Balm of Gilead

"He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by Him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed."  

(Isaiah 53:3-6)

Nepal: Land That Took My Breath Away...Literally

Nepal: land of the Himalayas, mo-mos, torturously slow internet, and doggedly determined street salesmen. Stepping out of the plane and into shiver-inducing 75-degree weather, I had almost decided then and there that the transition from Southeast Asia to Nepal was going to be a piece of cake. Almost.

24 hours and five scheduled power outages, one ordeal ncessitating the slicing through of airline-placed zip ties on my suitcase with the top of a can of tuna inadvertently placed in my carry-on bag (hey, God's plan may seem whacky at times, but it works!); being bodily shoved, pushed, and prodded by passersby, rickshaws, and taxis every time I ventured outside; and three encounters with undeniably insulting Nepalese men later, I sort of kind of reconsidered my perception.

Nepal Facts:

1) It is a fact widely acknowledged by those who find breathing here to be somewhat of a challenge, that out of 180 countries, Nepal ranks as the world's 2nd worst for air pollution. I am in agreement with this fact, though even if I were not, I am positive that it would continue to be true. Breathing here has become burdensome and does not occur unaccompanied by productive coughing.

2) In addition to air pollution, noise pollution is particularly severe, particularly in Kathmandu, particularly in the tourist district of Thamel, particularly just below my window, particularly in the wee hours of the morning. The honking of one's horn is more readily executed than greeting someone with, say, one's voice or the wave of a hand. A horn honks every 0.3 seconds in Kathmandu, but just in case you were about to lose your mind, be aware that every time a horn honks, a person doesn't die.

3) There are mountains here. Really, there are. But, given fact #1, you can't see them, so mind your step or you may very well run into one.

4) To avoid overloading the generators (or generator; I haven't counted them yet), routine power outages occur across the country several times a day. I say 'routine', because allegedly there is a schedule by which the people of Nepal abide. I attempted to do so, once, but I think I must not have this whole telling time, arithmetic thing down yet, which does make things somewhat inconvenient when one is ascending six flights of stairs at eight in the evening, because the power was not supposed to shut off until nine-thirty and one's flashlight just happened to run out of battery charge. It's all right, though. At least I, I mean "one" wasn't descending the stairs, because that would have made things downright dangerous.

5) Cats have tails here!


Now, before you jump to the conclusion that Nepal is not my favorite country in the world, please note that I have only listed a very few facts that, though terribly true, are not omnipotent when it comes to influencing my verdict. I shall reserve that until the end of the trip.

Nepal Observations:

1) The air pollution is somewhat masked by the burning of incense by almost every shopkeeper and home in Kathmandu.
2) Instead of the tuk tuks that populate the streets of Cambodia, bicycle-conducted, flower-adorned rickshaws make their treacherous way through the narrow streets of Kathmandu.

3) There are no fruit stands here, or really any food stalls at all. Coffee shops abound, advertising organic coffee, banana lassi, and German breads

4) Dogs sport Tikas (red powdered dye spread along their foreheads), but are just as moth-eaten and people-wary as anywhere else.

5) Hinduism here is not like the Hinduism on Pearl Street. It involves centuries of implantation, national identity, and the permeation of every aspect of life. The 20-something westerners who wander the streets here outwardly displaying their adoption of the religion are identical to the ones seen on Pearl Street, however.

6) The conserving of energy and natural resources in the United States is an absolute joke compared to here, where energy, fuel, and resources are not shut off because of conservation; they're shut off because they've run out!

7)  I have not seen a single traffic light or sign in this entire city, which isn't surprising, for I highly doubt they would be acknowledge. The streets are too narrow to accommodate more than one lane, let alone sidewalks, and yet, somehow pedestrians, bicycles, motorbikes, taxis, vans, trucks, and school buses all manage to get where they need to go with nary a scratch.

8) Sidewalks really are a luxury item, sort of like sun roofs and shih-tzus.

