Fleas: Worship in Suffering

Sitting on my bed spending time with the Lord this morning, I am armed with my Bible, journal, cup of tea, and a container of dish soap.

The dish soap is for killing fleas.

My songs of worship are interrupted by the sensation of tiny little bites on my ankles. I open my eyes to see a flea, catch it and put it in the soapy water to drown. That makes about ten.

In one sense, the fleas are no big deal. Yes, I'm covered in itchy bites at the moment, but that's the kind of thing I signed up for when coming to Africa, right? But in another sense, it is the straw breaking the camel's back for me today.

In coming here, I made the conscious decision to follow the Lord whatever the cost. Of course, I didn't know what the cost was. I didn't know that in the first weeks of 2014, my partner and I would face malaria, robbery, two house floodings, a rabid dog bite, emergency medical travel, loss of friend and family.

And fleas. Everywhere.

I am not claiming we have suffered more than others; I know this has been a season of suffering for many.

I am also not looking for sympathy. I am sharing in hopes someone will find encouragement in what I have learned.

A few months ago, a sweet friend shared about a time of suffering and a song that brought her comfort: "Though You Slay Me" by Shane and Shane.

I had heard the song before, and to be honest, it sounds kind of morbid unless you have lived the truth of its words. In light of recent circumstances, it popped back into my mind. The lyrics come from the book of Job, a passage that is a familiar companion to me these days.

Job faced unspeakable loss-- of all his possessions, livestock, his children, his health. His wife advises him to curse God and die. How does he respond?

"Shall we accept good from God and not accept trouble?" (Job 2:10)

In Zambia, it is in fashion for people to pray boldly to the point of presumption, saying things like "we refuse any sickness to come upon us, we refuse anything that would cause us to fail our exams, we refuse any evil person coming into power in our country" etc.

What a contrast to Job's response.

I don't care who you are, you cannot escape hardships in this life. Whether you pray those presumptuous prayers or not, whether you are a good person or an evil person, whether you are an atheist or Christian-- no one is exempt from suffering. It's a part of life in this world.

How then can we come to terms with a God who allows his children to suffer?
Can he stop it? Yes.
Does he stop it? Not always.

We cry out, asking him why, telling him we absolutely cannot take any more.

We think God should explain himself to us.

So did Job.

And in fact, in Job's case, there was a really good story behind the loss-- if you're not familiar, check out Job 1-2.

But the main thing to be learned by reading the messy, confusing book of Job is that suffering and grief are… messy and confusing. Neatly packaged answers like "God must be punishing you for something"  or "God won't give you more than you can handle" are not only unhelpful and untrue, but they fail to grasp the complexity of suffering.

That's the mistake Job's friends made. They were so fixated on finding an answer for why God was allowing him to suffer that they came to false and hurtful conclusions. These friends who came to comfort him ended up condemning: "Is not your wickedness great? Are not your sins endless?… that is why snares are all around you… Submit to God and… in this way prosperity will come to you." (Job 22:2, 10, 21)

If someone said that to me, I would probably respond just like Job: "miserable comforters you all are!" (Job 16:1)

So at the end of the story when the Lord finally speaks, I find myself thinking, you tell 'em! Put them in their place! 

And the Lord does put them in their place.

But he also passes up the perfect opportunity to tell Job why he was suffering.

Um… God? you know that part where Satan is looking for someone to test and you SUGGEST Job because he's the most righteous man on earth? Well… did you mean to explain that back story to Job? Because I think you forgot.

Of course He didn't forget. He is God.

The grave truth is this: sometimes he doesn't want to give us the reason why we're suffering. And he is not obligated to do so.

So then the question becomes: will I serve a God I can't explain or contain? Or perhaps a better question is, if I can understand and rationalize everything my god does, is it really the LORD I am worshipping?

Our God's thoughts are so much higher than ours, we will never be able to see the whole picture. But his word gives us fragments of answers.

Suffering is universal. (John 16:33)
God does not delight in our suffering. (Lamentations 3:32-33)
Suffering has an eternal purpose. (2 Corinthians 4:17, 2 Corinthians 1:3-7)
Suffering produces fruit. (Romans 5:3-5, James 1:2-4)
Where he permits suffering, he brings healing. (Hosea 6:1, 1 Peter 5:10)
Christ suffered in order to put an end to our suffering forever. (Acts 17:2-3, Revelation 21:4)

How do we respond to that? To a God who doesn't always spare us from the inevitable hardships of life and sometimes, like in Job's case, specifically ordains or allows them? Yet because of his sovereignty, no suffering is meaningless, and there is no hurt he won't heal.

...For me, I choose to worship him.

To echo the words of Job, "Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him."

It doesn't mean I understand it. I may have no idea what good it's doing.

I remember reading The Hiding Place in middle school. Corrie Ten Boom and her sister Betsy were in a flea-infested concentration camp. Betsy thanked God for the fleas; Corrie refused to. Later they found out their guards avoided entering their room because the fleas were so bad. They turned out to be a blessing after all.

