The internet has been down in my room for several days now so I haven't been able to catch up on several things that are starting to worry me. So I escaped to my office where thankfully the internet is fast and I can download some documents that I need to edit to meet a deadline. Somehow things are starting to pile up all at once and I am beginning to rethink my original strategy for service when I first came.
When I first arrived at MEU, I decided that I would willingly volunteer anytime somebody asked me to help out, whether it was playing piano for song service, tutoring a student in conversational English, or packing up someone's house to move. I quickly filled my days and got to know different people through the opportunities for service.
Now that I've settled in to life here, though, I'm realizing that being available for any request may not necessarily be the best idea for long-term service. I read in My Utmost for His Highest today that if I am feeling spiritually exhausted, it may be because I need to reconnect to the One Who gives me the strength I need to be poured out in service. This means, naturally, that I need to set aside time in order to do so.
In the next two weeks or so, I have to prepare a succinct presentation for an international conference, edit 4 articles into video script, research and put together text for a promotional site, give 2-4 hours of reading and fluency tutoring per week, buy kitchen appliances as I'll now be cooking for myself, and edit a friend's masters' thesis. This is in addition to the everyday duties I do, such as teach, work, do laundry, go grocery shopping, cook, clean my room, help babysit my best friend's twin boys, write emails or chat with my family, and go on the occasional social outing.
Coming to the mission field, I assumed it would be easy to prioritize devotional time just as I had in 2005 when I spent a summer in South Korea teaching English. Then, I'd had very short nights as my last class ended at 9 pm and my first morning class began at 7 am. I made sure that I had at least 30 minutes for personal devotions every morning, in spite of a lack of sleep, because I valued that connection with God and I saw how very necessary it was to my survival in a foreign land away from all that was familiar for the first time.
Perhaps it's because coming back has not been a mission field experience for me as much as it has been about coming home. Yes, I have made sure that I read my devotional book every morning and spent time writing in my prayer journal and reading my Bible before I went to bed. I'm not listing this as a matter of pride; I'm simply stating that devotions have been a part of my life since I arrived. But finding myself weary emotionally and spiritually is making me think that perhaps I need to shift my focus from service to servanthood.
Micah 6:8 ends by saying that what God asks is not sacrifices but to walk humbly with your God. What does it mean to walk humbly? Perhaps it's not about meeting a quota of service opportunities but rather learning to step into sync with God. Learning to match my stride to His rather than those of others. Learning to serve not out of a need to feel important or valued but out of humility because He has chosen to give me this gift. While in everything, remembering that above all, the connection with my God is what will give me the strength to serve others and Him.
Thursday, February 9, 2017
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Stand Up and Be Counted
You may be wondering why I've remained silent about the travel ban, seeing as how I'm currently living in the Middle East, albeit not one of the banned countries but close enough. I am processing my thoughts but I hesitate to share them because I know there will be backlash from people who have a different opinion than me, informed or otherwise.
Today I sat in Sabbath School class with the faces of those statistics being tossed around. A woman who was born in one of the 7 banned countries, though she holds a passport from another country she has the fear that her visa to the US will be revoked because of her birthplace. A man whose birthplace is not yet on the banned list but rumour has it that it could be added soon is about to travel to the US and wonders whether he will be able to enter before any new rulings can be made.
I know these people. They are good hard-working citizens who are serving sacrificially as missionaries here. The reason to keep them out of the US is absurd to say the least. People forget, in their haste to defend the US from bomb-threatening terrorists, that this ban applies to anyone who has a connection with those specific countries. So if my friend would like to go to the US on holiday, using their valid visa, they will be denied.
I'm struggling to reconcile one man's view with the values that I believed the US was built on. Though I am not American myself, I am seen as a representative of the country because I speak the language easily and my home base is there. I'm struggling to not lump all Americans in with the president and am encouraged by the thousands who are protesting that this isn't right and are showing it through their actions.
I usually remain quiet in Sabbath School class--there are many who have things to share so I only speak if I feel strongly about something--but when the teacher asked me to share about my week, I was not as hesitant as usual. I shared a bit of the burden on my heart to somehow communicate to others that I am not speaking out of emotional reasoning but rather because I know the people these bans apply to.
