized why I felt empty. I had planned that day. In every part that I played a role, I had the contact info. I knew where to get what we needed. I had an idea to make it work. But other than a couple of corporate times of asking Him to be present in the day, I made lists and did things of my own strength and experience.

What a terrible realization.  If I had just moved to Indonesia and was in charge of planning that event, I would have been up in the wee hours of the morning asking for His help in thinking through each detail… asking for His peace to fill my spirit… asking for Him to inspire me with creativity and to give me Divine connections as to where to find the resources we would need.

Ironically, the staff ensemble I coordinated sang Ps 127 in Indonesian: Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain.  Funny how those two songs had the same message and I had heard them practiced all week, and yet, I hadn’t really heard the message in them until the end of the dedication day.

Tears came to my eyes as I realized that I hadn’t planned the event with my Father. You know that tight knot you get in your stomach when you know you messed up? Followed by a flood of guilt… but then He spoke.

I am Sovereign.
My Word was spoken and it does not return void.
No human will destroy my plans or purposes… so don’t succumb to guilt.
You CAN do all things… but through MY strength, not your own.
My grace is sufficient for you… my power is made perfect in WEAKNESS.

So was I better off when I first got here? Well I certainly felt much weaker and more desperately in need of His grace to make it through each day!  And though I’m so thankful for the confidence I have in Indonesia right now, I am also learning valuable lessons in the need to be intentional about asking Him for help with each step.

So I started today. I turned off my alarm this morning, opened my eyes and asked, “Guide my steps today, Father. As I turn another year older, keep my spirit young. Help me to cling to Your hands as a child to her father.”

Step by step You lead me and I will follow You all of my days.

Any Road, Any Cost

I’ve been painting pictures of Egypt

Leaving out what it lacked

The future seems so hard

And I want to go back…

From ‘Painting Pictures of Egypt’ by Sara Groves

I don’t really have words to describe the last month. At the end of last school year, amidst purge days and rummage sales and packing and moving home and classroom, I really had not fully taken hold of the fact that I would no longer live in Bandung. (I still am having dreams of packing and unpacking boxes!) I know I had processed many of the details of what it would be like to move to the new city, Kota Baru, so my brain was not especially surprised at the change of life that our staff is experiencing. But I’m not sure my heart believed that it would really happen… that I would really not know where to get bare essentials… that it would be 90 degrees in my classroom every day… that I would need to change my diet to a much more simple Indonesian menu… that I wouldn’t be able to just ‘swing by’ a friend’s house in the evening (because they live an hour away)… and the list keeps unfolding.

I am still in the part of this transition phase where I can hardly wait until Sunday when we go in to town to meet with other believers (who still meet at our old campus) and to enjoy perks of the city. When I walk on to the old campus, my heart and mind swell with beautiful memories of the past. I bet I could spend two hours walking over every part of that campus, reminiscing the sweetness of what happened in that place. I spoke in chapel last week and asked the students how many of them would go back to the old campus right now if they could. At least 2/3 of them raised their hands. They missed the cooler temperatures, the reading ‘pit’ in the library, the ‘cozy’ feel of the campus, the character of the classrooms, the huge trees…

But we, like the Israelites, do a good job of painting pictures of Egypt. I’ve been thinking about the Israelites a lot lately. They were enslaved for 430 years, being used ‘ruthlessly’ as it says in Ex 1. Their lives were ‘made bitter’ by hard labor, their baby boys were ordered to be killed. And yet, when they were finally freed, it was no time at all before they told Moses in Ex 14,

“Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you brought us to the desert to die? What have you done to us by bringing us out of Egypt? Didn’t we say to you in Egypt, ‘Leave us alone; let us serve the Egyptians’? It would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the desert!”

I really can’t even imagine what Moses must have felt like to hear those kinds of words out of the mouths of the people that had been oppressed for generations.

