The Guest is King

•December 20, 2016 • 3 Comments

When I was a junior in high school, I took a career aptitude test. It was supposed to help me figure out how to choose a major in college and to pursue something that would fit my interests and passions. I couldn’t wait for the results to get back.

Number 1 most suited career for me? Hotel Manager.

Hmm… Nope.

So I went on to major in Biology, get a teaching certification, move to Indonesia and teach upper level high school sciences for 11 years. It was good.

And what am I doing now? Managing a resort.

Ironic? A bit. And one thing is for sure… teaching does not grow skills that are conducive to the hospitality industry. Here’s an example from a class camping trip:

Student: Miss Blair, I don’t want to get up early and make the fire for breakfast.

Me: Would you like to eat breakfast?

Student: Yes.

Me: Who seems like the right person to make the fire?

Student: You?

Me: What is the purpose of this trip?

Student: For us to learn how to camp.

Me: Who seems like the right person to make the fire?


It’s quite a feat to move from the world of education to the service industry. It requires a complete paradigm shift. And on the long shot that one of my former guests would ever stumble upon this blog post, I will refrain from sharing any sample dialogues here. But one valuable principle I have learned in the last couple of years is that, regardless of the guest’s request (and despite my innate desire to teach them new ways of responding to set backs on their resort vacations) — The guest is king.

This concept took awhile to sink in. My previous life experiences of staying in cheap motels in America hardly prepared me for the complaints of guests at an over-water resort on an idyllic, remote beach in Indonesia. Sometimes I wonder if the appalled reaction in my mind showed completely on my face in those early months of working out there. But with time, I think I have started to grow a bit. There is something sort of satisfying about sitting down with my staff and figuring out how to solve guest complaints so that they leave having forgotten the issue altogether and are instead completely enamored by the magical experience they had. I’m not great at it… but I’m getting better, I think.

As I have been studying the Christmas Story again this year, my attention has turned to the innkeeper. This is not a brand new concept. There are hundreds of blog posts on this topic. Some scorn the innkeeper as having missed the point of Christmas. Some explain that the inn wasn’t really a hotel at all, but actually a guest room in a family member’s house, which was already filled by other family coming to register as well.

My innkeeper mindset can’t help but think of a number of ways that this could have worked out for Mary and Joseph though… for a few days anyway, surely? Special discounts for other guests to move or consolidate? Move the inn staff to an attic or storage closet? But then again, who knows? Maybe those staying in the guest room at that inn were in an even worse medical situation. Maybe that innkeeper actually did come up with the most gracious and accommodating option available by offering that manger. I’d at least like to try to give him/her the benefit of the doubt!

There really is hardly enough in Luke 2 to judge what all actually happened regarding the housing situation:

While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them. – Luke 2:6-7

But one thing we know for sure — that Guest was King.

Maybe the innkeeper really was too busy and missed out on “the reason for the season.” Maybe the innkeeper is guilty as charged by the majority of commentaries. Without question, it’s easy to do. Run your resort. Make sure guests aren’t complaining. Check for broken door handles and smudges on the windows. Smile a lot. It can be all-consuming at times.

But I think, to me, the point is that on that night, the innkeeper’s guest was King. And it’s very possible that he didn’t even know it. I’m challenged and sobered by this. You just never know who your guests are… at your church, in your home, in your place of business. Each of them has a story. Some are diplomats. Some are farmers. Some are newlyweds. Some are millionaires. Most are broken. And all need the King.

For years, I’ve been fascinated by an obscure verse in Hebrews…

Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it. — Heb 13:2

It’s a challenge to me. It’s tiring sometimes out at the resort. Every day new people come and go. And honestly, there are times that I don’t even try to get to know them. On a bad day, I won’t even introduce myself. It’s far from the Christmas spirit… and definitely far from the call to show genuine hospitality. But each person that steps foot on our property (or that steps into my sphere of influence) is worthy to be treated with honor.