I'm not going to debate the extent to which non-immigrants and immigrants should be screened before they enter the country. I know what it entails--I am an immigrant to the US myself though I still shrink from citizenship. There are so many variables that those who have followed this closely will know better than I. The statistics on internal acts of violence from Americans in the last year exceeds that of terrorist attacks from nationals from the banned countries, I'm sure. There were 49 people who died from a terrorist attack on US soil in 2016 and while the statistics on homicides are not available yet for 2016, there were 6,000 homicides in 2015 and I imagine the trend has not changed drastically. Car crashes are even more deadly with more than 30,000 road deaths in 2015 alone. Should we not ban cars then?
The world as we know it is changing. Matthew 24:10 & 12 seems to be happening right now. But I'm thankful for the promise that if we stand firm to the end, we will be saved (vs. 13). There is a calling for Christians around the world to stand up, shoulder to shoulder, and in the power of God to advance like a mighty army against this attempt by the devil to shake us to our roots. We need to be grounded in Whom we believe in and in such to show everyone that God's love is more powerful than anything else. Soon we will hear that trumpet call. I hope that day is not too far away.
Today I sat in Sabbath School class with the faces of those statistics being tossed around. A woman who was born in one of the 7 banned countries, though she holds a passport from another country she has the fear that her visa to the US will be revoked because of her birthplace. A man whose birthplace is not yet on the banned list but rumour has it that it could be added soon is about to travel to the US and wonders whether he will be able to enter before any new rulings can be made.
I know these people. They are good hard-working citizens who are serving sacrificially as missionaries here. The reason to keep them out of the US is absurd to say the least. People forget, in their haste to defend the US from bomb-threatening terrorists, that this ban applies to anyone who has a connection with those specific countries. So if my friend would like to go to the US on holiday, using their valid visa, they will be denied.
I'm struggling to reconcile one man's view with the values that I believed the US was built on. Though I am not American myself, I am seen as a representative of the country because I speak the language easily and my home base is there. I'm struggling to not lump all Americans in with the president and am encouraged by the thousands who are protesting that this isn't right and are showing it through their actions.
I usually remain quiet in Sabbath School class--there are many who have things to share so I only speak if I feel strongly about something--but when the teacher asked me to share about my week, I was not as hesitant as usual. I shared a bit of the burden on my heart to somehow communicate to others that I am not speaking out of emotional reasoning but rather because I know the people these bans apply to.
I'm not going to debate the extent to which non-immigrants and immigrants should be screened before they enter the country. I know what it entails--I am an immigrant to the US myself though I still shrink from citizenship. There are so many variables that those who have followed this closely will know better than I. The statistics on internal acts of violence from Americans in the last year exceeds that of terrorist attacks from nationals from the banned countries, I'm sure. There were 49 people who died from a terrorist attack on US soil in 2016 and while the statistics on homicides are not available yet for 2016, there were 6,000 homicides in 2015 and I imagine the trend has not changed drastically. Car crashes are even more deadly with more than 30,000 road deaths in 2015 alone. Should we not ban cars then?
The world as we know it is changing. Matthew 24:10 & 12 seems to be happening right now. But I'm thankful for the promise that if we stand firm to the end, we will be saved (vs. 13). There is a calling for Christians around the world to stand up, shoulder to shoulder, and in the power of God to advance like a mighty army against this attempt by the devil to shake us to our roots. We need to be grounded in Whom we believe in and in such to show everyone that God's love is more powerful than anything else. Soon we will hear that trumpet call. I hope that day is not too far away.
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
A Hug
We sat around a long table, 14 women from North Africa, the Netherlands, the US, Brazil, Portugal, the Philippines, Armenia, Lebanon, with several of us representing more than one country as TCKs. We'd come to celebrate the moments and years spent with one of our dear friends who, after completing her studies, was returning to her home country. As we leaned in close and shared laughter and stories, a smile began to warm my heart. And I realized God was answering two of my prayers.
I keep a prayer/blessings journal and two nights ago I'd written a very specific prayer request. I'd asked God for a hug. I'd been feeling under the weather physically and emotionally for several days and I needed to feel that God was with me. I'd managed to avoid getting sick on my brief trip to the US but had picked up a bug when I returned. In addition, I was questioning my plans to stay long-term and whether I was making the right decision as I waited in uncertainty for paperwork to come through that would help me know which direction to go. I decided to leave it up to God to answer the prayer in a way that I knew He was answering me.
