Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Surprise?!

I don't know why I'm still so surprised when God shows up.

I feel like by now, Jesus and I are pretty tight. I mean, we are on a first-name basis. I've come to expect him in my day-to-day activities, and to listen to me when I celebrate or complain, but if he does more than listen, I'm still surprised. And then, I'm surprised when I'm surprised.

(Did you really just follow that?)

The other day, I was on a plane next to a very clearly sick woman, who, kept her barf bag extremely close to her face at all times. She panted a little bit, and rocked back and forth, and let's face it. I was totally freaked out. It could have been the stomach flu. It could have been a virus I didn't want. If she threw up, I was toast, too. Not good. Not good at all.

I offered to help however I could, and we chatted every once and a while when she wasn't checking on her sister, trying not to lose the in-flight dinner, or trying to sleep. She finally was able to rest, and when she woke, she seemed to be feeling much better. Of course, having a twinge of pastoral instinct, I engaged her in conversation to see if there was anything I could do for her. She looked at me, after thanking me profusely for my kindness, and proceeded to tell me that she was on her way to El Salvador with her sister because that morning, she had found out that her father had suddenly passed away. She was sick with worry and grief, and had been en route to her family the entire day.

Here I had been, complaining to God for three hours about the fact that I didn't want to get sick before the plane even landed, and the reason my new friend was sick was that she had just lost her father.

I would have been sick, too.

Surprise?!

Hello somebody.

Sometimes God shows up, and I'm surprised. Other times, God shows up and I feel a bit ashamed that I get so wrapped up in my life and agenda that I miss the powerful ways God is moving through my world.

Thankfully, I was shaken out of my self-absorbed moment quickly enough that I don't think I caused damage. My friend won't ever know that I was so concerned with my own well-being that I was grossed out, or that I wished I was in a different seat. She will only know that I was the woman beside her who asked her name, her father's name, and promised to pray for her and her family on her pilgrimage to make preparations for his burial, who offered weak smiles and pain killers on the three-hour flight.

So far on this trip, I've continued to be shaken out of my bubble. The reality of the deep-rooted, systemic pain and violence of this society does not allow for self-absorption. There's no room for worry about not liking the veggies on my plate or misery from the lack of Coke Zero. There's not a place for my concerns about what I'm missing at home, or the fact that I could really use a pedicure (yes, the toenails on my left and right feet are two different colors because I was interrupted mid-painting and never got around to finishing).

I feel like someone has gotten a hold of my heart in their hand, and they're squeezing my insides, making it hard to breathe. The weight of this violence is nearly unbearable, and I've only been here for two days. I have so many questions, and the solutions to the questions aren't coming quickly
enough.

Yet still, the people here still believe in a God who has continually showed up.

I'm surprised.
They're not, and that surprises me, too.

Have I mentioned that I'm not a huge fan of surprises?
Sweet fancy Moses.

Someday I'll write more about the specifics, because people don't know enough about this place they haven't had time to fall in love with these people. To experience tiny pieces of their pain, their suffering, their hope. 

But that's a surprise for another day. 

Thank goodness I believe in a God of surprises. 




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