By saying hi…

By going the extra mile…

By asking questions and listening to stories…

By putting aside my agenda for the day…

By doing the very best I can to meet the needs (and wants) of my guests… I can treat them as royalty. And I think it’s a good practice to get into for life in general. I want to be an innkeeper (and a person) who treats the guests in my life as King. Why? Because that Baby King grew to teach us that when we feed the hungry, visit the sick, love the least, we also do it to Him (Matthew 25:35-40).

Our Christmas holidays will all look a bit different. Mine will be at a resort, hosting sand angel competitions, serving fresh coconuts and making Christmas cookies on the beach. Perhaps yours will be snuggled with family around a fire and a sparkling tree. Maybe you’ll be with surrogate family. Maybe your heart will be full of warmth and joy… or maybe it will be pierced with the pain of loss. But regardless of where we are or how we plan to celebrate this year, my take-away… my Christmas challenge… is this:

Make room for a guest. Hear their stories. Serve them lavishly.

And treat them as king.


I’ve Seen Miracles…

•October 23, 2016 • 8 Comments

I often wonder what it was like to walk with Jesus in the flesh.

I wonder…

… if I would have been a stronger person than I am now.

… if I would have had a deeper faith than I do now.

… if I would have loved more and traversed life valleys with more grace than I do now.

I wonder if I would be different if I had walked with Jesus in the flesh.

As I read about the miracles of Jesus, I sometimes try to put myself in the crowd in those days. How could their eyes even process what they saw before them?

… the blind beggar no longer needing a guide.

… the man lame from birth, walking home with his mat on his head.

… the legendary, naked demon man now proclaiming Jesus in the streets.

What did those onlookers think when they initially saw the extraordinary? What were they pondering as they drifted off to sleep that night? How did it change the way they lived they next day… Or the day after that?


This week I witnessed miracles.

On Sunday before a group of 100 students arrived at the resort, I sat down with my key school trip facilitators and said, “Guys, I don’t know why, but I think we need to be ready for this week. We need to focus on safety and be alert.” For some reason, it was heavy on my heart. And as I limped away from that meeting, having just come out of knee surgery 8 days prior, I asked God to protect us from what might come.

And on Wednesday night during our staff meeting after day 3 of the school program, a teacher came running in and said a child had fallen through the railing and into the sea.

As I close my eyes now and remember, images flash through my mind like an old-fashioned slide show…

…Peering down over the jetty and seeing the 6th grader wandering around in shin-deep, blood-stained water, 4 meters below.

…Staff mobilizing and organizing themselves… making phone calls, hauling blankets and medical supplies and a backboard.

…Me running down the jetty and out into the water, on the phone with medical personnel in Singapore.

God, I have some questions for you.

  • Why wasn’t the child impaled by the railing falling just below her?
  • Why and how did that child land on her feet from that high up?
  • How was it that every time I called out for something to be brought down, one of my staff either already had it there, or got it there within a couple of minutes?
  • How did the boat get there so fast, fueled and ready and staffed?
  • How did we have the exact amount of staff needed to carry the child on the backboard and into the boat?
  • How was it possible that those present to help were not merely gawking, but each taking an active role in helping with the evacuation?
  • And wait… how was I running? I just got off crutches 5 days ago.

And the answer I have heard for each of these questions is a simple one. “It was My Hand.”

We witnessed a miracle. The Hands of the Father spared us from a tragedy that night that could have haunted us for life.

After the boat left to take the child to the hospital in Batam, I sat down with my team. It was silent. Our hearts were heavy and our stomachs in knots. It felt like we had been in emergency mode for hours, though in reality only 68 minutes had passed. And we prayed. And that night, Jesus sat with us. Though less than half in that circle know Him, He came near to us. And I believe every one of them knew it.

The next day was a quiet one. I was tired from a sleepless night of phone calls and continued coordination of getting that child on to Singapore for better medical care. But the school program continued on. Kids still laughed and learned. Our staff still ran a great program. And we moved on with weary, but thankful hearts.

