Taste and See

“What would you like to drink—orange or grape?” she asks, pulling juice containers from the refrigerator. “Grape,” I answer. “I'd wanted to bring some for communion.” Not that we've ever done that before, but somehow I don't feel silly saying it.

I notice a basket of clementines on the table next to a neat row of brick-orange persimmons. “We hardly have an income, and yet we're eating so well.” Her words spill over with gratitude and awe as she recounts the list of givers who have brought fruit, kimchi, spaghetti, and so on. It's evening, nearly time for me to go home, but she tells me to sit down and eat some of that spaghetti that's in the fridge. She hands me the tongs and I dish some up on my plate. “More,” she says. I open the jar of homemade tomato sauce with onions, mushrooms, and red peppers. I ladle it onto the pasta. She sets out a loaf of homemade oatmeal bread next to a jar of nutella, a gift from an international guest. I eat spaghetti and we fix some slices of bread, and I muse at the communion we're sharing, right here at the table, with chocolate spread and all.

A neighbor knocks on the door. A co-worker, he's in the middle of fixing a cookout for the staff community. “Wondered if I could borrow some ingredients,” he asks. He practically makes out a shopping list, rattling off more than a half dozen items he needs. Yes, yes, yes, yes; it's all here for the taking. He goes and comes back a couple more times, and my friend stretches out her hands, her hospitality, without hesitation. She tells me of a guest from the previous week. She'd come from abroad with no plan of where to stay for the week, and so my friend took her in. In fact, it was that guest who'd made the spaghetti I was eating.

As I eat, I remember the puzzle I'd been trying to figure out and see the pieces coming together. I'd been pondering Paul's praise of the Macedonian church: "Out of the most severe trial, their overwhelming joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity" (2 Cor. 8:2).

I wondered how it could be. How joy and poverty could add up to generosity? I see my “just enough” and measure it precisely, always calculating this gain and that loss and figuring how far I can spread everything around. Could I really spare to be generous? How could the Macedonians give “as much as they were able, and even beyond their ability” (2 Cor. 8:3)? How could poverty plus joy add up to anything but contented lack? And yet—was that it? Contented lack—having nothing and yet having everything. Having joy so great it overwhelms you, overwhelms you to the point where extreme poverty can't get you down, and you're just compelled to give more.

I think of Brother Yun's testimony of impoverished believers in China who, when the offering plate was passed to them, would put it down on the ground and physically step inside, symbolizing the gift of their very lives. And here my friend was, demonstrating a testimony I could taste with my own tongue, see with my own eyes. I tell her how my sister and I had talked about money that week. And how I've started saving, because if I don't pay for my necessities, they'll burden someone else. Afterall, didn't Paul boast that he worked for his own living so he wouldn't be a burden to anyone? And yet, as a wise relative noted, when we insulate ourselves with money, we “take away God's chance to do miracles.” I start to tell her of a family that lives by faith, but we get interrupted and the conversation shifts.

It's just as well, really, because these matters of faith and obedience and wisdom won't be resolved in a conversation. The answers are in red letters, and Paul's letters, and the cross. Sometimes conversations become a tool to circumvent the answer you already know in your heart but don't want to admit. The more you discuss something the more complicated it becomes, and pretty soon there are so many reasonable viewpoints, you have no idea which way to go and any road seems just as valid.

Perhaps it boils down to the question another friend struggles to answer—perhaps the question at the heart of each of us: Does God really love me? And should I trust Him?

If we know God loves us, we have courage to trust Him with our lives—our whole lives: especially money, and also health, relationships, employment, and so on, until ultimately we trust Him to lead us into eternal life.

This week, it seems like God's been wooing me (with food and friendship—He knows what I go for!), convincing me that He really sees me, knows my hidden aches and pains, and holds all Power in His loving, able hands.

When I met my friend on Thursday, my heart felt empty of treasures and heavy with burdens. We sat in the park and I poured out the tears, and when it was time to go back home my heart was full again. The next day was a similar story... what grace that God's mercy is new every morning.

All throughout the week, God's been reminding me, persuading me, to “taste and see that the Lord is good” (Ps. 34:8).

Wednesday, a missionary gave me a loaf of raisin bread I've been munching on all week. Friday, another missionary took me out for lunch, filling not just my belly, but also my heart with good counsel and fellowship. Sunday, I received some fruit from the church's thanksgiving celebration. Monday, I started teaching English to a new friend and she brought a basketful of mocha buns (my favorite!!) and kiwis. The mocha buns really blew me away—only a couple people know I'm crazy about those. And today, I visited my Korean mom, and she sent me home with homemade pickled tomatoes and three loaves of fresh-baked panini. It didn't take long to finish off the first two loaves!

In all these gifts, I see God's love. I know that He sees me. I know that He knows me thoroughly, even the things I can't put into words. I know that He's got me covered.

“Taste and see that the Lord is good.”

Yes, I've been tasting. And I guess God knew I would be. Tomorrow He's lined up a free dentist appointment for me to get my teeth cleaned. =) Oh, me of little faith... how could I still doubt?

Taste and see... taste and see... the Lord is good.