Living in the Spaces

If there is one thing I have learned in the almost two years since I began this journey, it is how to be busy. I am good at it. I am good at to-do lists, at filling up my schedule with meetings and conversations and times to plan the next day’s activities.

What I really suck at at is the in-between times. The times that are supposed to be set aside for me to rest. I am not good at being still. Being quiet. Resting. Instead I find myself dreading those times as I force my body to stop moving at 100 miles an hour and sit still while my mind continually races over and over all of the things that I “should” be doing.

On Monday morning our team was in the center praying together as we do at the beginning of each day. As I sat there on the floor I heard the Lord whisper, “It is about living in the spaces.” I thought, “what does that even mean?” and I quickly slid it into the “to-ponder-more-over-later” file in my brain. But this little phrase has kept surfacing the last three days, and I am beginning to sort out what it means. Here’s what I’ve gathered so far; it means that I am not called to busyness. I am not called to live a life that is full of doing. Shocking, I know. To most of us it sounds backward. Especially when so often those speaking into our lives emphasize what we should “do” for God. As if He even needs us to do something for Him! God is not a helpless Being waiting on His people to do His work for Him. Rather, He is a loving God who chooses to let His people in to get the “inside look” on what He is already doing. We get to peek behind the curtain and get the behind-the-scenes on His master plan! He is a God who built partnership with His creation into His plan for the world. He loves us so much that He enjoys having us working side-by-side with Him! How incredible is that?

So, if the most important thing is not what I “do” for God, then what is the most important thing?

Last week I was preparing a devotion to share with our Rahab’s Rope staff at our staff retreat, and God brought the story of Mary and Martha to my mind. It is a story I have heard countless times, but for some reason it struck me in a new way this time around. What struck me was this; Jesus didn’t tell Martha that she was wrong for working. But He saw into her heart and knew that her busyness caused her worry and stress – her work was not flowing out of her relationship with Him, but rather out of the need to be “busy” and “get things done.” So much of the time I do things for the same reason as Martha. I feel like running around like a chicken with my head cut off will get the Lord’s attention. “See God, I am working so hard for YOU!” But He sees my heart and knows how stressed out the whole thing is making me, and He leans in and whispers “live in the spaces.”

The spaces are the in-between times. The times that aren’t scheduled. The times when I sit around trying not to dwell on what I “should” be working on. The times when I come to a stop and regroup. Those are the times in which life abundant is found. Those are the times in which He wants me to dwell. To sit at His feet – bask in His presence and in the knowledge that I am His child and am unconditionally loved. It is then that I realize that He will not love or accept me more based on the amount of work that I “accomplish” for the Kingdom.  He already loves and accepts me to the fullest! How often do I fail to live out of that knowledge, and instead strive to earn what is already mine.

So I am learning what it looks like to live in the spaces. The spaces in between the lines on my to-do list. The spaces in between “ministry.” The spaces that are an open invitation – an invitation to sit with the King, the Father, the One whom my soul loves.

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How do you live in the “spaces” in your life? Any advice or words of wisdom from experience?

A photo from our India staff retreat

Oh The Places He Goes…

I shouldn’t be surprised anymore when the Lord shows up somewhere unexpected. I shouldn’t be surprised when He shatters my expectations of how He works, or defies the limits of my finite concept of His modus operandi.

Over the past two weeks I have found Him in places I never would have expected Him to show up. One place was inside of a brothel, in the heart of one of the madams who is currently managing several houses of women who are enslaved in prostitution. It is often easy to pray for, hope for and desperately cry out to God for the freedom of the women enslaved, but often forgotten and scorned are the women who are on the opposite end of the spectrum; women who were brought to the same place long ago, when they were little girls themselves, and who after years of betrayal, abuse and terror were finally tossed aside and simply took up the only available task – that of managing those younger than them. It is easy to cry out for justice against pimps and madams, and somewhere along the line they made poor decisions and are responsible for their own actions. But when I look into the eyes of a 40+ year-old woman and can see a twelve-year-old girl reflected back, a terrified, broken, lost little girl, it is much easier to find compassion in my heart for her.