But little did we know, that there was still more to come…


On Friday morning at 8 am, the students were out learning about local fishing practices. They would leave at 12:00 pm that day, but still had a few hours of fun to go. In the meantime, I was in an upper level management team meeting with all the managers from both of our resorts (which are approximately one kilometer apart from each other.) Though we are eye-distance apart and can look out the window and see each other’s facilities daily, it’s not too often that we all get to be together.

Friday’s topics revolved around safety. For 15 minutes, I talked about the crisis that had occurred at our property that week, and raved about the beauty of how our team of local Indonesian staff had worked together. I talked about ways that we could improve our response for the future, and how we need to continue to train and emphasize high standards of safety in each of our departments. In the background, we heard one loud crash of thunder, and I wondered if the students would have a wet departure to end their eventful week.

A few minutes later, just as I was finishing my talk, I got a phone call from one of my staff running the school program. The connection was choppy and I only heard the words “our boat house,” and then it cut out. My gut knotted again. I excused myself for a minute and went outside.

Thick black smoke filled the air in a large column.

And again, I ran the 200 meters down the jetty, yelling at confused kids to move aside. Behind me was at least 15 other local staff, also running with hoses, pumps, etc.

“Oh God, please help us,” I whispered, as I reached the front deck. That sound we heard was not thunder. It was an explosion.

Across the way, at the other property, huge flames engulfed the fuel building at the end of a long cement jetty out over the water. Down below the jetty, three of our boats were tied together, fueled and ready to take the students home. Within seconds, all three of those boats were in flames as well. We watched as the ropes burned away and the flaming boats began drifting toward the guest rooms.

I still am shocked at how fast the response time was. Within minutes, we had boatloads of staff and fire extinguishers heading over to help.

Hands trembled as the number was dialed to find out about casualties. Ten men stay in dorms right behind that fuel building, and someone is always there.

Our final incident report states that two men were present at the time the fuel pump sparked and ignited the fuel. One was in the boat down below. After desperately trying to untie the boats to save them, he jumped overboard when the fuel ignited. He was able to swim out of the fuel and to safety. The other man was in the fuel room. At the moment of the explosion, he jumped out through the flames and into the ocean. He received first and second degree burns on his hand, face and legs. I talked to him this morning.

I can’t believe I ever had a chance to talk to that man again.

So here is my place to make an amendment to that incident report. Surely there were three present at the moment of the explosion. And one of them was my Jesus.

There was much loss to our company on October 21… Huge amounts of fuel… two boats unsalvageable… engines… buildings… 200 life jackets and more…

But we witnessed a miracle… again.

  • We saw an explosion that you only see in the movies, yet all of our staff was accounted for.
  • We saw flaming boats heading toward wooden guest villas, yet the winds and currents directed them out to sea, and our brave staff (including my husband!) was able to put them out.
  • We saw guests so impressed with our response that they still felt safe and wanted to stay and continue their vacation out there.
  • We had just enough life jackets and rented boats available to be able to get all 100 students back to Batam safely and on schedule.
  • We saw passersby stop and help us with their own boats.
  • We even saw a former employee that we had to let go 6 months ago come with his own boat to help us too!

And on and on and on…

God, I have some questions for you…  “It was My Hand, Child,” He says to me again.


So now what? What did those crowds do when they saw a miracle of Jesus firsthand? What did they think about as they went to sleep? How did it change them?

And how will it change me? Now I have seen miracles too. I have seen the Hand of God protect my friends, catch a falling child, and spare my company from devastation untold.

Tears stream down my face as I stare blankly at my computer screen. Scores of unanswered emails and projects sit right behind this window on my desktop. They weigh on me. They want to be answered. They want me to forget.

Dear Jesus, I don’t want to leave this week unchanged. I don’t want to forget what Your Hands looked like when they carried us this week. I want every person to hear the depths of gratitude I have for this story that You have chosen to write into my life. Please help me to not quickly forget that the same Hands who raised Lazarus are the same hands who touched us this week. And they are the same ones that are there to hold my hand during the mundane as well. Help my eyes to be open to the daily ways that you are working too… not just in near-death experiences and explosions. And that I DO walk with You today, as the disciples did long ago. Father, deepen my faith. And may my life be a testimony of Your mighty Hands.

