Ants in My Pants

Went for a walk this evening, thinking I've got to get out of this sedentary lifestyle I've slipped into. It turns chilly fast in the evenings, so I pulled a jacket over my fleece sweater, grabbed my sneakers from the shoe rack, and stepped outside. The gentle breeze and the foggy twilight did wonders for my soul. And yet I found my mind soon busy again with mental checklists: When I get back I have to print copies for tomorrow's lessons, write a journal for Korean class, write that email, and write on the blog if there's time (I ended up working backwards, eek).

And then I shifted to prayer. Just throwing out ideas and questions really. But aloud, of course, which often turns out to be embarrassing when I realize someone's working in the field right next to me. But anyway, tonight's dialogue was something as follows:

God, I'm ready to move on. Not from Korea, but from here. What do you want me to do? Where do you want me to go?

And the Holy Spirit brought to memory this morning's devotion:
Remember what Johanan and the other army leaders asked of Jeremiah: 'Pray that the LORD our God will show us the way we should go and what we should do.' (Jer.42:3) But they had to be obedient to whatever God told them: 'Whether it pleases us or not, we will obey the LORD our God, to whom we are asking you to pray. All will go well with us if we obey him.'" (Jer. 42:6)

Mm, right. OK, God. Then tell me what You want and give me the grace and faith to be obedient. It looks like Desire A is impossible right now. And Desire B has limitless options but I don't know which to pursue. . .And I've got these ants in my pants. This desire to get on with things that is hard to ignore. Couldn't this antsiness be from You? God, if you want me to halt my pursuit of A and B, then take the ants out of my pants and give me peace instead.

Then the Holy Spirit reminded me of the second part of today's meditation:
"If you are willing to go on living in this land, then I will build you up and not tear you down; I will plant you and not pull you up. . .But you...must not disobey the LORD your God and refuse to live in this land. You must not say, 'No, we will go and live in Egypt, where we won't face war any more or hear the call to battle or go hungry. . . If you are determined to go and live in Egypt, then the war that you fear will overtake you, and the hunger you dread will follow you, and you will die there in Egypt." (Jer. 42:10,13-16)

And I realized that antsiness doesn't mean I'm in the wrong place. Johanan, the other army leaders, and the prisoners of war in their charge were desperate to flee from the Babylonians and return to Egypt, and yet that was not God's way. God had a better finale in mind for them than they would find in Egypt, but it required their willingness to go on living in "this land" for a while longer. In fact, if they sought to avoid their present situation by going where the grass was greener, they were essentially choosing their own destruction.

All right, so I get it. My feelings or inclinations are not necessarily reflections of Your will, and sometimes (perhaps more often than not) the way we're supposed to go is counter-intuitive. But God, I keep thinking about time. Four years. Four years here seems like a healthy amount. Not too short, not too long. But five years? Do I want to make a career of it here? No, no I don't. I want to move on, to move forward, to develop my potential more. I've spent the prime of my life here. Before long I'll be thirty. God, can't we get a move on things? Whatever your bigger plan for me is, can't I get started on it now? You know, be efficient?

Without much hesitation, the Lord reminded me of His faithfulness and perfect timing in the past. Specifically, He reminded me of my desire to work with North Korean defectors. I can't remember exactly when that desire precipitated, but it felt like eons before it was realized. And, oh, how impatient I was to just get started already. About this time last year, I met someone involved in helping defectors and he encouraged me to volunteer time teaching them English. When the time felt right, I told him I was ready, but he never got back to me. I told him again, and still no response. Frustrated, I threw up my hands and thought, "Oh, well. I guess this isn't the time afterall." Soon after, he called and explained he'd been out of the country on business, and would I mind tutoring a 15-year-old boy? I've been tutoring Jordan for three months now and it's great how well we get along.