Now I am certainly NOT saying that I just came out of hard labor and oppression! However, I am pretty surprised at how fast I can lose sight of the reason we moved our school to begin with. We are in an incredible place right now with an incredible facility, and we have the opportunity to be pioneers in a new endeavor that will one day be comfortable and familiar and home to the future teachers and students of BAIS.

And that’s the problem really… it’s tough to leave what is comfortable. In another part of the song, ‘Painting Pictures of Egypt,’ it says:

The places I long for the most

Are the places where I’ve been

They are calling after me like a long lost friend…

The place I was wasn’t perfect

But I had found a way to live

It wasn’t milk or honey

But then neither is this

It’s true. It wasn’t perfect, but we had our routine. We were comfortable and at ease.

Ps 62:2 says, “My soul finds rest in God alone.”

I can definitely see the benefits of not finding my rest in the tangible and temporary! What a cool opportunity, really, to be in limbo right now… to not really feel settled anywhere. It forces me to find my rest in Him alone. What a difference that mentality makes in times of transition! He is the only Stable One.

Col 3:2 – “Set your mind on things above, not on things on earth.”

When I was in high school, I sang a song for a few audiences called, “Any Road, Any Cost,” by Point of Grace. The first verse and chorus say:

Leaving the safe and familiar

With their hearts set on a heavenly prize

There were some who laid down their nets

And some who laid down their lives

Not sure where they were going

But they did not have to know

‘Cause they knew Who had called them

And they said, we will go

Down any road at any cost

Wherever You lead we will follow

Because we know that You’ve called us

To take up our cross

Down any road at any cost

I remember singing that song and making a commitment to live my life by that theme. I’d say that’s about the antithesis of living in a nice, cozy, comfortable place.

On July 1, I got a job offer. Out of ‘nowhere,’ I was asked to work full time on the islands that I take my students to each year, starting in June of next year. In 2001, even before I came to Indonesia, I had a dream that one day I might be able to a job just like that. And now there it was sitting in my lap.

I had one month to make the decision… and I needed every day of it. There were a number of factors that weighed into the decision, primarily what it would mean to leave my students. But in the midst of time with Him, the question came: Jennie, who are you going to choose?

And so, nine months from now, I will be packing up my life again. I am so thankful for the transition I am currently experiencing. It is teaching me much and no doubt providing me tools which I will be able to use again next year. I will again be leaving ‘the safe and familiar’ to do a new thing. I am thrilled about the chance to step out in faith in a totally new endeavor, raising full support and living a much different life that I ever have before. My initial commitment is for 12-13 months while on a leave of absence from BAIS. I hope to go back to the school again for the 2010-2011 school year… but I will wait and see how things go. Perhaps I am to stay there for just a year and then return (as is the plan right now). Or perhaps He has something very different in mind. I have committed to keep my hands open to whatever lies ahead. (And I won’t lie… that’s a little scary!)

As I start to process what it means to leave the place I’ve lived in for 6 years, tears come quickly… and I’m sure there will be more of them as the year goes on. But I look to the Son’s example for strength. Why did He choose to be obedient? Heb 2 says it was ‘for the joy that was set before Him.’ Indeed, He had His eyes fixed on things above.

Father, captivate us so we are wholly surrendered to Your leading… down any road at any cost.

Squashed Fingers

This morning I got into a friend’s car, shut the door and immediately put my elbow up on the ledge to my right. Out of habit, I rested my fingers at the top of my passenger-side window, sticking them out the crack where the window was open slightly. And you know what I learned right after that? I learned how power windows got their name. Without warning, my fingers were getting squashed in the window as it was going up via driver control. It’s funny how, in a millisecond, you can learn a lesson that you will not soon forget. Don’t stick your fingers out of partially-rolled-down power windows on hot days. If you were there, I bet you could have just told me that rule and saved me the pain.

But pain is an interesting thing. Though the brain can’t recreate the actual feeling of pain in a memory, something about the memory of the event itself is enough to make you realize you don’t want to do it again. For instance, I remember when I was very young we had an old-time metal electric popcorn maker that got very hot on the outside as it cooked. I remember my mom telling me to never touch the kettle if the red light was on. And I remember the first time I saw the red light on and touched it. The result was an immediate blister (a negative outcome), and a memory to secure the rule, “Never touch the kettle when the red light is on.”