Where is Peace?

•November 24, 2015 • 5 Comments

Out on the sunny beaches of Indonesia, it takes extra special intentionality to remember that Christmas is coming. There are no sensory stimuli to remind us that it’s only a month away.

And actually, BBC is making it a little hard to get into the mood. I mean, to be honest, some of their “tidings” are just downright scary. And it’s the polar opposite of the carols that I remember singing from my youth about “Peace on Earth.” Leave it to your Facebook friends to fill you in on any stories you might have missed. You know… the really gruesome ones. The background information about the bad guys. The leaked stories about the imminent attacks that are to come.

It’s CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!! Where is peace on earth????

This morning I sat down to think about that concept… that cozy and inspiring three-word phase that floats through the crisp December air, landing on wanting ears and warming the heart. So I did a scripture search to look for it.

Friends and Family, this is not going to be the normal Christmas letter. This is a topic that has been growing in my heart recently. And today it has to be shared.

The Bible doesn’t promise peace on earth.

I did the phrase search in three different versions. None of them say this. As a matter of fact, the only exact hits that I found were 3 renditions of, “Don’t think I came to bring peace on earth.” And the fourth hit was in Revelation 6, saying that a red horse will come with a rider who will take peace from the earth. (Has anyone seen a red horse in your neighborhood? I feel like he has been traipsing around through the news lately.)

But wait a minute… what about that Christmas play line that I practiced over and over: Glory to God in the highest and on Earth, peace and good will toward men!

So I searched that sentence in a few versions too. Nope. That’s not there either. It actually says:

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.” Luke 2:14

So who are “those on whom his favor rests?” As I searched Scripture for those who found favor with God, a unifying theme amongst them are that they trust and follow Him. If we know Jesus, we should have peace. That was His purpose in coming… to bring peace to His followers. Ephesians 2:14 says that He is our peace. And if we aren’t feeling it? Maybe it’s time to set up another coffee date with Him. He has so much more to show us.

The Scripture is just full reminders of where peace is and should be:

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts…  Colossians 3:15

In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety. Psalm 4:8

The Lord gives strength to his people; the Lord blesses his people with peace. Psalm 29:11

Do we know Immanuel well enough to trust His promises?

You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you. Isaiah 26:3

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.  John 14:27

Do we already celebrate, as the Heavenly Host did, that no matter how bad things get, our team wins?

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet. Romans 16:20a

…He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world. 1 John 4:4

If the real peace that can be found on earth is supposed to already be with us, then we can’t join the masses that are panic-stricken by the news. Remember, that “sweet little baby boy” came to DIE for our peace! (Isaiah 53) We can’t let our minds become overtaken by the evil of the earth!

The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace.  Romans 8:6

I wonder if we need to spend less time focused on the enemies in the news, and more time focused on the enemy of our souls, the Robber of Peace. Because if we don’t have peace in our hearts… and there’s no promise of peace on earth… then the world is truly hopeless.

I have to admit that I once thought that if I had been a disciple post-crucifixion, I might have been the one that remembered that “minor detail” He mentioned to us about coming back in three days. I would hate to think that I would have been one of the 12 all huddled up and hiding in a dead-bolted room, fearful for my safety. But the reality is, I probably would have been right there with them. Maybe you would have been too? In the wake of world news, it could be a bit tempting to go find one of those rooms and lock up for awhile. And why? Because the Robber of Peace has visited us. And what did Jesus bring the disciples in their fear… and through the locked doors? AND TWICE?

On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jewish leaders, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” John 20:19

A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” John 20:26

No. I don’t think I would have done any better than they did. Jesus, will you come in to your disciples, yet again, and bring peace?

