Mangos and Tears.

Well I thought I would re-enter the blogosphere….it’s been a while. 

I have not written for over a week not because of boredom……quite the opposite.

I am loving life right now.  Life is taking my breath away.  I am so alive.

What’s this life about here in Salatiga:

It’s about some days waking up with a gastro-intestinal nightmare and then kicking off the day with some room-temperature rice and a unique melody of vegetables, tofu and well the rest I can’t identify.

It’s about laughing and celebrating as everyone of us is able to say that word “if” in Indonesian…..how trivial, but how important.

It’s about standing under a market tent, using my meager, yet quickly growing vocab to buy 4 mangoes.

It’s about ecstatically racing home on my bike with the biggest smile because I know about my incoming mango fiesta. 

It’s when your back drips with sweat, but your face drips with mango juice. It’s me and 4 mangoes.  It’s pure ecstasy for me.

It’s about 10 kids swarming me.  Standing with bare feet on the hot concrete “field”, they pull me into the soccer goal…. guess I just became the goalie.  They think I am the best soccer player.  I let that moment stay with me forever because as soon as I touch the ball, that assumption disappears. 

It’s about biking into the rubber plantations of Java, buying water from a stand and talking to an Indonesian.  Well, he talked to me.  I understood a few things, but both of us were just big smiles.  It’s funny how this is etched forever in my mind.  It is this, this interaction with Indonesians, that gives me so much life.

It’s standing in the most beautiful rain ever and being soaked.  The dry earth, which has not seen a drop of moisture since I have come here, fills the air with the richest scent…..that terrific mixture of rain and dust. 

It’s about staying up late talking about theology with my host dad.  His church plant, pastoral work and bookshelf have led us to talk long into the night.

It’s about family.  Trying to get my 10-month old sister to walk and my 7 year old to stop bugging me. 

It’s about standing atop a mountain and looking down and rice paddies and tobacco field fill the valley bottom.  It’s also about searching for the elusive monkey…..and I’m still looking.

It’s about church.  Gathering on bamboo mats, singing, reflecting and eating together in the home of one of the members of this young adults church of 30 or so people. The church is rising up leaders and these weekly gatherings have given me much delight.

It’s about loving the texture of life in the rural areas.  There is a different beauty and mystery to life in the rural areas.  I can’t quite figure it out.

It’s also about tears.

It’s about weeping.

It’s about a fallen world.

It’s about dreaming of the redeemed earth. 

I’ll explain.

I am pursing to feel intimate with the way of life here.  It’s hard.  At times I feel like the awkwardest thing here—distant from the people, the faiths and the land.  There have been a few times where this cultural, religious and language barrier feels like it has been strip away a bit and I sense increased incarnation among the people here. 

One thing that I prayed last week was for God to break my heart for what breaks his.  It’s a pray that needed to be said because of the distance from the injustice that I was feeling here.  I wanted that to be more real.   It want to see the world like God does.  Crossing cultures can make you blind to see things through God’s eyes.  Crossing cultures can be filled with endless worry, concern and business with yourself.  It’s like being in those middle school days where all you care about is trying to figure out how you fit into things, how to say things, what is happening to your body…..it can be just all about you.  Cross-cultural things are kinda like the adolescent days.  It is very easy to be lost in the confusion of myself that I miss the voice of God.  So I prayed that I would cry for what God cries over. 

God answers prayer.  Over the course of a couple days God was giving me that gift of being able to see more of life here through his eyes. There is not any one person or event that triggered this, just life around me. 

Then one night I lay in bed.  And then I cried.  I was angry.  Angry at the brokenness around me.  It wasn’t anger at poverty here.  Nope.  It was anger at people like me.  People with the nice cars and big homes.  My eyes have been opened to some stunning inequality here.  I can just feel Indonesia straining.  Most of it eagerly lurching towards the economic growth that we idolize. All that ensues from lives lived in such idolization of consumption and individualism I know all to well in North America.  But the straining is between those whom are gaining great wealth from this economic boom and those whom are forgotten.  I weep over this, but they are also tears of discomfort over my North American life and such.   It gets really messy.  My frustration doesn’t stop there.  

I have just associated with those whom have middle-high incomes.  I stay in their homes, talk with them.  I’m not complaining about that, I have great thanks for that.  But, there is half of Indonesia that lives with less than $2 a day.  I wonder lots about this.  Who are these people that live far more simple lives?  What brokenness to there lives exhibit?  What witness to faithful living to they offer me? 

And then there is something that I felt before about this stuff and I can’t figure out.  I feel lonely about these passions and dreams of mine.  Maybe its because I don’t think people will understand how I can cry over societies idols, injustice and evil structures. 

I have tears right now.  It’s such a gift from God that I can weep over the fallen world we live in.  I feel such intense emotion over this.  I just don't know what to do with it sometimes. So, I'm learning to surrender this, and listen and look for answers. Just wait for God to do the rest.

Every day I dream and envision the world redeemed.  More often than not in my life, these tears of frustration and anger turn into courage and determination.  So far, God's joy that he has graciously given me has overcome despair.    

This is a favorite quote of mine, it helps me make sense experience this past week.  I hope it propels you aswell to faithful living.

hope has two beautiful daughters:

their names are anger and courage –

anger at the way things are and

courage to see they do not remain that way.  --St Augustine

The force of prayer was remarkably real this past week and I thank-you for that.  It’s strange to write about my life on a blog.  But I hope that you are able to feel some of texture of life here. 

Tuhan Memberkati.  God Bless.