The next day was rather uneventful. I'd spent the evening with the twins, both of whom had fallen asleep in my arms while drinking their evening bottle. I'd sat in the midday sun and soaked up the little bit of warmth that seemed to evade me in the cold cement walls and tile floors of my room and office. I'd had a good conversation with someone about the meaning of loss in a TCK's life and we'd both identified with similar experiences. While these were pieces of my day that stood out, they didn't strike me as being particularly meaningful in representing a hug from God.
Even though I didn't know the woman who was leaving that well, I decided to join the group of ladies who were going to the restaurant for a farewell meal. It would be a nice outing and I would be able to spend time with some friends I hadn't seen in a while, I reasoned. It would also be a chance to get off campus and enjoy some food other than cafeteria fare.
As the meal drew to a close, I marveled at how beautifully God had orchestrated the evening. We listened as women shared their love stories and their testimonies of how God brought them to know Him. One woman who was in her 30s and still single was encouraged by a friend who told her God knows where you are. She headed overseas and met her husband-to-be at the airport. When we paused to pray for the food and later for the woman who was leaving, I imagined Jesus standing tall above us, arms outstretched, as He pulled us closer together as sisters, mothers, grandmothers and friends in the tight bond of friendship.
I may not have everything figured out yet but I'm confident that just as God has been working in each of these women's lives, from the stories they shared, He will clearly work in mine. I just need to learn to keep waiting and trust in His timing.
I keep a prayer/blessings journal and two nights ago I'd written a very specific prayer request. I'd asked God for a hug. I'd been feeling under the weather physically and emotionally for several days and I needed to feel that God was with me. I'd managed to avoid getting sick on my brief trip to the US but had picked up a bug when I returned. In addition, I was questioning my plans to stay long-term and whether I was making the right decision as I waited in uncertainty for paperwork to come through that would help me know which direction to go. I decided to leave it up to God to answer the prayer in a way that I knew He was answering me.
The next day was rather uneventful. I'd spent the evening with the twins, both of whom had fallen asleep in my arms while drinking their evening bottle. I'd sat in the midday sun and soaked up the little bit of warmth that seemed to evade me in the cold cement walls and tile floors of my room and office. I'd had a good conversation with someone about the meaning of loss in a TCK's life and we'd both identified with similar experiences. While these were pieces of my day that stood out, they didn't strike me as being particularly meaningful in representing a hug from God.
Even though I didn't know the woman who was leaving that well, I decided to join the group of ladies who were going to the restaurant for a farewell meal. It would be a nice outing and I would be able to spend time with some friends I hadn't seen in a while, I reasoned. It would also be a chance to get off campus and enjoy some food other than cafeteria fare.
As the meal drew to a close, I marveled at how beautifully God had orchestrated the evening. We listened as women shared their love stories and their testimonies of how God brought them to know Him. One woman who was in her 30s and still single was encouraged by a friend who told her God knows where you are. She headed overseas and met her husband-to-be at the airport. When we paused to pray for the food and later for the woman who was leaving, I imagined Jesus standing tall above us, arms outstretched, as He pulled us closer together as sisters, mothers, grandmothers and friends in the tight bond of friendship.
I may not have everything figured out yet but I'm confident that just as God has been working in each of these women's lives, from the stories they shared, He will clearly work in mine. I just need to learn to keep waiting and trust in His timing.
Friday, January 27, 2017
Following Wherever He May Lead
Kelly, an Andrews graduate who came on two mission trips previously and really wanted to return, shared her story tonight about how God worked miracles to fulfill her heart's desire and bring her here to study this semester. I smiled as I listened to her exuberance, remembering how I felt a year ago as I was planning to head this way myself. The feelings haven't changed. As I packed nearly empty suitcases with gifts for family and friends in preparation for a 10-day jaunt to the US two weeks ago, I found myself reminding God of the same request I'd pleaded with Him to fulfill for 17 long years and then, once again, in the summer. Please bring me home again.