We have a dear national friend here who tells an incredible story of his younger years spent in strict religious school training. He had always been inquisitive and once asked his teacher what would happen if he ever touched a Bible. The answer: You’d be struck dead by lightning. For years, he lived in fear of not being able to perfectly accomplish all of the rules and requirements of his religion. And then, in a miraculous series of events (including a vision/dream where Jesus came to him), he chose Truth. For the last 30 years, he has been sharing his story through books and through word. When asked what the biggest life change was at the point of him choosing Jesus, he replies emphatically, “Peace.” No more striving. No more fearful rule-following. And, one by one, each of his family members have said that the same was true for them.

During this holiday, I don’t think we can plan to find peace on earth. I just don’t think we’re going to find it there. We must find it in the manger. We must find it at the cross.

May Jesus appear to you this season and proclaim again the peace that is yours because of Him.

And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  Philippians 4:7

Christmas 2014 – Tears in the Temple

•December 3, 2014 • 4 Comments

He knelt there a long time on a small pillow. His hands we pressed together and his eyes tightly closed. A moment later, an older woman joined him in a similar position, gently bobbing her prayerful hands. I watched them awhile and wondered what weighed on them.

Incense filled the room, mixed with the odors of tourists passing through the perimeter corridor. The center of the room contained rows of narrow tables filled with carefully packaged food and drink mixes as well as other various trinkets.

And on the walls were Buddhas. Hundreds of small ones. And lots of larger ones. As we walked along, my Chinese friend explained about the larger Buddhas. Each had a list of years below it. She scanned the room and pointed at one in particular. Below it was the year 1979. That, she said, was my Buddha. It was the one that would be my specific protector… as long as I paid 88 Singapore dollars to it. That would ensure that someone in the temple would pray to it on my behalf.

As she explained about this god who would be my protector (for a fee), a woman pushed in front of us and briefly bowed to it… and to the one next to it and to the one after that and the one after that. My friend explained, “She can’t miss one of them. If she doesn’t bow to all of them in the room, the ones that are missed will get revenge on her.”

This temple was especially famous because of a monk who used to pray there. When Buddhist monks die, their bodies are cremated. Then the ashes are carefully sifted. If a piece of bone is found in the shape of a tooth, that monk was truly favored by Buddha. It is said that you can cremate that piece of bone over and over, but that it cannot be burned. On the top floor of that temple was a large glass-encased room. Within it was a pagoda-type structure and inside that structure was a small vessel holding the tooth-shaped bone of that temple’s famous monk. Surely, then, that man (and subsequently, that temple) had much favor in the eyes of Buddha.

We walked around for another half hour or so. But I didn’t really pay attention anymore. I saw people kneeling, bowing, mumbling, and sliding envelopes full of money under the Buddha of their birth year (and some sitting on the “meditation only” platform, gently snoring.) They were desperate for protection, yet fearful of revenge. They brought their private troubles and misfortunes and whispered them into the smoke of red incense, fearfully praying for better fortune, health and peace. Tears streamed down my face as I watched the fervency and futility of it all.

My mind drifted then, to a baby in a manger in Bethlehem…

And I thought of how many times I have passed Him without bowing.

And the times I have mistaken works as a hope of greater favor from Him.

And the times I have tried to come to Him in extended meditation… and woken up the next morning.

Jesus, I love you. It is in times like these that I am overwhelmed again at what Your birth means for us. I am ashamed at how easy it is to take it for granted.

It means Family, not fear.

It means Joy, not confusion.

It means Freedom, not desperation.

And You leave us more than just an “imperishable” bone fragment. You leave us Your Spirit as a seal upon us… swaddled about us as a newborn’s blanket… for love, for comfort, for protection and for the Promise of Your return! Thank you for coming and making a way to Your throne… from right where we are, no matter how high a mountain or how deep a hole.

May our lives reflect the peace that comes from bowing daily at the foot of the Savior… and may we be intentional to bring the Good News of great joy to all people over this holiday season and in the year to come.