On the other hand, today as I talked to the woman with the powerful car windows, she told me about her daughter who loved being pregnant… so much so that she has been a surrogate mother two times, not to mention having other children of her own. From what I hear from most women, giving birth hurts at least as bad as getting your fingers stuck in a car window or blistered from a hot popcorn kettle. And I wouldn’t want to do either of those things again. Though I don’t know this woman personally, I’m guessing that she must remember this pain of childbirth in light of the positive outcome – a life that is precious in God’s eyes… whether that child was entrusted to her or for the joy of another couple who was not able to conceive on their own.

So from these examples, I make the following conclusion: Pain creates memories. (Note: I cannot take credit for this conclusion. Search ‘pain’ on any search engine. Many people have done significantly more research on this topic than I have. ☺)

As I have just finished this school year at BAIS, I recall really great memories with fellow staff members, students and friends in the community. And I also recall pain. Some of these pains are yearly and inevitable… like graduation. The longer I teach, the harder it is to watch high school graduation. As I watched the beaming students walk down the aisle, I winced just a little to think of what school would be like without them next year. I had taught some of those students for over 1200 class periods in the last 6 school years, not to mention sports, youth group, and other extracurricular activities. If graduation didn’t have a positive outcome (incredible young adults going out to make positive impacts and to take Light to other communities all over the world), I would quit teaching. I don’t make it a habit of intentionally inflicting pain upon myself which leads to negative outcomes.

As with the end of each international school year, I said a lot of goodbyes two weeks ago.  Over 40 dear students, friends and colleagues moved on to new countries and new endeavors.  As great as our intentions were to reunite during some future holiday, the reality is that I probably will not see most of them again on this side of Heaven. That hurts deeply. But the positive outcome is undeniable: every one of those individuals left a significant impact on my life.  I can’t thank the Father enough for the period of time I had with each of them.  He helped me to understand more about Himself through their lives. And as a result, I will not be afraid to invest time into the new people that will come into my life next year.

When I left Indonesia this year, I turned in my keys for the last time. In a matter of just a few hours, I had locked up both my house, my classroom and my storage room, never to enter them again. After years of talk regarding a future school move, it is now happening. In August, BAIS will open its doors on a brand new campus for the first time in 52 years, outside of the city of Bandung. That sentence is full of joy mixed with grieving. I will deeply miss my classroom and the daily breath-taking sunrises from the third floor. I will miss the open-air hallways and the knowledge that they had been used by students for half a century.  I will miss the sports court, the auditorium, the library, the upper campus, the upper house porch, the motorbike parking lot, the… yes, I’ll miss it all. The memories are overwhelming. It hurts to leave that Ciumbeleuit neighborhood and the school campus. But we had reached our capacity and would soon lose part of our rented space to the landowners. It was time to move on. And without a question, the BAIS students are worth it.

So after a bittersweet ending to that chapter of my life, I came back to the States for some downtime and refreshment and a hope to escape the pain for a while. But soon after I returned, I received news that my friend of 12 years, Phil Penner, had passed away unexpectedly in Bandung. I sobbed as my spirit agonized over the loss of this man. He was the one who had first introduced me to Indonesia and to many of my first acquaintances there. Phil lived his life intentionally and boldly. He loved people and his heart burned with the Father’s passion for the world. And yet, I know, as he knew, our citizenship is not in Indonesia, nor is it in America.  In both Eph 2 and Phil 3, we read that as Believers in the One Who Saves, our real Home awaits us in Heaven. Phil lived his life as a foreigner… as one who longed for a better country and for a city with foundations built by the Great Architect (Heb 11:10, 16).  The seeds that were planted by Phil during his lifetime, wherever he went… those were the positive outcome of this pain that hundreds of people felt around the world. And obviously, his brief pain was quickly replaced by a joy we will not know in our lifetimes.

