A COUNTRY CALLED BROKEN

A couple weeks ago, I was on a "long distance" bus taking me from one city to another. I sat in the far right corner of the bus in a row that was raised by just one step. As such, my sightline included the air vents above every seat in front of me, all the way to the very front. Having 8 hours with not much to do, I observed that most of the vents were broken (it didn't help that it was a hot day and the air conditioning was finicky so everyone was trying to adjust the air flowing to their seat.) I looked at my vent. The plastic grill had fallen off who knows when and some brilliant person, who was either too hot or too cold, had stuffed an empty juice carton in the vent that was now a hole. Except it was juice-sized carton for milk. Sigh. The vent beside it was still a gaping hole.

Outside my apartment complex, there is a sidewalk that leads to the bus stop where I catch the bus everyday. The sidewalk is unlike most sidewalks in that it's made of smallish squares of stone that are set in a pattern. The sad thing though is that the soil between the stones has eroded and some of the stones themselves are cracked. The first time I took that sidewalk, I nearly got my foot stuck in the deep crevice between the slabs of stone. I've since learned to watch my step.

The apartment I now live in is nicer than any apartment I've ever lived in on this side of the ocean. It's spacious, it's clean and it's really quite comfy. When I first moved in, I noticed little patches of white dust on the edges of the hardwood-style floor. I wondered what it could be from. After a while, I realized that there are little pockets of wall that are puckering out in random spots. I still have no clue what they are, but apparently, the paint is falling off like dust and collecting in neat little piles underneath.

It's also not uncommon for the public buses to stall every few stops.

I was reflecting on all this brokenness around me and I wondered if it ever bothers people here. They don't seem to be phased when things don't work or aren't complete. Perhaps when you grow up with things not working all the time, imperfection doesn't annoy you quite as much? I wonder if perfectionism is an issue linked to culture. I wonder if I grew up in a place like this, would I still have such a strong drive for things to be perfect? Would I still have such a problem letting go of the ideal of what I think things should be and embracing the reality of this fallen world?

Now we see things imperfectly as in a cloudy mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.
~1 Corinthians 13:12 [NLT]~

WHO IS THIS KING OF GLORY?

Recently, I've been reading the Word with the question, "God, what do you want to teach me about yourself?" I've discovered it to be a rewarding way of reading the Word. It takes my eyes off myself and teaches me more about the One whom I love most.

Being overseas again has brought me back to a place of emotional vulnerability - all my "normal" support structures aren't as easily accessible once more. And to be honest, it's been a hard fight for joy. God continues to expose the deep, hidden and wounded parts of me - my insecurities, doubts, sins, fears and failures; my resistance to His unconditional love and my hesitance to accept myself fully. The result: I feel like an emotional basketcase.

Enter the Living Word of God - Hebrews 1:11. The heavens and the earth will perish. But the Lord remains. If the Lord remains, does the Lord grieve the passing of the heavens and the earth? Afterall, He created it all. Does His heart become sad when it all comes to an end? Did Jesus show grief (He, being the most tangible expression of God that we have)? I am surprised at the answer. Yes. Jesus grieved. He wept. He wept over the passing of his friend Lazarus. He wept at the thought of the destruction of Jerusalem. God felt grief. God feels grief.

What a thought.

Usually, I do not associate God with grief and sadness. I think of Him as the God of joy, happiness and celebration. And I realize that ultimately, joy will be greater than the grief of a world passing away. But it comforts me to think that my God is an emotional God. He feels the whole spectrum of emotions. Deeply. Probably more deeply than I can ever have the capacity to feel. And I feel because I am made in His image - the image of an emotional God.

Which leads me to think that perhaps I should let Him lead me to those dark and hidden places, those places I'm afraid of going to because it might get too emotional.

Around the same time as this discovery, I started reading "Emotionally Healthy Spirituality." In it, the author points out that many of us have grown up spiritually but we're so immature emotionally that our churches are made up of shallow connections. We know all these things about Jesus but our hearts are far from being transformed by Him.

I'm learning that very few people actually live from their heart. Very few live connected with their soul. And those few who do the difficult work, who stare their junk in the face, who get counsel, who let Jesus into all of the rooms in their soul that no one ever goes in, they make a difference. They are so different; they're coming from such a different place that their voices inevitably get heard above the others. They are pursuing wholeness and shalom, and it's contagious. They inspire me to keep going.
~ from "Velvet Elvis" by Ron Bell

I want to be emotionally whole. It might mean feeling like a basketcase for a while yet, but I want to let Jesus transform me. Completely.

Open up, ancient gates!
Open up, ancient doors,
and let the King of glory enter.
~Psalm 24:7~