•October 26, 2014 • 2 Comments

Carlo was a “fringe” kid. He often ate alone for meals, and he was often the brunt of conversation in the group. He walked and looked a little different than other kids his age.

Every day Carlo put on his swimsuit and came out for high dock jumping during his free time. The rhythm of splashes from each student before him in line was constant. It seemed that everyone could run and jump off with ease. Splash… splash… splash….

But then it was Carlo’s turn. He would go to the top, make a run for the end, then stop at the edge of the six-meter drop off and let out a strange sort of laugh. Then he would go back and do the same again. He would stand on the edge for a bit and look down. Students would start to jeer. He would slide the balls of his feet off the edge of the dock, with only his heels holding him above the water.

Then he would go back down the ladder, shaking his head.

I watched him do this several times on Tuesday. Wednesday was the same. On that day, thirty students from his class stood below, calling out a mixture of mocking and half-hearted cheers. I could see his face getting red as he stood up there, trying to get the nerve to jump.

He asked the students to be quiet, but they yelled all the more loudly. He started screaming. “Stop it! Just be quiet!” A couple of students tried to calm the masses. He ran to the edge but stopped again, showing everyone that it really wasn’t about the noise.

“OK! I’ve let go with one hand!” he said to the skeptical watchers. “I only have one finger left on the rail! All I have to do is let go!”

As I stood down on the low deck looking up at him, I saw something. Tears.

And it wasn’t long before another student noticed them too. The onlooker whispered loudly, “He’s crying! Guys, I think Carlo’s crying!”

The whispers and jeers grew louder.

And then Carlo screamed at the top of his lungs, “BUT IT’S MY FEAR!!!! IT’S… MY…. FEAR!”

I watched him from the low deck as he stood there crying and teetering on his heels. I could feel what he was feeling. My head was a little woozy. My stomach was in knots. And tears were running down my face too. I’d been there before. I’d felt just like that. I’d often been the one that everyone has been waiting for. I hate jumping from high places too.

I also stood there debating what my role was at that moment. Everything in me wanted to go up and tell him that he didn’t have to do it. I mean, really, in the big scheme of life, what’s the point? Is it fun? No. Does it hurt? Yes. Will you get water in your nose? Probably. Will all of these watchers love you more or treat you better if you do it? No.

And then he came down again.

I determined that the following day, the last day to jump, I would do something. And just as with the previous days, as I was on break, I could hear the kids again shouting, “Carlo! Carlo! Carlo!” I could also hear a subset of the crowd yelling, “Carla!” It made my heart hurt to think of a 6th grade kid trying to face his fears while he knew his peers were making fun of him.

I hurried down to the dock, to find him standing up there again, sobbing. He came down yet again, filled with confused anger and taking it out on everyone in line. I walked up to him and asked if we could talk. And I told him about my fear of jumping. I asked, “Carlo, why do you want to jump?” He said he wanted to face his fear. I asked if he wanted to do it when all the kids went away. He could wait and then jump when no one was watching. He awkwardly agreed.

So when the 5:30 cut off time was called and all the kids went back to their rooms, Carlo emerged again and climbed to the top. I climbed up behind him and told him I’d wait as long as he wanted and that if he didn’t want to jump, he could go back down and that it would be ok. He didn’t need anymore coaching. He didn’t need anymore encouragement or any more countdowns.

I don’t know what all went through his head as he stood there, periodically putting a foot out over the water, then drawing it back. But for the next 15 minutes, we stood there in silence as he struggled with the immense fear before him.

And then he broke the silence. “I just can’t do it.” And he turned and went down the ladder.

I’ve been working with teenagers for over a decade. I’ve done all kinds of leadership trainings and culture experiences. And my mantra has always been, “Do something hard every day.” Challenge yourself. Don’t quit. Face the fear.

But for some reason, on this day, I think it was ok for him to walk away. That was enough for one week.