From what I hear, if the pain of childbirth could be physically remembered, the world’s population would be considerably smaller. And yet, approximately 200 babies are born per minute around the world… many of those being only one of several born by the same mother. The outcome is priceless and that feeling far surpasses the feeling of pain.

Physical pain indicates that something is not right. It forces us to take care of the area and/or to stop and rest. If we ignore the pain and keep living as normal, it is possible that infection, long-term damage or even death can result. But if we take heed and rest, the blood brings oxygen and nutrients to the area of injury which promotes healing. In some cases, like bone breaks or many kinds of infections, the result of the associated pain actually causes the body to become stronger and more resistant to injury or further sickness.

And it is for this same reason that we can endure life pains for a little while. We need to be aware of these pains. We need to take the time to tend to these pains and to let the lifeblood of the Son course through our veins to bring healing. The alternative can lead to necrosis of the soul and bitterness, hardness or resentment.

Certainly, I don’t want pain. I think you might relate. It is easy to dwell on the short-term negative impacts of it. Some days I’d rather just learn the life lessons from reading a manual versus experiencing it. But as He sees fit for me to experience it (and He knows that I’m an experiential learner!), I am thankful for the strength that it builds in me for the future. I am thankful for its call to me to be intentional in and grateful for every day. And I am thankful for the reminder that our hope is to be in nothing and no one other than the One who reigns in the place where I will never again lock a door, walk away or say goodbye.

You and I both know, there is more pain to come.  Some is expected. We anticipate it like the annual graduation or the due date for a child to be born. Some pain is unexpected, like the surprise of the power window closing upon my fingers or the death of a loved one. But both are so valuable.

1 Pet 1:3b-4, 6-7
In His great mercy, he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of JC from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade – kept in heaven for you… In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith – of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire – may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when JC is revealed.

And that, friends, is the MOST positive outcome. The pain is worth it.

To Hunger and Thirst

Eating on the islands is more than just a means to replenish nutrients. It’s an entire production. Three times each day, we would sit down with our host family and begin by raving about how they really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to make such an extravagant spread. Then the woman of the home would heap our plates full of white rice and to it we would add small spoonfuls of various fish and squid curries. With our plates held in our left hands, we would “ooo and ahhh” about the delicious flavors while trying to master the art of eating with our right hands. And then our hosts would beam with delight as we finished our first helpings, eagerly waiting to add more rice to our plates. There is no answer but ‘yes’ to a proud chef offering seconds… and thirds. I think in their minds, it would be fine if there was some sauce or fish left in the bowls. But the rice? They weren’t really satisfied until it was gone. So after 9-10 plates of food (primarily rice) on the first day, eating became more of a display of honor to our host than a reprieve for a growling stomach. I was no longer hungry.

Before our trip, I had been going through the Beatitudes with my class. My recent favorite from that list deals with hungering and thirsting after Him. On several occasions I asked my class and myself, “Do we really hunger and thirst after Him?” If I had to be honest, most of the time I’m full… just like I was on the islands. Unfortunately, I’m not always full of good and tasty things. A lot of times I’m just full of my self. Sort of like being full of rice.

It’s not too often that I meet a person who is starving for Him. But on islands where there is no Word and no outreaching fellowship, you can find a lot of people starving… and they have no idea how to make the hunger pains go away.

Ibu Capek was one of those people.

I met Ibu on a ‘random’ stroll on the island with my friend Emily. She quickly invited us into her home, and though I really wanted to see the rest of the village, we decided to go in for a few minutes. Her house was not on the main path, so she was elated that tourists had come into her home. She frantically ran around the house, pulling together quite the tray of Indonesian sweet snacks. Within two getting-to-know you questions, it was obvious that this woman was not interested in small talk. She had a story to tell.