It was a plea I sent heavenward over and over as we bounced through clear air 39,000 feet over Greenland's icy mountains and the Atlantic Ocean, caught in a jet stream whose 100+mph headwind worried me, the veteran flier yet inveterate worrier. As I prayed and watched the headwind slowly subside to less than half its strength, I repeated my mantra. Please bring me home. I still have work to do. Granted, I haven't as yet figured out exactly what that work is long-term but for now I am content to do the things that lie closest which bring that abiding joy and satisfaction in serving.
I had another of those I'm not sure whether I'm being a good enough missionary conversations with my mother at the kitchen island during my short trip home. It stemmed from years of feeling that the best kind of missionary was a charismatic personality who handed out GLOW tracts to strangers, was able to do a chair massage with no more than a chair and a rolled-up jacket as a pillow, and easily led Bible studies on prophecy. I was none of those.
My mother smiled at me and asked me if I thought she should be doing front-line evangelism. When I argued that her service to God and support of the church through being the church treasurer was enough, that God would accept her ministry and recognize it was the most she could do in addition to her full-time job, she questioned why I could validate her service and not accept mine.
This is not a post about all the wonderful things I do as a missionary. I fail, many times, I know. I skip out on sitting with students in the cafeteria and take my food to go because I just need some quiet time in my room, away from people. I forget to say hello or ask how someone's sick mother is doing because I'm focused on a work task. I shy away from using my few words of Arabic to communicate with a refugee mother because I don't know how to carry the conversation further.
My ministry is simple. Sometimes at work I weave bits of sentences and words together into a word picture of an editorial to remind the readers of the value of educating young people in ministry. Other times I use my understanding of multiple cultural contexts to communicate clearly with people who have vastly different ways of understanding life. Most of the time I help my best friend and her husband babysit their twin 10-month old boys. These are not traditionally recognized forms of evangelism yet they are ways I can serve that bring me joy.
This is why I want to be here. It's more than physically living in a place I grew up in as a teenager. It's knowing that here my Father has a space for me to serve. I have clearly seen Him orchestrate events so that I am free to do the things He has planned for me to do. Each time I see His providence at hand, I am in awe. And each time, it is to do something that brings joy.
This is proof enough for me that being a good missionary is not about fulfilling an expected role that society delineates, though those roles are very much needed and are filled by those called to such. Being a good missionary is being willing to serve. It is being willing to do the mundane knowing that God is glorified in the simple things. It is being willing to set aside earthly expectations of wealth and career achievement to rock a baby to sleep, to write an accreditation report, to drive a friend to the bank, knowing that in doing so I will find fulfillment and joy.
It was a plea I sent heavenward over and over as we bounced through clear air 39,000 feet over Greenland's icy mountains and the Atlantic Ocean, caught in a jet stream whose 100+mph headwind worried me, the veteran flier yet inveterate worrier. As I prayed and watched the headwind slowly subside to less than half its strength, I repeated my mantra. Please bring me home. I still have work to do. Granted, I haven't as yet figured out exactly what that work is long-term but for now I am content to do the things that lie closest which bring that abiding joy and satisfaction in serving.
I had another of those I'm not sure whether I'm being a good enough missionary conversations with my mother at the kitchen island during my short trip home. It stemmed from years of feeling that the best kind of missionary was a charismatic personality who handed out GLOW tracts to strangers, was able to do a chair massage with no more than a chair and a rolled-up jacket as a pillow, and easily led Bible studies on prophecy. I was none of those.
My mother smiled at me and asked me if I thought she should be doing front-line evangelism. When I argued that her service to God and support of the church through being the church treasurer was enough, that God would accept her ministry and recognize it was the most she could do in addition to her full-time job, she questioned why I could validate her service and not accept mine.
This is not a post about all the wonderful things I do as a missionary. I fail, many times, I know. I skip out on sitting with students in the cafeteria and take my food to go because I just need some quiet time in my room, away from people. I forget to say hello or ask how someone's sick mother is doing because I'm focused on a work task. I shy away from using my few words of Arabic to communicate with a refugee mother because I don't know how to carry the conversation further.