One of these women is Sonia*. Sonia is over the age of fifty – a grandmother. Two weeks ago she showed up for the first time to the prayer meeting in the center. I had met her on the street before and had several brief interactions with her, but when I saw her face at that meeting I knew that something was different about her. I had walked in late to the meeting as I had been out spreading the word about the meeting to other women, and as I slipped in and observed the scene one of my teammates pulled me over and said “Sonia is sharing her testimony!” She was speaking and the rest of the women were listening with rapt attention to every word she said. Her countenance was radiant. After she had finished, we proceeded with the rest of the meeting as planned, but after it was over I was immediately at Sonia’s side. I told her that I was sad that I had missed her telling of her story, and her face lit up again with that same joy as she dove right back into the details of the last few months of her life. Her husband had passed away, and his financial arrangements were not coming through the way that they were supposed to. Sonia said “I prayed to every god that I could, but nothing happened.” She spent time worshipping and praying to every god that she could find to help her, but to no avail. Then she attended a church service in the area and heard about Jesus. She went home and began praying to Jesus. The next day all of her husband’s financial arrangements came through. She told me, “I knew that Jesus was the only God that hears me, so I left all other gods and I am only serving Jesus.” She has been faithfully attending church since that first Sunday, and her heart is on fire for the Lord.

I never would have expected to meet with Jesus as I sat with a fifty-year old madam in our center that day, but I suddenly found myself at His feet, humbled once again at the ways that He chooses to work in the hearts of His beloved children. I am thankful that Sonia is my sister in Christ, and despite the place that she finds herself in today, there is Hope, and Grace for her soul because her Redeemer has ransomed her.

The Source of Life reached into a grave one Sunday morning and restored life to the Lamb who had been slain. I shouldn’t be surprised to discover Him working in the same way today – reaching into places of death and breathing new Life into those who have been bound by death’s grip for so long. Where I see dry bones He sees an army, and He is raising them again to life.

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*for the protection of this individual, a pseudonym has been used

A Strong Tower

“The name of the Lord is a strong tower, the righteous run into it and they are saved.”

It is a familiar verse, and as I sang the lyrics with the worship team this morning, I was more focused on melodies and harmonies than on the depth of meaning that these words contain.

After church I met a new friend. A sweet smile and a friendly handshake accompanied our introduction. We exchanged phone numbers and the customary “we’ll get together sometime soon.” We said goodbye and then I left to eat lunch with a group of friends. The next thing I knew, she was sliding into the seat next to me, and the same sweet smile spread across her face as she explained, “I came back!” We waited for our dosas to arrive, and without really knowing how it happened, both of us were suddenly engrossed in a conversation about her life.

She grew up in a Hindu family, but she heard the name Jesus at her Catholic school. She told me that she learned the name of Jesus not because He was taught in her classes, but because her school celebrated Christmas. She didn’t know who He was, or even that He promised redemption from sin or eternal life (she told me that when she found that out years later, it was a “bonus” added on to what He had offered her in this life). What she did know was that He was God and His name brought her comfort and peace. So she started talking to Him. She had nightly conversations with Jesus as she laid in bed at night as a little girl. She wrote letters to Him and let the concerns of her young heart spill out onto the paper. With the faith of a child she clung to the Friend she knew was real, although she had never seen Him, heard teachings about Him, gone to Sunday school, or read the Bible.

Her childlike faith did not fade with the passing of her childhood, but she continued her conversations with Jesus as she grew. At the age of 20 she found herself in the middle of a break up. She had given her heart to a man and he had eventually lost interest. It crushed her, and she found herself that night at the feet of the man whose name alone she knew. She cried out to Jesus and told Him that she no longer wanted to live. She begged Him to take her to wherever He was, and she told Him that she loved people in her life but never received the same love in return. She told Jesus that she would live with Him and love Him but she didn’t want to live on this earth any longer. There, in the midst of the deepest rejection her heart had known, she found comfort in the acceptance of a Lover who never betrays His own.

As all of this was taking place, the Lord was wooing the heart of this former boyfriend’s mother. She came to know the Lord, and about a year after my friend’s breakup, this mother was the person who led my new friend to the truth of salvation. Finally, the Name that she had clung to her entire life had drawn her to a place where she could come to the fullness of the truth and knowledge of who He is. He used the person who had rejected her the most deeply to bring her into relationship with the Person who would never reject her – the Person who she had spent her entire life searching to find.

All she had known was a name. But she clung to that Name despite the teaching of her Hindu family, and despite the pressures of her adolescent and young adult life. She clung to a Name that she knew would never leave or forsake her. And the power of that Name transformed her life and the life of her family. Her mother has also been a follower of Christ for the past 12 years, and my new friend is praying and believing that her father, older brother and his family will also come to know the Truth.

