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.

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.

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.