But the thing is, and this is what God reminded me of--had I gotten my heart's desire when I first desired it, I couldn't have enjoyed it at all. It goes without question that I need to use a lot of Korean when I talk to Jordan and his mother. There is absolutely no way I could have enjoyed the same quality of tutoring or relationships with them one or two years ago as I can now. And in God's grace, He didn't make me wait until I was fluent or totally qualified! He just waited until the fruit I desired was ripe for the picking, so I could savor it when sweetest. Had it been up to me, I would've picked too soon and been stuck with a sour fruit. I was reminded to Trust Him.

God wants me to trust His motives, too. When God withholds my desires, He's surely not doing it to drive me crazy. He's probably not even doing it just to build up my endurance (although that's what I often think). As in the example of needing to develop my Korean skills before I could effectively work with North Korean defectors, God is actively working for my good. Rather than dangling a prize just above my head out of arms' reach, is it possible He's building a step stool for me to reach it?

I've started to perceive my present situation as perseverance and patience training. I keep looking at the prize above my head and wondering when the timer will go off, so God will lower the string and let the prize drop into my hand. But God assured me tonight that He's not sitting idly by, playing some waiting game to test my endurance. He is actively engaged in working things out for my good. I can't see the details of how right now, but I can trust Him. I can trust His character. And that's what He wants from me now: to Trust Him.

"Lord, I love You--help my lack of love!"

This week I've been asking myself what it means to love someone truly, and moreover, DO I? In Paul's first letter to the Corinthians, he spells out what love is. First, he makes it clear that there can be very noble-looking achievements or sacrifices--even so far as giving away everything you own and even your very life--withOUT love. Then he sums up the essence of love, which starts in the heart and moves outward.

In my life, I work backwards too much, making the outside look good before the inside can catch up. I clean the desk top but leave the drawer a mess; I keep my voice calm, while inside there's a tempest raging; I nod and smile agreeably to someone's face, then shake my head head and roll my eyes first second I get alone. Other people, I treat well because I should--they deserve it or it's my duty as a Christian. I don't feel like writing the letter, but I do; I don't feel like watching the kids, but I do; I don't feel like volunteering to wash dishes, but I do. Because that's love, right? Well, not necessarily. And at this, I feel a mixture of chagrin and relief. Chagrin because a lot of my so-called loving actions are empty at heart, and relief because I can't do it by trying--God has set us free from the Law.

I guess a lot of my "loving" actions are like the U.S. dollar, which no longer stands for its value in gold, but something more arbitrary, on its own, its market value measured against other currencies. My actions, no matter how kind and sacrificial, are as arbitrary and unstable as a piece of paper with "Love" inked across it, if they do not originate in a heart of love. It is the heart that gives value to the actions, and if the heart is right, the actions will naturally follow.

If I take an honest look at myself, my talk and my walk are about faith and deeds--which are good!--but I've neglected love--which is better! And not just better, but essential. I think I assumed that there wasn't much a person could do about their heart condition--their love, if you will--because you can't change your own heart. So I thought just entrust that part to God, and work on what you can. But when I started searching my heart, wanting to figure things out and make it right, I realized that one, it IS worth looking at our heart's condition--even if it means just praying for God to purify it--and two, I cared more about loving my friends well than I did about loving God well. I mean, when was the last time I spent my idle time pondering how much I love God, or praying for help to love Him more?

There have been times when I've wondered how to love a Divine God, but in the end I just brush off my questions and keep going on faith that God understands and it'll all work out. But what if I kept asking, "God, how can I love you?"--every day, in hard times throughout the day. It also dawned on me that I almost never say, "I love you" to God. People in serious relationships or marriage often want to hear those three little words, and I do not use them sparingly with others. So why with God? Perhaps it's a good place to start.

During this time of Lent, I'm glad to have a solid question to keep coming back to. Before Jesus ascended to heaven, he asked Peter three times: "Do you love me?" "Do you love me?" "Do you love me?" Jesus is asking all his modern disciples the same thing: "Do you love me?" It's time for me to shift my focus from bold faith to pure love. Pure love will naturally give birth to bold faith, but as we see often enough on the news if not in our own lives, bold faith without love can be quite an ugly thing. "And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love" (1 Cor.13:13). So, like the desperate father in Mark 9, pleading "Lord, I believe! Help me overcome my unbelief!",  here is my "text message" to God tonight: "I love You!!! (Help my lack of love!)"