Her husband had died 5 years, 1 month and 3 days prior, without known cause and only two years after marriage. As the description of this man progressed, it was obvious that their love ran deep. She began to bring out his old belongings… his shoes, the cigarettes and lighter he was using when he died, and old clothes. After she showed us the framed photo of his dead body with her lying over it, weeping, I ensured her that it was ok if she didn’t go ahead and bring out his last toothbrush, burial cloth and other paraphernalia. It was obvious that something was not right with this woman. She was beautiful in the picture, but now her hair was unkempt and scraggly and her face was aged far beyond actuality.

Later we were able to slightly diverge from the topic of her husband, and we found out that she sold ‘special’ drugs to women. Her business was widespread and her product was evidently effective. She brought out a pill and set it on the table in front of us. It resembled a goat dropping. She made them herself with a recipe passed down from her mother, who also had sold the drug. Others had watched her make the recipe, but even if they mirrored her every move, they were never successful. At that moment, I knew we were talking with a very important person on that island. She was a witch doctor. She went on to explain about her ‘special blessings’ over these pills and how they were the secret to its success. But before we could ask any further questions, she was already back on to the topic of her husband and her daily trips to his grave, where she would rub the dirt of his grave on her face. Her talk was incessant, and we grew weary in strategizing a way to get a word in edgewise. Finally she breathed, and I asked her directly, “Ibu, do you have peace?”

This began a new course of conversation, and we explained to her the story of a Man we loved deeply who had been killed. She listened intently. We told her that after three days, His tomb was found empty. “Someone stole the body!” she said, fully engaged in the story. And we told her of His resurrection and of His power, which far surpassed that of the power which she called upon.

There was a moment of silence, and then she began another story. After her husband had died, her friend divulged to her that her husband had taken a piece of Ibu Capek’s hair to another witch doctor and asked him to curse it so that she would never forget him, even if he died. Tears ran down her cheeks as she explained how she rarely could sleep since his death. Her mind was consumed with him. And when men would try to pursue her, she would make herself look even more scraggly and yell at them to go away, as she could almost hear her husband telling her to stay away from them.

“Ibu, how can we help you? Do you want to be free from this?” we asked. She begged for our help, and our translator said, “May I take one strand of your hair?” She quickly pulled it out, and the translator began to speak to the Father, with Ibu repeating. She repeated phrases for quite some time, including vows to never call on the name of the powers of darkness again. She acknowledged that only the Son had the power to break curses and that in His name He would do it. She repeated, through tears, that her hair no longer belonged to one controlled by darkness, but one who was protected by the Father.

When they were finished, she immediately asked what she should do with that single strand of hair she held. We encouraged her to remember Him in her coming periods of emptiness, and to enter the land of the Living by brushing her hair (for the first time since her husband’s death) as a symbol of the commitments she had made. She promised she would do it the following day.

Only the Father knows the state of her heart now, and whether she is a true Sister in Him yet or not. But that was the hungriest person I have ever met. And I was speechless as I watched her taste and see that the Father is good.

The next day we went to see her again, and she was overjoyed that she had slept peacefully through the night for the first time since her husband’s death. Her hair was brushed and tied back nicely, and I couldn’t wait to enter into deeper conversation with her again. But within ten minutes many people came into the house, and she felt insecure to continue further. So we carried on into other insignificant conversation instead, but during the course of that time, she mentioned her love for reading. And our translator promised her that within the week, she would have a very special Book in her hands.

The following day, we left the island. She met us at the dock, wearing lipstick, a skirt, and her hair tied back neatly. She had slept well again and her eyes glowed. She begged us to come back again and reminded us to not forget to send the Book we had promised. My eyes welled up with tears as we pulled away from that island. I recalled how she had explained earlier that she had seen me get off the boat when we first arrived and that she knew she had to meet me.

And it is in times like these that I see Him so incredibly powerful and see me so incredibly weak, that my stomach purges the wretchedness of ME… and I am hungry for just Him… as it should have been from the beginning. Father, may we hunger and thirst after You.

Ps 107:5-6, 9

They were hungry and thirsty, and their lives ebbed away. Then they cried out to the Father in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress… for he satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things.