I walked away from lunch today with a full stomach and a heart overwhelmed by the intimacy and passionate love of a God who knows our hearts and our deepest desires. His love infiltrates the hearts of those He has chosen, and circumstances cannot stand in the way of His furious love. Many would have shaken their heads at a young Hindu girl who had never read the Bible, but I guarantee you that this little girl growing up in a Hindu family knew her Jesus more intimately than many who have grown up going to Sunday school and heard Him preached from the pulpit every Sunday.

I sang the words from my mouth in worship this morning, but my heart poured them forth hours later as I walked away with an infinitely deeper understanding of their meaning through this dear sister’s story;

“The name of the LORD is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe.”

~ Proverbs 18:10

Are YOU My Mother?

Our team often laughs about how we didn’t know that we were moving to India to become parents… yet somehow, twelve little girls have  completely captivated our hearts. During our time in class with them we are responsible for teaching, feeding, disciplining, and most importantly, for loving them. When we come home at the end of the day, our conversation invariably revolves around “the girls” –  how we should handle discipline with them, what they need to learn, and the funny things they said and did in class that day.

Sometimes the hardest thing is to feel like a parent to these girls while not actually being the parent. The past week has been full of difficult reminders that we are not in fact the parents of these girls, as we have faced situations in which we must default to a parent’s decision, even when we disagree.

One situation surrounded two of our girls being sent to a different organization for the morning class time. Ultimately, our desire is simply for these children to be safe and well taken care of, and if that is somewhere outside of our center, we are okay with that. But our hearts were heavy when we learned that the parents had decided to move the girls. And enforcing their parents’ decision despite the girls’ tears just about broke my heart.

Last week I had the opportunity to sit down with one of our girls’ mothers and talk to her about her home life. Her husband died several years ago, and she is now married to another man who does not contribute financially to the family, but leaves his wife with the burden of providing for several children. She leaves her thirteen-year-old daughter at home in charge of cooking and cleaning while she is at her job, and often this girl has been forced to miss school in order to take care of her home. I encouraged this mother to make decisions for her daughter’s well being and to think about her daughter’s potential and bright future. But her need for someone to care for the home is overwhelming in her mind, and currently supersedes her desire for her daughter’s opportunity.

It is a difficult and often heart wrenching line to walk – to respect the decision of a parent while your heart desperately desires something different for these precious little ones.

Sometimes I question God and ask Him why He put these girls in such a dangerous place. Why does He allow their innocence to be tainted by the events that take place in their community every day?

 God gently reminds me that He is a Father, and that His heart breaks continually for the injustice and the difficulties that these girls face. He reminds me that He loves them more than I do, and cares about them more deeply than I ever could. He reveals to me that this is an opportunity for me to learn about submission, and about turning to Him for help rather than attempting to take circumstances into my own hands and make the outcomes turn out the way that I want. He is teaching me to trust Him with the lives of children that I love, and reminding me that His hands are so much more capable than my own.

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A Prodigal Son

Her eyes lit up when she saw me.  The gleam in her eyes grew brighter as she turned to my friend who was translating and whispered in her ear…there was something she wanted me to know, and even before I heard the translation, my heart leapt with anticipation over the words I was about to hear.

She had shared a piece of her heart with me the last time I had seen her. She had one son, and she didn’t know where he was. He had been missing for over a year, and her mother’s heart was breaking. Her deepest desire was for the Lord to bring her son back to her. One of the stories I have told multiple times to this group of women is the story of the prodigal son, and the truth of that story had struck deeply in her heart. She had faith. She believed that the Lord could answer her prayer and restore her son to her. So we held hands and together with tears and faith we had lifted her heart’s desire before the Father.

Our translator came over to me. “She said the last time you were here you prayed with her that she would find her son?” “Yes,” I responded, hopefully. “She wants you to know that the Lord has answered her prayer, and she has found her son.”

I looked over at her and the smile that lit up her face literally spread from one ear to the other. It was the most intense expression of joy I have ever seen.

How intimately faithful is our God. Intimate enough to know the heart’s cry of a mother separated from her only son. Intimate enough to reach out and meet her where she is – and to send His light to penetrate the darkness of an Indian brothel. His faithfulness reaches beyond the chains of bondage that the enemy has thrown around her life.