Though my heart hurt for Carlo, I was reminded of the patience of God. We try over and over to do things right, and our failures are many. But His passion for our wholeness and holiness supercedes our finite accomplishments. I believe He values our journey in the failures and the successes. We gain experiences that allow us to not only trust Him more, but also to relate with those who struggle as we do.

And at the end of the day, sometimes we just walk back down the ladder and say, “I just can’t do it today.” And the Kind Father says, “It’s ok. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

I am so thankful for a Father like that.

The Unseen

•March 23, 2014 • 3 Comments

We were silent now.

The thick haze of smoke had not prevented us from laughing and playing on the beach all day at our base camp. We had just returned from our first island stay, and nothing was going to keep us from enjoying our rest time in between island visits. And even when the managers came to us around 4:00 that afternoon to tell us that it was unsafe to stay at the resort any longer, we still made the most of our last two hours before departure, having an unforgettable baptism service for one of our teammates, then taking showers, packing and laughing as we prepared to leave.

But as darkness set in, the reality of the situation became visible. One by one, our teammates came to sit together in the open-air lounge, eyes fixed on the red glow coming from the hillcrest closest to the resort. We sat mesmerized by the way the wind gusts intensified the glow of the raging forest fire just a few hundred meters away, blowing tiny glowing embers out over our thatch-roofed resort. The three-month drought was letting the flames have its way with the parched island forest. And clearly, the resort was next in line.

It was interesting how the darkness showed us what we hadn’t seen earlier in the daylight. Of course, we all knew that smoke comes from fire. But something about not seeing the actual flames kept us focused on our own fun. It’s easy to make our priorities, conversations, and life merely about what is seen.

And to me, that became a theme throughout the trip….

As we dumped buckets of cool, clear water over us while bathing once or twice each day, our host families stayed up through the night, sitting by the dry wells and collecting little dribbles of water emerging from the well walls so that the house water drums would be full again the next morning. And with joy each morning, they would bring out a delicious breakfast and chat with us. It was only later that we found out what they were sacrificing for us while we slept.

In another of my homestays, other unseen events were happening at night. In this home lurked a mangy cat with a nasty paw tumor. It was enough to turn my stomach over when I saw it, and we tried to tactfully avoid it when it would come into the house looking for love during the day. One morning I woke up to find it curled up in a ball, sleeping peacefully at the back of one of my teammates as she slept. I shuddered a bit to think that it probably had done the same to all of us at some point. Though if it had only been a cat roaming the house through the night hours, I might not have been so disturbed. But centipedes also slithered around us. Not one, but both of my host mothers were bit by those nasty little devils. The things I wish I didn’t know…

On one morning as we played with kids at an elementary school, my teammate asked to borrow a child’s hat. The child reluctantly gave it to her, and she proceeded to securely place it on her own head and perform an impressive hat trick. The child giggled, and she returned the hat to him. As he resettled the hat while slowly turning to leave, we saw a large, bald and abscessed region on the back of his head. Would she still have done that hat trick, had she known?

On this trip, I was overwhelmed by the unseen. It’s easy to point out the obvious as we go through our days. I’m so hot… It’s so stinky…I’m so tired… It’s so gross. But it’s a lot harder to acknowledge the unseen. We easily and often pray for lists of things that affect us and make us feel uncomfortable or inconvenienced. But it’s a lot harder to praise the Father for everything he’s doing for us behind our backs, while we sleep, when we’re unaware and in the battles of the unseen realm.

It reminds me of 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 –

 Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

There was nothing we could do as the boat evacuated us from the burning hill that night. So when we landed at our “safe” spot, we sat together in the moonlight and prayed that the Father would bring the miracle that would save the resort and fill the wells. The fires had been raging long before we had arrived, and the villagers had been fighting dry wells for a month. Yet now we could see it and feel it. So now it seemed important to us to urgently plead with God for help.

I was deeply humbled when the rain clouds formed, and the first drops landed on my cheeks a couple of days later. Over the following three days, it rained off and on, and we sat in awe of the miracle that was upon us.  