"'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second [commandment] is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these." (Mark 12:30-31)

헛되지 않은 삶

 “너무 심심하지 않아요?”라고 질문을 방학때 많이 들을 수 있다. 그런데 나는 언제나 이렇게 대답한다. “아니, 괜찮아요. 하루종일 공부해요.” 사실을 많이 과장하는 말이 아니다 (그렇지만 고백한 대로 페이스북과 스카잎에서도 시간이 많이 지나간다^.^). 다른 아기가 배우는 첫번째 단어는 보통 “엄마”인데 내가 배운 첫번째 단어는 바로 “책”이었다.ㅋㅋ 요즘 재미있게 공부하는 세 과제는 즉 한국어, 성경 말씀과 사회이다. 새벽기도 한 후에 한두 시간 또 자고, 다시 일어난다. 오전에 MBC뉴스 비디오 보고 비디오와 함께 나오는 한국어 자막을 보고 모르는 단어 약 50개를 사전에서 찾아본다. MBC 뉴스 통해 한국어도 배울 수 있고 한국 사회의 사건들도 알 수 있어서 좋다. 그다음에 문법 책과 듣기 책을 공부한다. 점심을 먹은 후에 커피 마시면서 한국 드라마를 본다. 영어 자막과 함께 나와서 너무 재미있다 (아마 드라마에 탐닉한가?^^;;). 그 뒤에 내션을 지오그래픽 잡지에서 한 기사를 읽고 영어 책도 읽는다. 저녁에는 한국 작가가 쓴 크리스천 시낭에 대한 책에서 몇 페이지를 느리게 읽고 밤에는 바로 잠을 자기 전에 생명의 삶으로 큐티하고 성경책에서 네 장을 서둘러서 읽고 기도하고 잔다.

아마도 이런 방학 생활은 어떤 사람에게 부지런한 유익한 삶과 같을 수 있다. 그러나 나는 “헛되고 헛되다. 모든 것이 헛되다”라는 전도서 1:2을 묵상하면서 나의 지금 살고 있는 생명의 방법을 의심한다. 헛되지 않은 삶을 살려면 어떻게 살아야 하지? 이제까지 나의 성격과 겁이 때문에 한국어를 공부하면서 책을 많~이 읽는데, 한국 사람들하고 너무 짧~게 말한다. 그러니까 한국어 지식은 많이 가진 편이지만 회화를 할때마다 말은 잘 안 나오는 것이다. 시낭의 삶도 이와 마찬가지인가. 한국어를 아무리 공부해도 다른 사람과 회화 통해 삶을 나눌 수 없으면 헛된 것과 같이 하나님의 말씀을 아무리 잘 알아도 하나님의 사랑을 나누지 않은 삶은 헛되다. 올해는 헛되지 않도록 모든 것을 하나님의 사랑으로 살기를 원합니다. 혹시 여러분 중에 누가 한영 회화를 연습해 보실래요?^^ 잘 못 하더라도 사랑으로 하면 헛되지 않을 것입니다.

This is my first blog post in Korean! After my pastor edited a few grammar mistakes, this article appeared in today's church bulletin. I originally wrote it in Korean but will translate it into English soon.

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.

Desiring Reformation

The Sunday before last, our church commemorated the 494^th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation. The sermon was based on Jesus' letter to the church in Sardis (Revelation 3:1-6), a letter I needed to read as much as anyone. Here's the Message translation:

"I see right through your work. You have a reputation for vigor and zest, but you're dead, stone-dead. Up on your feet! Take a deep breath! Maybe there's life in you yet. But I wouldn't know it by looking at your busywork; nothing of God's work has been completed. Your condition is desperate. Think of the gift you once had in your hands, the Message you heard with your ears—grasp it again and turn back to God.” (v.1-3)

When I heard this, I was gripped by the disparity between reputation and reality, busywork and God's work. I may have a good reputation and enjoy the favor of many, but that's meaningless to God. He knows my heart; he feels my pulse. He knows if Christ is living in me, the source of my work and the author of my days... Or if I'm spiritually dead, and trying to do things in my own power, enough to look good to others.