9) I have yet to see a Yeti!

Roots

"So their root will become like rot and their blossom will blow away like dust; for they have rejected the Law of the Lord..." (Isaiah 5:24)

Cambodia -- Land of My Heart

Preface to the entry: I don't feel like writing today. I didn't feel like writing yesterday. Given my past and present inclinations, I can deduce with almost perfect certainty that I will not feel like writing tomorrow. But for my advertised commitment to updating this pointless thing, I would have chucked it altogether weeks ago.

Having gotten that out of the way, you'll pardon whatever the proceeding lacks, including cultural sensitivity, Christian charity, and just maturity in general. Without further ado:

Cambodia--as much as I have grown to love this country, there persist definite shortcomings--and I have chosen this word specifically and conscientiously--that all, eventually seem to bear a correlation to one another. Allow me to start with the topic of noise pollution. There is such a thing, and such a thing exists here, in fact, it thrives. From the almost daily assault on the eardrums of every citizen in Siem Reap and, I suspect, elsewhere, by "music"--and I use this term loosely--chanting, and babbling (for it seems highly unlikely to me that even a listener proficient in Khmer could understand what is being said) over loudspeakers placed strategically throughout the city; to the genetically mutated cats (yes, they are) that haunt the alleyways and rooftops from evening until morning, imitating those cacophonous noises made by toddlers in grocery store aisles that draw looks of disdain from passersby who would tell the frazzled mothers that a spanking was in order if they did not fear the same was in store for them if they did. Yes, the loudspeakers proclaiming weddings, funerals, birthday parties; the cats howling, the traffic screeching, the construction that must be going on somewhere, because you can hear it, but where it is occurring and to what end, who can tell (?); the everyday hustle and bustle that seems naturally to become amplified at 4:00 o'clock in the morning. This is Cambodia. I would limit this statement to Siem Reap had I not already visited the countryside and experienced the same. Is it rudeness or a massive cry for existential acknowledgement? Well, at 4:00 o'clock in the morning, I really don't care what it is, I just wish that, 1) someone would offer that guy free music lessons and, 2) that they'd consider playing some Bob Barker entreaties about spaying and neutering your pet over the loudspeakers every once in a while.

Cambodia--smiles abound, almost outnumbering the tuk-tuks that perpetually assail anyone caught in the act of ambulating. Why, even the underfed, dirt-encrusted children wandering the streets collecting rubbish will smile at you if you smile at them first. Many children, in fact thousands of them are conscripted, most often by their parents, into working from morning until night at jobs comparable to those held by characters of many a Dickens novel. Many children are forced to do things that I cannot mention. So many of these children never learn to read or write in their own language, let alone in English. But that is a small thing compared to the stripping away of childhood and, in many instances, humanity that these children are subject to. When one realizes that such things take place, one begins to wonder what lurks behind those ready smiles. Pain? Desperation? Hope?

Cambodia--land of strangulating heat, golden temples, suicidal motorcyclists, sporadic sidewalks, unscheduled power outages, fruit stands, and tourists who all seem to follow the same dress code of baggy elephant pants, white tank-tops, and clueless expressions. Cambodia--land I have come to love, in a hateful sort of way.

Yes, I love it here. I'm not sure why, but I believe that when one finds compassion and affection for a person or place, all the while acknowledging (and at times, really, really despising) it's faults, one can claim to love said person or place. I do. I make the declaration again without having any observable, tangible reason for it. I'm not a people person in the social butterfly sense. No nation or social group, culture, age group, or gender appeals to me or captures my heart more than any other. I cannot pretend to be so pretentious as that. I do not feel called as of yet, but if I were to be called here, I would not argue...just so long as I were provided a room with air conditioning. I cannot physically bear the heat.

The children are in desperate need of love and commitment to their upbringing and wellbeing. I am sure that Cambodia is not unique in this, and yet the need is so strongly felt here. The need is undeniable.

I don't feel like writing any more.

