2013: a snapshot

This year is just too much to summarize in a blog post. So, taking an idea from my sweet friend Melanie, I will instead cover some highlights and favorites:

Favorite song: "Gladly Would I Leave Behind Me" by Sovereign Grace

Best book I read: The Insanity of God by Nik Ripken

Most meaningful verse: 2 Corinthians 3:4-6 

Favorite Picture: this beautiful girl.

Biggest accomplishment: Killing and dressing a chicken (video to follow)

Scariest experience: rappelling off Table Mountain in Cape Town, South Africa

My most popular blog post: Jesus Wins

My personal favorite blog post: A Man Named Park

Most interesting food eaten: Hmmm… warthog?

Christmas in Zambia

Christmas.

From childhood, I have come to view it as not just a day, but a season. A season complete with sights, sounds, smells, sensations. I cherish traditions familiar to many and traditions unique to my family. Admiring the lavish gold and emerald and scarlet displays in department store windows. The harsh wind biting my cheeks that somehow relents when the first snow begins to fall. Dipping white chocolate pretzels and the walk to an abandoned barn with friends. The candles in my window that tempt me to read a little bit later into the night. Sitting on the fireplace hearth until my back is almost burned. The comforting chaos of opening presents at my grandmother's house where the youngest cousin could get lost in a sea of wrapping paper.

But this December, in Zambia, that familiarity was yanked off like a warm blanket. It was replaced by a series of experiences and situations that my mind doesn't associate with Christmas.

Sleeping with frozen water bottles instead of a quilted comforter. Reading by candlelight, not for the ambience, but because of a 37-hour power outage. Waking up to earsplitting thunder and a leaking roof instead of gently falling snow. Eating melted chocolate with five Zambian friends under a single strand of Christmas lights instead of hosting an extravagant party for old friends. Sharing Christmas Eve dinner with my Korean parents and Texan brother and sister instead of my immediate family.

And as much as I miss my family, and as much as I love tradition, it's okay. I am still celebrating, and perhaps in a different and more profound way than I have in the past. 

The president of our company recently shared something that is too good not to pass along: 

"A look at the nativity scene serves to remind us that EVERYONE in it... has a good reason to be homesick. Not one of them was at home. But neither is anyone among them depicted as being sad! I think that is because each of them was serving a larger purpose in the Father's great plan…"

Mary and Joseph, travelers to Bethlehem for a census. The  shepherds traipsing through the countryside to see this tiny baby. The wise men from the East following a star for years just to find the promised one.

And I, standing in church singing "Joy to the World" with a Zambian twist, a cool breeze drying the sweat on my brow. So far from home, family, familiarity. Not by my own plans or design, but by his will and his purpose for my life. Far away but not alone, because he is Emmanuel, God with us. 

Mary's heart

My soul magnifies the Lord.

All generations will call me blessed.

He who is Mighty has done great things for me.

This is the song of a young girl who would give birth to Jesus Christ. Mary, a young virgin, who indeed was blessed and favored by God, as the angel announced to her.

But she was engaged to be married and pregnant out of wedlock. And it wasn't by her fiancé. 

The highest disgrace a Jewish girl could know, and yet the greatest blessing ever bestowed upon a woman by the Almighty Father.

What response would we expect from someone who was told she would become pregnant supernaturally? "What will people say about me?" "How will I explain this to my fiancé?" or "My parents will never believe me," would have been among my first thoughts. 

To her family, her friends, and her fiancé, this was not welcome news. This pregnancy was not a blessing. She could be sentenced to death for what appeared to be unfaithfulness. In fact, Joseph had decided to divorce her until the angel confirmed to him that this child was the Son of God.

And as for the rest of her community… did they ever believe her story? Did they truly call her blessed? Or was she always the object of gossip, of mockery, or pity? If so many doubted Jesus' own testimony and miracles, how much more incredulous were those who knew his virgin mother? How does he call himself the Son of God? His father is Joseph, the carpenter, and we know his mother and brothers! And they took offense at him. (Matt 13:53-58, paraphrase)

But Mary rejoiced. Not at the whispers and rumors. But she rejoiced in TRUTH.

She was highly favored by God.

She would give birth to the Son of the Most High, who takes away the sins of the world.

Oh, her faith in the promise spoken to her! She believed without seeing. She believed in things not immediately visible-- and likely not ever visible within her life on earth.

Mary proclaimed what the Lord had told her, even when every evidence seemed to the contrary.  "All generations will call me blessed." I can't wrap my mind around those words being written by a girl who was probably never regarded in that way-- she was an unmarried pregnant teenager! The scorn she faced was the direct result of her calling to carry the Messiah. 

Yet she rejoiced, regarding the promise as entirely fulfilled, even before her child was born.

And in the moment that she received the news from Gabriel, there is no expression of doubt or anger or fear, only childlike faith welling up into a beautiful song.

All generations will call me blessed… never mind what they call me today.

He has done great things for me… and for all humanity, because he IS Emmanuel, God with us.

My soul magnifies the Lord… for my loss is his gain and glory. 

The remarkable thing about Mary was her ability to rejoice in a calling that would bring her momentary disgrace, because it was for His ultimate glory. 

What if my faith was more like that? When all I see is my own brokenness, unworthiness, and failure to live up to others' expectations…when I labor for the Lord and see no fruit… when He calls me to a task but all I can see is the high cost of obedience… what if I simply clung to his promises?

What if I rejoiced and sang the song of truth, that He has never once failed to keep his word, that my labor is not in vain, that his strength is made perfect in weakness? Even when circumstances seem to suggest the contrary, may I proclaim with confidence the truths of his word.  

Imitators.

If you watch any child long enough, you will see them imitating their parents. I can remember being small and getting into my mom's makeup or walking around in her high heels. Or packing my lunch box and books and inviting my dad into my "studio" that happened to be under the dining room table. One of my sisters used to put shaving cream on her face and use a capped razor to "shave" right alongside daddy! (I'll leave it up to you to guess which sister that was…)

Zambian children are no different. They may not walk around with high heels and briefcases, in their own fascinating way they mimic their parents in activities that are unique to their culture. 

With Wezious and Praise around, there is endless amusement of this kind. Every Zambian mother uses a chitenge to carry her baby on her back, and I often see Wezious running around the yard with a stuffed animal or doll tied to hers. At one year old, even Praise does the same thing if she can get someone to help her tie the chitenge. My other favorite sight is Wezious furiously stirring a little cup of dirt. "What are you doing?" I ask her. "Making nshima," (Zambia's staple food) she says very seriously. 

It's a beautiful thing to see a child imitate her parents.

It's a reflection of their adoration and affection and pure love for one they trust. 

Maybe you had a different childhood experience. Maybe you resist patterning yourself after your parents. But like it or not, and aware of it or not, we all imitate someone. As believers, we all have a Father who loves us perfectly and unconditionally, even where earthly parents fall short. 

"Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children. And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us…" Ephesians 5:1-2a

Oh, to love the Father in such a way that I spend every day gazing up into His face, walking in his shoes, carrying his children on my back, endeavoring to be found bearing an ever-increasing resemblance to him!