We often hear, “Don't worry about what others think,” usually in the context of people looking down on us. But maybe we need to hear it more when people are looking up to us. It's far too easy to swell with contentment when others praise and admire us, and even take that as an indication that we've done “enough to get by.”

The thing is, even in our “reformed” Church today, the standards and requirements we hold each other to are often different from what we find in Jesus' life and God's Word. Culture, bureaucracy, politics, legalism, and misled notions of grace often lead us astray on our path of discipleship...if we've ever even started down that path (belief is just the beginning!). We can far exceed others' expectations and still fall short of God's desire for our lives; and likewise, even ironically, we can please God and not satisfy others.

Last Sunday afternoon, our church had a lecture about the Reformation which I really didn't want to attend. Don't get me wrong—I like learning and listening to lectures—but in a language I can understand, please! After a lot of inner debate, I finally decided to let myself off the hook, come back to my room, do a quick computer search on the Reformation (to make up for missing the lecture, haha), and then continue reading from Brother Yun's Living Water.

What do you know, but the next chapter in was titled, “Sleeping church, Awake!” and quoted the same exact passage we'd read in church that morning—the letter to the church in Sardis! I knew it had to be a “God thing,” so I paid attention. Brother Yun reiterated two important points: the Church's urgent calling and purpose, and the need for obedience! I wish I could quote the whole thing, but I'll refraint:

“A spiritually dull church or believer is a poor witness for the living, resurrected Jesus. A church is meant to be a training centre and command hub for war, not a social club for pleasantries and hypocrisy, where people give lip service to Christ while refusing to obey His commands. Not only does God want you to wake up, but He has a work for you to do.

“[Many Christians] listen intently to every word that is spoken, but there is one major thing missing in their spiritual lives. They need to start obeying the Word of God.

“You see, when you only listen to the Word of God, your heart gets filled up with spiritual food. This is good, but it is there to serve a purpose. That purpose is for you to go and share the food you have with the hungry, so that they too can know Jesus. If you just keep God's blessings to yourself, you will become a bloated and sick Christian. When you share them with others, the Holy Spirit will give you more so that you can share more. It is a wonderful thing.”

That feeling of bloated-ness is partly what motivated me to get on a bus, go downtown, and look for poor people to share communion with a couple months ago. I read and read and read, and learn until I'm bursting with ideas and conviction about how I must live. But instead of trying it out, I heave a contented sigh, exclaim “Oh, that's good!,” and start reading again. There came a point where I said, “I cannot read another good thought on holy living until I put some of it into practice.” If we want to talk about reform, I think we have to start with ourselves. Make sure our individual limbs are fit for the Body, and start walking in obedience to the Word and the Spirit's movement in our lives. Stop just reading...

Re-writing the Subway Signs

I'm amused by the signs I see when I ride the subway. Some promise success, others beauty, still others a lofty principle or mantra to live by. They are often dramatic, feel-good messages that promise something only God can really give. Some of the signs are so close to Truth and yet miss it by just one word. At the newly renovated Uijeongbu Station, there are signs emphasizing construction safety. One claims: “Safety! The key to protecting your life.” Another reads: “Happiness grows in safety.” Of course we want our subways to be safe, but as Christians we know that rather than safety, faith in Jesus is the bedrock of our well-being and joy. If this life is God's construction zone for our souls, perhaps the signs should read: “Faith! The key to protecting your life.” Or, “Happiness grows in faith.” The best the world can offer is superficial safety, but God offers unshakeable hope.

2011 has been a hard year for me. In the first four months, my best friend moved to another country, my grandmother passed away, and my parents got divorced. In the last four weeks, another close friend moved abroad, peers I graduated from high school with suddenly lost both of their parents to tragic violence, and my aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer. These difficult circumstances have revealed the inadequacy of “safety” and made me thankful for a house built on the Rock (Matt.7:24-25).