When we returned to the wooden resort on the last night of our trip, one of the unbelieving women who worked in the kitchen said to me, “Truly this rain was the grace of God. Now we know that He has a purpose for this place.” I agreed with her, but secretly, I felt sort of bad.

I had known about the drought for the last month when I was in Bandung, getting soaked every day on the way home from school. But I was focused on what I could see. So my prayers were less than regular or heartfelt for that land of drought. And I often take for granted what has always been, like that wooden resort that I have loved and visited for the last ten years. But that’s no better than the unbelieving worker in the kitchen.

I want to be a person with eyes fixed on the unseen… to praise the Father each day for the things he protects me from while I am unaware. And to have the sensitivity to enter into the earnest prayers of those who suffer in places and ways I have not experienced.

Yes, let us fix our eyes on what is unseen… for that is what is eternal.



Oh Christmas Tree

•December 11, 2013 • 9 Comments

It’s December 11 and our tree has already been put up and is gone.

I came home early this afternoon and collapsed onto the sofa in tears. It’s been a long semester. As I sat for a bit and scanned our one wall containing a few Christmas decorations, I remembered a line from a marriage book I read this year. It called the first year of marriage the “wet cement” year. Supposedly, that’s the most moldable time of a couple’s relationship and when it’s easiest to create habits and traditions.

So as I looked around our house, I tried to see what we did for Christmas that might become “family tradition.” Sadly though, in the midst of one of my busiest years of teaching ever, we didn’t put much thought into it. I mean, the nativity is sort of interesting. Paul set it up to be more chronologically correct. So on the left side of the table is the stable containing Mary, Joseph, some shepherds and Jesus. And on the far right, separated by a large pile of green garland, is a palm tree where the wise men and a camel sit pondering the stars and waiting their turn to come… months (or years?) later.

The only other noticeable feature of our living room right now is a large empty space where the tree used to be.

We set up the tree a couple of weeks ago, not long before we decided that this would be our last Christmas in Bandung. After we made our decision to leave on the night of December 1, I found out that our new neighbor (my roommate from years ago) was hoping to buy a tree for her two-year-old son this year. We would not be able to take our tree with us next year, so it made sense to give our tree to them now. So one night last week, after the child had gone to sleep, we took the tree (ornaments, lights and all) across the street and set it up in their front room. At 4:30 the next morning, my friend was woken to the sounds of a toddler yelling, “Wow! Wow! Cool! Cool! Wow! Wow! Cool! Cool!”

Clearly, a two-year-old needs a tree more than an adult does anyway… right?

I remember hearing a native friend here once define a “Christian” as one who wears white gowns, plays bells and worships Christmas trees. (It’s sort of interesting what selected media gets piped into people’s homes in December around here. The Vatican Christmas footage apparently shaped the worldview of that man.)  And I remember scoffing a bit at how anyone would think that we worshiped Christmas trees…

… until I was sitting here this afternoon looking at that hole in our front room. We take a tree and hang keepsakes, heirlooms and pretty things all over it. We sparkle and light it up and then bring our gifts and place them at its base. And then we sit around it and gaze upon its beauty in a low-lit room, enjoying its glow and the warm fuzzy feelings it creates. Sometimes we sit and sing there. And sometimes we sing, “Oh Christmas Tree.”

I could see how an outsider looking in might think we worshiped it.

And this afternoon, I have to confess, I missed it a little. It’s been there 33 Decembers in a row, signifying that it’s Christmas. Where will we put our two little packages on our first married Christmas, I found myself asking.

And then I was prompted to read Matthew 2 and the story of the wise men.

On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold and of incense and of myrrh.


I’m humbled to be reminded tonight of where our gifts should go.  Shouldn’t they go at the feet of whom we worship? And shouldn’t He be the One that we sit near in the stillness of the evening during this holiday season? To sing a song or to just sit at His feet in silence and marvel at His beauty and the Light that He brings.

This might be a tradition worth keeping.


May you and your family make the time

to gather around Him this holiday season.

Merry Christmas from the Christensens!