My ministry is simple. Sometimes at work I weave bits of sentences and words together into a word picture of an editorial to remind the readers of the value of educating young people in ministry. Other times I use my understanding of multiple cultural contexts to communicate clearly with people who have vastly different ways of understanding life. Most of the time I help my best friend and her husband babysit their twin 10-month old boys. These are not traditionally recognized forms of evangelism yet they are ways I can serve that bring me joy.
This is why I want to be here. It's more than physically living in a place I grew up in as a teenager. It's knowing that here my Father has a space for me to serve. I have clearly seen Him orchestrate events so that I am free to do the things He has planned for me to do. Each time I see His providence at hand, I am in awe. And each time, it is to do something that brings joy.
This is proof enough for me that being a good missionary is not about fulfilling an expected role that society delineates, though those roles are very much needed and are filled by those called to such. Being a good missionary is being willing to serve. It is being willing to do the mundane knowing that God is glorified in the simple things. It is being willing to set aside earthly expectations of wealth and career achievement to rock a baby to sleep, to write an accreditation report, to drive a friend to the bank, knowing that in doing so I will find fulfillment and joy.
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
In Hot Water
Today we had no water. As my friend says, if something happens, it happens all at once. They're struggling with a mold problem right now and thankfully a couple has offered to let them stay in their house for several weeks while they are away on vacation. Yet even as she was trying to catch her breath with all the allergies that have been triggered by the sci-fi black fungus spreading all over her house, my friend was still selflessly thinking of others. When I told her that we had no water in the dorm, she insisted we come over and use their shower and went to turn on the boiler to make sure we had hot water. We had no water but we had a clean mold-free room whereas she was the one concerned about us. I want to be like her.
Sometimes it's easy to think that being a good Christian means paying your tithe, giving your spare clothes to the poor, preaching an evangelistic series, or being a literature evangelist. These are all good and important things to do but the mere act of doing them doesn't define you as a Christian. A Christian is someone who thinks of others before themselves and in doing so, lays down their desires and needs, to ensure that the needs of others are met first. It may be as simple as offering a hot shower but the intent of the heart is what counts. Not making a list and checking it twice, but instead acting out of love and care.
The water is back on again, though I hear some strange gurgling in the pipes which I hope isn't indicative of another problem. I'm grateful but even more than that, I'm thankful for the lesson I learned today from my dear friend who cared without thought of herself and in doing so reminded me once again how much Jesus cares for me.
Sometimes it's easy to think that being a good Christian means paying your tithe, giving your spare clothes to the poor, preaching an evangelistic series, or being a literature evangelist. These are all good and important things to do but the mere act of doing them doesn't define you as a Christian. A Christian is someone who thinks of others before themselves and in doing so, lays down their desires and needs, to ensure that the needs of others are met first. It may be as simple as offering a hot shower but the intent of the heart is what counts. Not making a list and checking it twice, but instead acting out of love and care.
The water is back on again, though I hear some strange gurgling in the pipes which I hope isn't indicative of another problem. I'm grateful but even more than that, I'm thankful for the lesson I learned today from my dear friend who cared without thought of herself and in doing so reminded me once again how much Jesus cares for me.
Saturday, December 17, 2016
Thankful in All Things
Two days ago I had a sudden allergic reaction. I'm still not sure to what, whether it was the molokhai soup I had, or something in the air, or just that my system got overloaded. Whatever it was, I was in the mall with two friends, looking for stuff for the Christmas banquet we were hosting for the staff and faculty, and noticed I started to itch on my face and neck. At first it didn't bother me too much, I often have a couple of itchy spots on my neck. But after I took my scarf off and then my coat, I knew there was something wrong.
By the end of the evening, we had stopped by the pharmacy where I picked up an anti-histamine med. I took it home, debated quite a while and read up all the side effects online, before finally taking the double dose I was recommended to by the pharmacist. Since the worst side effect didn't include death, I figured I'd be okay.
By morning I woke up and realized it hadn't kicked in quickly enough. My eyes were now quite swollen and I feared that within a couple of hours they would be swollen shut. My entire face and neck were quite swollen and I could compete with Alvin the Chipmunk in a look-alike show. I began to message friends to see who could take me to the cheap clinic at the bottom of the hill. One friend recommended a doctor coming to see me instead, he called, and within an hour, the doctor was knocking on my door.