But how can we recognize God's grace in the darkest of times? How can we give thanks in everything? Regarding a recent event, I confessed to my friend Karen, “I just don't know how to be thankful for this. I know how to find a silver lining, but there must be a thankfulness that goes deeper than looking on the bright side. Or what about times when there is no bright side?” And God put the key in her hand and stretched it out to me: “Maybe we can be thankful just because Jesus goes with us through our hardships.”

Indeed, nothing can separate us from His love (Rom.8:38-39), and that is eternal grace, a reason to be joyful and thankful at all times!

These thoughts came back to me when I saw this sign on the subway a couple days ago: “Seoul, where we're all smiling; Seoul, where we're glad to see each other; Seoul, where we're always thankful.” I don't believe a worldly city can ever be like that, but the Church should be! Paul said it first: “Be joyful always... Give thanks in all circumstances” (1Thess.5:16,18). When we remember that Jesus is present with us, we always have a reason to smile, to be glad, and to give thanks. Perhaps in heaven, the banner reads like this: “The Kingdom of Heaven, where we're all smiling; The Kingdom of Heaven, where we're glad to see each other; The Kingdom of Heaven, where we're always thankful.” Could we hang that sign at our church, too?

(Note: I wrote this essay for today's edition of our church bulletin. Thanks to my talented friend Sungmi, there is a Korean translation available upon request. :))

Craving Communion

I tell her I'm thinking baguettes. She says no, Koreans don't really like them. How about something else from the bakery and some milk? I say that will be fine. We get on the bus and head downtown. It's Sunday evening and I'm craving communion.

That afternoon, I'd been reading in Brother Yun's Living Water, when the ache suddenly arose. That desire to have soul communion with other believers, the kind of communion that happens rather spontaneously, in deep, peaceful silence, in candlelight fellowship, in the washing of feet, in earnest prayer. A few days earlier, I'd known it at the lunch table, sitting between Karen and Juhee, when Juhee finished giving grace, “in Jesus' name.” Yes, Jesus was there, and I could feel the delight of his presence, the grace of him bringing us together. Suddenly I yearned to break bread and share the cup, but Karen and Juhee were hours away and there was no one for me to ask in the community. And that's when I thought of the poor. Jesus is in the poor. Could I share communion with him there? In loaves of bread? I call Mi-hyang and ask if she'd like to go with me. She loves the poor, and she said yes!

We arrive at Uijeongbu Station, where I've often seen old, weathered men begging for change or sleeping on cardboard mats. But today we can't find anyone who fits the picture. I joke, “Maybe the economy's improved and there are no poor?” We look in front of the station, behind the station, walk around the neighborhood, check the unemployment office, and, after striking out everywhere, we finally find a place to eat dinner.

I'm embarrassed and confused, and I feel pressure to either explain away or ignore my failed plan, or else account for it. I swallow a bite of spaghetti and blurt out what I've been afraid to say: “When this kind of situation arises, when you thought you were supposed to do something but then the pieces don't fit together, what do you think the reason is? Was the Holy Spirit not behind it? And if the Holy Spirit wasn't behind it, can I not hear his voice? Did I mistake my own plan for His?”

Mi-hyang isn't at all upset that we haven't found anyone to share food with; she's just thankful for the time we can spend together. I'm glad for that too, but I still feel something's missing. I bite back the tears and dare another confession: “I think my heart is good, but my ears are bad.” I appreciate the way she neither condemns me nor denies it.

We finish our ice cream and are walking around the market, when suddenly we spot a commotion on the left. There are two middle-aged woman pushing and shoving each other in front of a comforter shop. A man emerges from the shop and tries to restrain the woman closest to us, but she carries on with surprising strength. As she flails her arms wildly, throws herself on the ground, kicks her legs, and refuses to be restrained or consoled, it becomes apparent that she may not only be drunk but also mentally ill.

