I Am Satisfied

I can remember a favorite game I used to play with my sister and cousin when we were kids and ate at restaurants together on Sundays. We would look for comment cards or surveys to fill out, rating the quality of service… you know, excellent/ good/ satisfactory/ poor/ very poor. Now I was quite the devious child and convinced my sister and cousin that if we rated the restaurant at satisfactory or below, and then added in the comment section, "all kids meals should come with a free cookie" then next time they would add a cookie to our meal to appease us. Obviously.
Well I can't say we revolutionized any kids menus, but the experience left this idea imprinted on my young mind: satisfied means "room for improvement."
...

Zambians love this phrase. It's the kind of thing you say when someone feeds you a wonderful meal and you can't hold another bite. I am satisfied. It perplexed me for the longest time! Isn't that an insult to the cook? "Satisfied"? A 3 out of 5?
But as I've come to find out, the way Zambians understand satisfaction is much more on target with the Biblical concept of satisfaction:
Filled to the brim.
Having abundance.
Replenished.
Lacking nothing.
The Bible never uses the word "satisfied" to express mediocrity-- a 3 on the Likert scale or something middle-of-the-road.

"For he SATISFIES the longing soul, and the hungry soul he FILLS with good things." (Psalm 107:9)
This promise is pretty dull and lifeless if we understand satisfaction to be merely a contented step up from "poor." Good enough, but with room for improvement. 
Here I have truly begun to see how perfectly, abundantly satisfying he is. Only by being so emptied of the things I once prized have I seen the capacity of His Spirit to fill and satisfy every part of my life. 
"I am satisfied." 

I didn't ask for this but...

Reaching my hand into my wallet is a reminder of what 2013 has been like: you never know what you're going to pull out. Dollars, rand, pula, kwatcha, euro. Happy reminders, sad reminders. Fascination and frustration. 
Three dollars for goodbye coffee date with a friend at Starbucks.
Seven pula for combi fare to Old Naledi Baptist Church.
Forty rand for a breathtaking drive to the very southern-most tip of Africa.
Twelve kwatcha for the mandatory squash needed to host a girls night with CBU students.
Fifteen euro for the chance to walk inside a monument of persecution and pray for the advance of the gospel.
Beyond the goodbyes to friends in the states, I did not foresee any of these destinations or experiences.

Like pulling out kwatcha to try to pay for gelato, sometimes I think, that's not what I was looking for.
But isn't it beautiful that God knows better than we do? If I had only gotten what I was looking for in 2013, I would have seriously limited Him. Good thing he is more powerful than that.

Serving a God who is able to do abundantly more than all we can ask or imagine: Priceless.

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!

Do We Really Care for Orphans?

It seems that orphans have received a lot of attention in the past five years or so. The social-justice-minded millennial generation has raised awareness of the multitude of children who have lost one or both parents. In Zambia alone, there are 1.2 million orphans… 19% of all children under the age of 18. That is so unfathomable to us as Americans. We will buy necklaces, handbags, coffee, or just about anything else to support orphans. Maybe even take a mission trip to an orphanage. Why? We are burdened for them. We want to do something to help; we are desperate to feel like we are part of the solution. The problem has been overlooked for too long. 

And without a doubt, good things have come from this movement. An increase in Christians adopting children and churches supporting them to do so. Beginning to look outside our comfort zones and asking how we can be the body of Christ to those who are helpless. Feeling that burden, compassion, and love for these precious ones who are so close to the heart of our Savior. Oh, our hearts break for them.

BUT.

Does your heart break for spiritual orphans? Those who, although they may have physical parents, have no one committed to nurturing them spiritually? They may not be as noticeable as a barefoot child, but I promise you know at least one. 

It's the thirteen year old girl who gives her life to Christ and then slips through the cracks when her unbelieving parents stop bringing her to church.

It's the young man who accepts Jesus as his Savior, but no one ever teaches him how to study the Bible or talk to his heavenly Father or what it means to live according to the Spirit.

It's the child who gets dropped off at Sunday school, AWANAS, and church choir so his parents can have a break, and no one at home ever asks him about what he is learning. 

It's the exchange student, far from family and familiarity, who becomes a first-generation believer and has no idea what to do next. 

It's the newlywed who desires to have a godly marriage but doesn't have anyone in her life she can look to as an example. 

They are the people who sit in your pews every Sunday for a sermon but are still spiritually babies. They have no prayer warrior interceding for them, no mentor holding them accountable, no communion with the body of believers, no one they regard as a spiritual brother or sister or father or mother in their time of need.

Oh, may our hearts long to be Christ with flesh to these children of God just as much as to orphans in Africa!

Paul called Timothy his son in the faith. Why? He wasn't an orphan; he had both parents (Acts 16:1). Yet his father was not a believer in Christ. Who then would teach Timothy to flee sin, pursue godliness, and fight the good fight of the faith? (1 Tim. 6:11-12) 

Paul took that responsibility upon himself (1 Timothy 1:2).

We, the church, have neglected discipleship. The church-- not as an institution-- but you, and I, and all who call themselves by Christ's name. 

Discipleship. That life-on-life responsibility for another. I will teach you, I will pray for you; come into my home and around my dinner table. I will laugh with you, and I will cry with you. It is a messy way of life, because we are all broken people. And it is a much longer commitment than a week-long mission trip. But Christ modeled it and Christ commanded it (Matt. 28:19). 

I don't say these things because I do them well, but because I don't do them enough. Christ opened my eyes and drew me in with a burden for orphans, but the deeper I looked into the heart of my Savior, the more I realized that that burden only scratched the surface of his bottomless, immeasurable love for all his children.

So please, keep sending money to support the orphan whose picture is on your refrigerator. Keep praying about adoption if the Lord has placed it on your heart. Don't cancel your overseas mission trip. But ask the Father who it is in your life that you can disciple-- call your spiritual child. You don't have to cross an ocean; you can be Jesus with skin on to someone today.