A friend at headquarters shared with me something that was presented at the training for our new missionary candidates. It gave me things to ponder, and I thought others might enjoy it as well. It was presented as part of an introduction to our theology of mission.
“Could it be that instead of embracing God’s whole agenda, the church has settled for $3 worth of God?
I would like to buy $3 worth of God please
I want just $3 worth
Just enough to equal a soothing cup of warm milk
Or a snooze in the sunshine
Not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep
Enough of God to make me feel love and forgiven
But not so much to make me love and forgive others
Not so much that it will make me seek justice for the oppressed
Or to embrace the person with AIDS
Or make room for the refugee
Or to feed the hungry
Just $3 worth please
Enough to snack on for two Sunday morning hours of bliss
I want ecstasy
Not transformation
I want the warmth of the womb
Not the terrible pain of new birth
Give me a pound of the eternal
$3 worth of God please
And could you put that in a brown paper bag…”
Adapted from Tim Hansel
I don't know that this requires much commentary from me. Except to say, I often only seek $3 worth, indeed.
Here's to infinite cost and infinite price. What's He worth to me?
The Kenya trip—in a too simple metaphor, it was a spiritual snowglobe shaker. Just when you think things are a bit settled from the last shake, God comes and swirls the snow again. I do like it, but it’s hard, too, and it always takes me a bit to catch on that God is trying to speak to me about something.
My final year of teaching at Rim was one of walking with the Lord in lessons of common sense versus faith, security versus His invitation to something where I would meet Him in a new way. When I think about that time now, I wonder with a scrunched forehead how He got me to leave such a secure job and predictable situation to go to—no one knew what. I had no job lined up, little savings, and a car payment and half a mortgage. I remember that year as an incredible time, but when I really think about it now, I am amazed at what God prompted me to do, and how He provided the courage to do it.
It’s taken me a week to really think about some of the things that happened in Kenya, and to notice that God is using it to start a new conversation with me. Today was the day it dawned on me. Some of the themes of the conversation have to do with trust, sacrifice, joy, and priorities. All week my Bible and devotional readings seem to have been asking the question, "What are you clinging to? What and who do you really love?" Being in Idaho and taking this trip have meant meeting lots of new people who are asking what I do at MAF and why I do it. I get to tell a great story of how God led me into this work, and that I am still amazed that this is what He is allowing me to do with my life. Once I got home, though, it seemed He was asking me, "Is that what you still think—that I am amazing? Or have you become settled again spiritually? Where is your heart?"
The cool thing is, I didn’t hear those questions as condemnations, which is a change for me. I heard them gently, from the One who loves me, who wants to draw me closer. But I still was not sure that all the themes I was seeing in my reading were really there, and I did feel a little like I was clambering after the Lord saying, "Really? Are you sure you’re talking to me? What are you trying to say? Are you really trying to get my attention? Is this a personal chat or a general reminder about things?"
Today was one of those sweet, sweet days when it becomes obvious that it’s a personal chat. I love when God is in the details. This morning as I got ready for church, I flipped my "Names of God" daily calendar from January 26 to 27, on the way to 28. The name of God for the 27th was "Altogether Lovely". I flashed right away to one of my favorite songs, Tim Hughes’ Here I Am to Worship. It was one of the songs that God used to minister to my heart in my most homesick moment in Idaho.
I saw the calendar and thought about the question God has been asking me about Psalm 84, which I think the Lord gave to me just after I got home from Kenya for this year as an encouragement and more—a conversation about where my home really is. I think He has been using it to ask me whether I really believe that one day in His courts is better than a thousand elsewhere. Where are my elsewheres? How many do I have, that draw me from His courts? How deeply do I want to dwell with Him? Do I really believe that He is so Altogether Lovely that I will lay my heart down again for Him to refashion anew?
I thought, "It would be cool to sing Here I Am to Worship at church this morning. I’d love that." Well, guess what? Of course, that’s one of the songs we sang, along with a whole bunch of others to do with surrender. And the message was on the final chapter of Jonah, from a beautiful perspective of surrender. I cried through most of the music, mouthing the words when I could, so assured of His calm voice to me saying once again, "I am big enough. I love you enough. Rest, child. Change is coming, but it’s okay. I am doing something new. Trust me."
So, that’s the state of my snowglobe. And I am a mess in some moments, but mostly pretty happy to be shaken up.
Or, mostly, just for time and brain energy enough to type something new in here :) I arrived home Saturday evening from Kenya and have been in a zoom of house cleaning and work and mail sorting and meeting planning...and, yes, sleep. I think the funniest thing about jet lag is that one minute you are zooming along like everything is fine and you are wide awake, then...CRASH! There's no warning. You are just slam-down-on-your-face tired.
I took Sunday to really try to rest (though I actually wound up cleaning the apartment and putting away some of the stuff from Christmas that I didn't get to since I left for Kenya so quickly after I got home from California, because, of course, I came home to a note from the property management company to say that inspectors would be in the next day for a sale inspection, so why bother to make a mess and actually unpack my suitcases--what a pain!). I told Liann that it would have been nice to have some candles lit while I was home to make the place smell good--but when I am jet-lagged, I am afraid I won't remember to blow them out!
Kenya was amazing on many levels. As always, it was hard to leave because wonderful friendships develop with people. How terrific it is to belong to Christ so that we do not truly say goodbye, but rather, "until later." It's a wonderful consolation.
And I am completely off pineapple or mango in the States now. I have tasted the real thing--fruit actually ripened as it was meant to be, not colored up to sit on a store shelf or be sucked from a can. Yes, you may now address me as Pineapple Mango Snob Girl.
And for Beth--I want you to know that I am as completely capable now of stripping goat bones the way do I chicken bones--you hardly know it's happening ;) Yeah, baby!