We stare with the other onlookers, and Mi-hyang asks me what I think we should do. I tell her I don't know, but we should pray. I pray for peace, but the peace isn't coming. In the fighting, the woman's shirt has come up and the man considerately yanks it back down. The crowd stares on. The woman falls to the ground again and she has wet her khaki pants clear through. She's crying as she gets up and staggers away, toward the sidewalk where she kneels down and hangs her head in the nook of a wall. I stare after her and it hits me that she is the most broken person we've seen all evening. Just the kind Jesus would go after. Despite her nice clothes, handbag, and shiny watch, she is the poorest of the poor.

Mi-hyang and I walk over to her, and my only thought is to pray. But I think it's impossible to pray for someone so desperate without touching them, too. I reach out and timidly pat her back, afraid she might recoil or lash back violently, but she doesn't and so I rub her back with sure, wide strokes and try to brush off the dirt and litter bits from the street (this only by God's grace, given my aversion to germs^^).

We help her to her feet and walk her across the street to a little restaurant. The handful of patrons stare wide-eyed as we enter and sit down, and I can't blame them; we must be quite the sight. In between dozens of attempts to call her son, the woman wails on and on about the terrible shopkeeper and his wife, how she'd thought they were her friends but they'd betrayed her. I get very little of what she says, but Mi-hyang paraphrases later, and what I do piece together makes it harder for me to love her. Gulp. It's easy to love a poor, helpless woman, much harder to love a poor, guilty one.

She dying for revenge and can't stop crying. When the woman can't reach her son by phone, Mi-hyang starts calling with her own phone, and feeds the weeping woman by hand, one spoonful at a time. I see a new dimension of love. I take over the feeding while Mi-hyang goes out to make some more calls. The woman reeks of street and urine, and I can't eat for the stench. I recognize pride growing up among the good things in my heart. This is dangerous ground. How to keep the left hand from knowing what the right is doing.

The woman's son finally answers and gives us directions, and we get a taxi and drive across town. I smile and tell Mi-hyang now I know why we came. This was God's good purpose for us. But if we hadn't been looking? Oh, the things you see when your eyes are peeled for opportunities to serve and love. We arrive at the son's apartment, but he doesn't come out to meet her. He says she does this all the time; he's not a bad son, he's just tired of it. Mi-hyang tells me more about the situation on our way back home. Apparently, the woman and shopkeeper were part of a love triangle, and the woman was hysterical because he had betrayed her. As the ugliness and unworthiness of the situation sink in, the glory of loving the broken slowly fades out and contemplation takes over.

Mi-hyang asks if I'm okay, and I say yes. I tell her thank you and I'm sorry.

Thankful for what, and sorry for what? she laughs. Thankful for all you did, and sorry the problem got so big.

She says she had several experiences helping people like that in college, but now she avoids them. I feel a bit foolish, like she's discovered something I haven't. We both realize we wouldn't have gotten involved without the other. I tell her now I understand why Jesus sent the disciples out in pairs of two. And there it is, the same communion I'd felt in the restaurant, it swells between us, and I reach over and pat her leg. God satisfied my craving indeed.

This weekend, Christians all around the world will share the Lord's Supper together for World Communion Sunday. How might we also share that communion outside the church walls, in hearts sharing a common brokenness and surrender, a common pouring out and gain?

Not What I Want

Back in Korea! It's hard to believe I'm into my fourth year already. Sometimes I'm surprised by how comfortable and well-adapted I feel here, but other times I'm back at square one, lonely and doubtful of my purpose here. But I know this is where God has led me, and I have hope that through this experience He is training and shaping me for something more down the road. Someone said recently, "Everyone thinks their current situation is training for something more; but I think our whole life is training for eternity." I guess that's right; we are always in training.

I was talking with a missionary yesterday, and she said she and her family are going to New Zealand soon, as her husband has been asked to coordinate the Korean mission work there. I asked her if she was happy about that or disappointed, and she paused as if she'd never stopped to consider. "Mm, I'm not disappointed, but I'm not happy either; I'm just a missionary, so I go. I do worry about my parents though, as they're getting along in age..." Her answer surprised me, and yet I could relate (not that my parents are old!).