A Dry and Thirsty Land

Here in Cambodia, and I am certain in the majority of developing countries, one must be very careful when it comes to drinking water. In this particular region, unless water has undergone a process of being purified at least three times, it is not suitable to drink. In fact, it is downright dangerous. Even to brush one's teeth using water from the tap is not advisable. One may wash oneself with it, but one must never drink it.

I found myself in situations in which I have been without water to drink, whether it was due to having just arrived somewhere or having miscalculated my hydration requirements. In the event of having done this, I find myself in a position of reflection, not merely upon my physical thirst and inability to quench it, but upon what it is like to be spiritually parched. All around me is water, but I dare not drink it. Unless I drink from the proper source, I can neither rehydrate nor hope to safely preserve my health and, ultimately, my life.

In this land, indeed, in this world, there are many sources of water. We are surrounded by it, in fact. And yet, the prevailing truth of the matter is that unless we drink the water that has been purified, the water that is suitable for and intended for us to drink, we will only inflict harm upon ourselves. And we cannot do without it, or we shall surely die.

I am, at this very moment, without any drinking water. There is a sink, a shower head, a hose outside for watering the garden, a basin with water intended for lavatorial purposes, but nothing that I can drink. It is a truly terrible sensation, not merely to be thirsty, but to know that I cannot satiate my thirst even when I have so many sources from which I could achieve that satisfaction. I must not drink, and therefore I cannot drink.

I see thirst that is rampant here. Thirst for hope, thirst for love, and thirst for life. But the water here is tainted. 

The Lord will Supply All Your Needs

As I lay here in bed, doing my best to recover from today's draining, yet rewarding preparations and subsequent Fiesta, I hear the cats playing outside my window, and somehow seamlessly thankfulness and an awareness of the Lord's provision wash over me. From my first night here in Chiang Rai when I was feeling particularly homesick, and yearnings for my dog, Imani were not abating, God has inclined His mighty self to me in meeting my needs. On my very first night, as I was sitting on my bed, at the very moment I began to write in my journal about how I was not sure how would stand the next nine weeks, in pranced a little black cat through the open door I had unwittingly left ajar. Without any hesitation, she leapt onto my bed, crawled into my lap, and there she stayed throughout the night. Although this cat roams around the property here at Home of the Open Heart, for she is owned by own of the HIV mothers here, she has not shown any inclination to enter my room again since that first night when I needed her most.

And then there were the pinto beans. Once the decision had been made to carry out my plans for a Mexican Fiesta Night with the kids, I and two volunteers set out in search of ingredients, pinto beans being one of the most vital to the success of our (or my, as it were) mission. We searched far and wide, but nary a bean was to be found. At our final destination--a market that caters to westerners--I sought out the aisle with grains, legumes, and the like. I looked and looked, but was able only to find black beans. Even the two other volunteers searched vigilantly, but were also unsuccessful. We had resigned ourselves to substituting black beans for the pinto beans and were just about to leave, when I gave the shelf above me one last look and, lo and behold, there sat a very small bag of unmarked pinto beans! Four bags of them, in fact! They were very small, but oh how joyful a moment that was. I grabbed them as swiftly as I could, for fear that they would disappear. As I walked toward the checkout, I thanked God aloud, and then realized how infrequently such joyous occasions were accompanied by vocalizations of thanks for His concern for what concerns me.