To be honest, I haven't found anything good about the fleas.

Suffering still hurts.

Yet I will praise him.

"And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you." 

1 Peter 5:10

My Most Ironic Resolution

Every December 27th or so, when Christmas carols fade from the radio waves, I find myself enticed by a different siren-song, try as I might to escape it: The New Year's Resolution. Recently there seems to be a lot of backlash against making resolutions, but personally I accept the challenge with all the zeal of Jonathan Edwards. (If it is true he had 70 resolutions he reviewed and evaluated himself on every week, that must prove we're related.)

In addition, the past few years I've asked the Lord to give me a theme for year. 2012: Choose Joy, and 2013: Love Without Reserve.

Oh, it sounds cute, until my discovery that my "theme" is something that will be particularly difficult for me with the circumstances the year will hold. He's so clever the way he does that.

Choosing joy was not my first instinct as a new new nurse, driving to my third night shift in a row, bawling my eyes out because I knew which patients were waiting there for me. And loving without reserve did not seem very practical when I was living out of a suitcase in a foreign country where I was only supposed to stay for 10 weeks.

But oh, the things I resisted were the things I needed so desperately.

2014 is no exception.

This year I found myself presenting my 47ish-point list of resolutions to the Lord, and he gave me a theme for 2014: Strivings Cease.

But Lord, you don't understand... that kind of clashes with all my resolutions.  Here, I have a better one: "Try harder, try harder, try harder." How about that?

But he was unrelentingly, unmistakably writing those words on my heart.

Strivings Cease.

Through verses, through songs, through wise counsel, through the very breath of His Spirit.

"God will speak to this people, to whom he said,

'This is the resting place, let the weary rest,' and

'This is the place of repose'--

but they would not listen.

So then, the word of the Lord to them will become:

Do and do, do and do

Rule on rule, rule on rule

A little here, a little there-- 

So that they will go and fall backward …" 

(Isaiah 28:11b-13)

Those verses are unsettlingly descriptive of my life at times. I can become so consumed with trying to serve God better, that all joy is lost and I forget the reason I'm doing it in the first place. Please tell me I'm not the only one who has been there.

Growing up, well-intentioned church people used to tell me: "we can't earn our salvation, but we should live as if we're trying to."

So I did.

Do and do.

Rule on rule.

And there was never rest.

Now I am convinced that there is nothing further from the truth. In fact, Galatians confirms it by saying "Are you so foolish? Having begun by the Spirit, are you now being perfected by the flesh?"(3:3)

Rather, when we readily recognize our shortcomings and utter hopelessness apart from Christ, the covering of his righteousness becomes infinitely more precious. It does away with the guilt and striving and disappointment that crop up in the wake of my failed resolutions. The mark of legalism is restless striving. The fruit of love is joyful service.

So what happened to my resolutions, the infinite list of do-more's and try-harder's? They are still tucked away somewhere. It doesn't mean I won't make an effort to be more faithful in certain areas. 

It means that in 2014, I will be compelled not by the strivings of guilt, but by the sufficiency of grace.

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!

"Even Me"

I have a dear friend here named Noma. One of the many things I love about her is that she finds it hilarious when I try to speak Setswana. She will imitate MY imitation of a Motswana, and I find THAT hilarious.

There is one phrase in particular that is our favorite. To show agreement, Tswana people will say "even me," much in the same way an American would say "me too." This is how it works…

Noma: I am so excited to eat dinner at Laura's tonight!

Alyssa: Even me. I can't wait!

Now according to Noma, I WAY overuse the expression. But I can't help it; I love saying it. Something about that phrase shows humility, a quality that is undervalued by the world but of great importance in God's eyes. If you ever need a dose of humility, nothing does the job quite like living in a foreign country. Sure, I expected to have to ask lots of questions about culturally appropriate behavior, and it doesn't surprise me when my attempts at Setswana are laughed at. What I didn't expect was to be convicted and challenged so often by local believers… university students near my age who are just so passionate about the Lord. 

I'm the missionary here, my pride screams, I'm supposed to be the one challenging and encouraging them! But every time we study scripture together, I identify with their struggles and their desire to follow Christ, and their words pierce my heart:

"I know the Bible says that our hope in Christ makes us very bold, but sometimes it's difficult because I am shy." 

Even me.

"I think I am not a very good Christian. I have friends that I have known for a long time and I haven't shared the gospel with them." 

Even me.

"Sometimes in discipleship I get frustrated with people, because its easy to forget that I am also a work in progress."

Even me. 

Even this young missionary girl doesn't have all the answers, isn't always patient with people, and doesn't always recognize opportunities the Lord puts in my path. Some people think missionaries are holier, bolder, or more gifted than the rest of the church. Or that crossing the ocean in a plane makes you suddenly mature in your faith. Maybe I used to think that too. But these days I find myself identifying with Paul:

"Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." Philippians 3:12-14

Missionaries, pastors, church members and unbelievers alike have no ability to transform their own lives. But praise be to the God who is faithful to work in the lives of all who surrender to Him! 

Even me.