An injection, prescription, and promised blood tests the next day later, I was resting in bed and praying the swelling would go down. The doctor couldn't give me a specific time frame for recovery as it varied by person but promised the injection would keep the swelling from getting worse. Thankfully, he was right, and microscopically slowly the swelling began to go down.
This time of looking very much unlike myself has been quite a growing experience. I feel exactly like myself, though somewhat sleepier as the medication tends to make me drowsy, plus my body is fighting hard to return to normal. Yet even though I feel and sound the same, I don't look the same and people's reactions have varied.
Some have laughed nervously, others told me I looked just fine. Some have been very frank and said I don't look like myself at all, while others said they didn't recognize me without seeing my hair (when I wore a headscarf for the Christmas concert). Then there were the encouraging ones, who promised me I was looking better each day or even told me I looked more attractive now (honestly?). The ones who took the time to check up on me by text message and see how I was doing. The ones who kindly told me not to be sad, because this would pass in a few days, as they reminded me that there were many others who had illnesses or disabilities that would not pass in a few days or even months.
I'm learning to be grateful in all circumstances, and this has been one of those circumstances that I am thankful for even though it seems rather strange to say so. I've learned that people are generally kind and helpful. I've learned to be more kind to others when they are in a difficult situation. I've learned that it's not about saying a lot of flowery words, but just saying I'm sorry and You are looking much better today are really all one needs to say. I've also learned that the One Who will never fail me will give me the strength to smile, explain what happened, and make it through the day. And for that, I'm most thankful.
By the end of the evening, we had stopped by the pharmacy where I picked up an anti-histamine med. I took it home, debated quite a while and read up all the side effects online, before finally taking the double dose I was recommended to by the pharmacist. Since the worst side effect didn't include death, I figured I'd be okay.
By morning I woke up and realized it hadn't kicked in quickly enough. My eyes were now quite swollen and I feared that within a couple of hours they would be swollen shut. My entire face and neck were quite swollen and I could compete with Alvin the Chipmunk in a look-alike show. I began to message friends to see who could take me to the cheap clinic at the bottom of the hill. One friend recommended a doctor coming to see me instead, he called, and within an hour, the doctor was knocking on my door.
An injection, prescription, and promised blood tests the next day later, I was resting in bed and praying the swelling would go down. The doctor couldn't give me a specific time frame for recovery as it varied by person but promised the injection would keep the swelling from getting worse. Thankfully, he was right, and microscopically slowly the swelling began to go down.
This time of looking very much unlike myself has been quite a growing experience. I feel exactly like myself, though somewhat sleepier as the medication tends to make me drowsy, plus my body is fighting hard to return to normal. Yet even though I feel and sound the same, I don't look the same and people's reactions have varied.
Some have laughed nervously, others told me I looked just fine. Some have been very frank and said I don't look like myself at all, while others said they didn't recognize me without seeing my hair (when I wore a headscarf for the Christmas concert). Then there were the encouraging ones, who promised me I was looking better each day or even told me I looked more attractive now (honestly?). The ones who took the time to check up on me by text message and see how I was doing. The ones who kindly told me not to be sad, because this would pass in a few days, as they reminded me that there were many others who had illnesses or disabilities that would not pass in a few days or even months.
I'm learning to be grateful in all circumstances, and this has been one of those circumstances that I am thankful for even though it seems rather strange to say so. I've learned that people are generally kind and helpful. I've learned to be more kind to others when they are in a difficult situation. I've learned that it's not about saying a lot of flowery words, but just saying I'm sorry and You are looking much better today are really all one needs to say. I've also learned that the One Who will never fail me will give me the strength to smile, explain what happened, and make it through the day. And for that, I'm most thankful.
Monday, December 5, 2016
The Giver Becomes the Receiver
All my life I was the Giver. Perhaps it came with the territory, being the oldest I helped take care of my younger siblings. Perhaps it was part of my personality, as I preferred to deflect attention from me and bring joy to others. Perhaps it was culturally inbuilt, as both my ethnic and environmental cultures emphasized giving without thought of receiving in return. Regardless of where or why, I was comfortable giving more so than receiving.
Then I came here. Here, I've had to learn a lesson I never thought would be so difficult to learn. I've had to learn to receive graciously.