She is still working in the brothel, and although we pray for her rescue, the Lord hasn’t answered that prayer – yet. But He is building her faith. He is meeting her where she is and revealing to her that He is a God who hears her and answers her prayers. As I held this sweet sister’s hand once again and we once again prayed together, gratitude spilled out of my mouth to the Father who is always waiting for His wandering children to return to Him. To the Father whose deepest desire is for us to be restored to an intimate relationship with Him, and who is willing to meet us in the darkest places and answer our prayers.

A Walk in the Park

Last week our team had the chance to take eight of the girls from our girls’ program out of the community in which they live, and take them to a park for the afternoon. While this may not seem like a big deal to most of us who grew up at the playground, for these girls, it was the outing of a lifetime. Most of these girls had never been to a park just to play for the day, and for the ones that had experienced it before, it had been several years since their last trip.

We swung on swings, slid down slides, taught them how to play Red Rover, and took probably a thousand photos as each one constantly shouted “teacher, look at me! Please one photo!” I taught them how to sit “spider” on the swing and then each girl had to have a turn on my lap. We ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on picnic blankets spread out on the grass. Some of them were skeptical of the PB&J at first, as it is quite a diversion from their usual diet of rice and curries, but most of them ended up with nothing left over but sticky fingers and faces. Their joy bubbled over in endless giggles and the park echoed with the sounds of their laughter all afternoon.

 As we waited for the bus to pick us up at the end of the day, we asked each of the girls in turn what their favorite part of the day had been.  All of them responded, “playing!” Most of these girls spend their days balancing their responsibilities at home (cooking, cleaning, taking care of younger siblings), and for those privileged enough to attend school, their time at school and their homework is added to the load they carry. They fit in time to play around these responsibilities, and for most of these eight to thirteen year-olds, that time is very minimal. So that day in the park was a day of freedom for them – a day to be a little girl with no cares in the world (besides who had the next turn on the swing, of course). It was a day of restored innocence and childhood, as their playground became swings and slides rather than the brothel fronts that line the streets where they live.

 

We all left the park exhausted; but it was the good kind of exhaustion. The exhaustion that comes from a day spent playing outside and laughing until your sides hurt. The kind of exhaustion that bears with it the knowledge that something was accomplished that day. I may never know the extent of what was accomplished, but the laughter that is still ringing in my ears reminds me that a difference was made in the lives of eight little girls who got a day to play in the park. And it made a difference for me as well – it was refreshing for my spirit to be away from the darkness and the heaviness that surrounds the places in which our team works.Sometimes we all need a day that is simply a walk in the park.

Caution: Culture Shock Ahead

One of my family’s favorite television shows is The Amazing Race. I mean, we are some pretty serious fanatics when it comes to that show. Every week I fight and coax my internet connection here to load the new episode, and I groan when it cuts out every five minutes and I have to reload the page.

One of the things that is so fun to watch is the way that people respond to new cultures. Last week’s episode took place in Bangladesh, and watching the way that the teams responded to the shock of the culture there made me smile, but it also made me stop and think; isn’t it interesting how we respond when we are placed in a situation that is unfamiliar or foreign? Some people responded violently, others shut down, and some burst into tears when things were overwhelming and uncomfortable.

I have faced “culture shock” several times over the past couple of years, and I am anticipating being reacquainted with it again in a couple of hours. After five and a half months in India I am heading to Thailand for a week to renew my visa. It is strange to think about leaving India – I am excited to revisit one of the other places on this side of the world that captured my heart a year and a half ago – but at the same time it is weird to me to think about being somewhere other than here. I am getting on a plane in less than four hours, and I have spent all day trying to wrap my mind around that fact, with no success. India has become my normal. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the relationships with people that I love, the routine of each week, the clothes, the language, the food…it was all a shock when I first arrived, but now it has become my normal.

So, how do I brace myself for culture shock when I get off the plane in the morning? What differences will I notice on this visit standing in contrast to my current concept of normal? This time around I will not only be comparing Thailand to American culture, but more likely my culture shock will spring out of the deviations from Indian culture! I am excited to see this country from a different perspective, and to be reminded that cultural differences are not always “bad or good,” often they are simply different. “Same same, but different,” as they say in Thailand.

So here’s to a week of rediscovering what it feels like to wear t-shirts and shorts in public, to swim in the ocean, to be a real tourist (I am routinely mistaken for one here), to eat pad thai from street vendors (yum!), and to appreciate the perspective and beauty that a change of environment and culture provide. This week is truly a gift, and my hope is that when I return to India it will be with a renewed sense of vision and a heart and mind refreshed from a sweet, intimate time in the Lord’s presence.