Most of the time I'm very happy and content to be in Korea, but on gloomy days I bewail my loneliness and limitations and wonder what I'm still doing here. Neither my career nor my education are advancing, I'm not building up savings or starting to pay off a house, my relationships have seemingly maxed-out in this community, and my Korean is still halting. There are reasons to feel discouraged.

And yet... I'm so glad I haven't quit because of those feelings. As much as I have yet to learn here, I've already grown so much. I've learned about giving and sharing and teaching and loving and persevering--especially persevering--and trusting God for situations out of my control, and yielding my will to another's, and trusting God to provide and be faithful and finish His work in me.

So whether I say it aloud or not, this is my urgent plea: "God, don't let me get in my own way!" In any season of life--moreover, on any given day--if I asked myself what would make me happy, my answer would vary according to my narrow scope of vision. Happiness--as well as sadness, thank goodness--are just temporal, rather fleshy feelings. But true and enduring happiness, which is really joy, is rooted in trust* and grown by obedience. We trust that God is good and faithful and has our best and His glory in mind, and we act out our trust by walking with Him where He leads.

I fear we too often miss the point--and the Way--by asking ourselves what we want, when what will really bring us joy is following our Father like a child walking through a frenzied crowd latches on to his mother's hand and stays close at her heels. "Do you want to stay in Korea or move back to the U.S.?" "Do you want to work at a Christian school or a public school, or maybe a private academy?" "Do you want to live in the city or the country?" These questions aren't bad, but I find them a bit irrelevant, as the missionary did whom I questioned yesterday. I think we focus too much energy directing ourselves in the ways we want to go and assessing how much we like different options (or pseudo-options, as we often don't have the control we think we do), at the expense of missing the way God is calling us and adjusting our steps to fall gracefully and nimbly on the terrain He leads us through. We are the musicians, not the Composer, and not the Conductor. Usually when I'm frustrated, complaining, or plain discontent, it's because I've confused my role and measured a situation according to my plan or my preferences. If I were to give any advice, it would be to not have too many preferences or be closed off to too many possibilities, because in whatever area you are closed off, that is where God likes to teach surrender. :-)

We can have thrills and shallow, fleeting happiness, and even believe we are enjoying God's best in our life. But in the end we will see what is real gold and what is fool's gold. Fool's gold can be awfully deceiving. As we continue to build our houses--on the Rock, that is--let us continue to consult the Blueprint, keep going back to the Designer, keep checking in with the Architect, to make sure its done according to the Plan and not by our own fancies. And really, why would we want to tweak the original, when it was made by the One who choreographed dancing colors for the Northern Lights, put the pulse in the ocean, and made each of the 30,000 lenses in a dragonfly eye.** How could our best masterpieces ever exceed the Great Creator's? And the house we build is not for our own glory, our own mortal preferences and will, but for the eternal soul, the place where God lives, a house for His glory.

*As Ann Voskamp (a fabulous writer--check out her blog) unveils in her book One Thousand Gifts, the Greek word pisteuo which appears 220 times in the New Testament, most often translated as "belief," really means "to put one's faith in; to trust." As she figures then, "authentic, saving belief" is the "very real, everyday action of trusting."

**In researching this fact on dragonflys, I found another that could be the foundation for an entirely new blog post. Get this: "Most of the dragonfly life span is spent in the water as a nymph. During this period, which can last up to a couple of years, it sheds its skin many times. Finally it crawls onto land to break out of its skin as a full fledged dragonfly." Is this not an allegory for our earthly Christian life?! Most of the earthly Christian life is spent in a blurred reflection of the Glory. During this period, which can last up to 80 or 90 years, the Christian shares in Christ's death and resurrection at many intervals along the way. Finally the Christian dies a final death, breaking out of its mortal body to join Christ in heaven as a full-fledged co-heir of God.