In tandem with giving, is the pitfall of receiving selfishly. We all know someone who, either through their upbringing or character weakness, doesn't understand the meaning of giving because they have spent their life receiving. Even the act of receiving has become routine so much so that they fail to appreciate the sacrifice on the part of the one who has given to them. That was my greatest fear. I think at times I focused on giving because I didn't want to become someone who, through receiving, forgot to be grateful, unselfish, and caring about others.
It is possible to receive graciously, however. To receive is not less blessed than to give, though the inverse is often quoted as a virtue. Yet to receive someone's generous gift from their heart is to bless them also through a humble gratitude. It allows the other person to experience the joy of giving without censuring them.
When I first arrived, I quickly learned that I could not exercise the same type of independence that I had embraced in the US. The language was different, cultural expectations were different, and I had a a lot to learn. The first lesson I had to learn was to ask for help. Instead of heroically struggling up the hill with my shopping for the month, I had to learn to accept a ride from a friend. Instead of booking a taxi to take me to the airport in the middle of the night, I had to learn to ask a friend to take me. Instead of carrying 10 liter water jugs up 3 flights of stairs, I had to learn to thank a friend who offered to do it for me.
All of this was very uncomfortable for me at first. I wanted to be able to prove that I could do life on my own. I was in my 30s, after all, and had plenty of experience managing in a variety of circumstances. Yet I quickly realized that life here was not about doing it on my own. Life here was about community and living within that community meant that it was okay and even encouraged to reach out and connect, to give and receive, in an ever-increasing cat's cradle that was never meant to be untangled to find its beginning point.
One of my friends told me once that they were very uncomfortable receiving and having the spotlight on them. I nodded my head. I understood. He was a Giver too, just like me. Yet the more I think about it, the more I see the beauty in this concept of not only giving but also receiving.
In this Christmas season, we are privileged to receive the greatest gift of all. Belonging. Salvation. Love. There is no way to repay this Gift but we can express our gratitude by graciously receiving and knowing that in doing so, we are giving great joy to the heart of our Father. See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are. ~1 John 3:1
Then I came here. Here, I've had to learn a lesson I never thought would be so difficult to learn. I've had to learn to receive graciously.
In tandem with giving, is the pitfall of receiving selfishly. We all know someone who, either through their upbringing or character weakness, doesn't understand the meaning of giving because they have spent their life receiving. Even the act of receiving has become routine so much so that they fail to appreciate the sacrifice on the part of the one who has given to them. That was my greatest fear. I think at times I focused on giving because I didn't want to become someone who, through receiving, forgot to be grateful, unselfish, and caring about others.
It is possible to receive graciously, however. To receive is not less blessed than to give, though the inverse is often quoted as a virtue. Yet to receive someone's generous gift from their heart is to bless them also through a humble gratitude. It allows the other person to experience the joy of giving without censuring them.
When I first arrived, I quickly learned that I could not exercise the same type of independence that I had embraced in the US. The language was different, cultural expectations were different, and I had a a lot to learn. The first lesson I had to learn was to ask for help. Instead of heroically struggling up the hill with my shopping for the month, I had to learn to accept a ride from a friend. Instead of booking a taxi to take me to the airport in the middle of the night, I had to learn to ask a friend to take me. Instead of carrying 10 liter water jugs up 3 flights of stairs, I had to learn to thank a friend who offered to do it for me.
All of this was very uncomfortable for me at first. I wanted to be able to prove that I could do life on my own. I was in my 30s, after all, and had plenty of experience managing in a variety of circumstances. Yet I quickly realized that life here was not about doing it on my own. Life here was about community and living within that community meant that it was okay and even encouraged to reach out and connect, to give and receive, in an ever-increasing cat's cradle that was never meant to be untangled to find its beginning point.
One of my friends told me once that they were very uncomfortable receiving and having the spotlight on them. I nodded my head. I understood. He was a Giver too, just like me. Yet the more I think about it, the more I see the beauty in this concept of not only giving but also receiving.
In this Christmas season, we are privileged to receive the greatest gift of all. Belonging. Salvation. Love. There is no way to repay this Gift but we can express our gratitude by graciously receiving and knowing that in doing so, we are giving great joy to the heart of our Father. See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are. ~1 John 3:1
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