And finally, and probably the silliest (to anyone who has not had an eating disorder) of all, there was the scale. I hesitate to share this one, but it was so undeniable and moving to me, and even now I truly feel the Father's love for silly little me, that I cannot neglect its relation. Unfortunately, a little bit of backstory is necessary:

During my teens and early twenties, I suffered from anorexia nervosa and bulimia. After my father left, while my 'disease' or 'addiction', whatever you want to call it, went in the opposite direction, resulting in the rapid weight gain of over a hundred pounds. My eating has always been disordered, and my self-image distorted. It has been a daily obsession and disability that has plagued my life for nearly twenty years. I have since lost sixty-five pounds, but food, my appearance, my weight, calories, carbohydrates, everything continue to dominate every aspect of my life. It is very humiliating for me. I avoid discussing it with people, for I have discovered that it doesn't dominate their lives as it does mine, and that they cannot relate to me, or I to them. It is embarrassing for me, very much like an addiction would be. I do not see things...correctly, it seems. I do not see myself correctly, or so I've been led to believe. I cannot rely upon myself or my own perception of myself as an accurate judge of...what I look like. I know logically that it doesn't matter, but that doesn't matter to me, to someone with this psychological disease. I can liken it only to that scene in the very first Dark Knight film where all of the inhabitants of Gotham have been drugged. One person knows that what they're seeing isn't real, but they still, ACTUALLY see things in a distorted way. I have struggled and will probably continue to struggle with this until something miraculous happens, or I'm given the antidote.

That being said, I have been experiencing very intensively lately these "thoughts", "anxieties", what have you. It has been brought on by the absence of mirrors, scales, treadmills, and protein sources. I have seen myself gaining weight, looking bloated and blimp-like. Being attractive is not important to me. Being thin, whatever, doesn't matter. This way of living and thinking does not make sense, I reiterate! But just the same, it's been debilitating to the point of me not wanting to go out in public. I mean, I'm on a mission trip, for goodness sake!!! It is ridiculous, but there it is. I'm not perfect. Now you know!

Well, anyway, I was terrified and convinced that I had gained at least ten pounds. My clothes fit the same, in fact they were a little baggier, but my eyes saw something else. They still do, actually. I was panicked and depressed. I was making lists of foods I could and could not eat, and which days I could and could not eat, how many workouts I would have to undertake. I mean, if iwasn't doing anything here in Thailand, I could at least lose weight, right? It was desperate and unending, and completely unfulfilling!

 Long story short, on the very worst day of this "relapse",  I was in the kitchen making preparations for the Fiesta on Sunday and as I walked through the hall, down by my feet was a scale. I know it sounds ridiculous. Almost like God was enabling me, but...that's not what it felt like then, that's not what it feels like now. I weighed myself then and there, and discovered that I'd actually lost two pounds. I hadn't gained any weight! That wasn't what struck me. What struck me  was that I had been in and out of that house almost every day for a month and had never once seen that scale. It was probably there, but I noticed it on a day of particular oppression and despair (these are strong terms, I know, but they are applicable). I truly believe that God provided that scale for me, because nothing else--NOTHING ELSE--could have gotten through to me. As I stepped foot off the scale, it wasn't "Thank God I didn't gain any weight" it was "Thank you God for seeing what I needed, silly as it was, and deigning to give it to me anyway. And in so doing, not giving into my weakness, but reminding me of, oh so many things. That I do have a problem. That You are with me and will work with me through that problem. That You care about my tiniest, most irrational needs."

He has met my needs here, and everywhere. He has met my needs in ways that I have net to see. He will continue to meet my needs. And by 'meet my needs' I do not mean that He will give me my way. No, He knows what I need, even before or in spite of my failure to realize that I need them. Sometimes, He will comfort us, sometimes He will discipline, sometimes He will allow us to go without our desires, but He always meets our needs. My needs, so far, have been very small and silly, but I am so grateful to have taken notice of His acknowledgement of them. I wish to praise Him here before anyone who may read this. He is such a good Father!

"God, I'm scared..."

I don't normally post private conversations publicly, but I guess I felt as though publicizing my weaknesses (as though I haven't already done that!) would promote transparency. So, here is a little prayer I prayed tonight. If anyone would like to agree with me, or add to it, or possibly make corrections, feel free:

"God I'm scared. This life has me shaking in my boots--my tired, tattered boots that don't keep out the snow or rain, and make my feet sweat if it gets the least bit hot. I'm scared that I'll screw everything up: Your plans, my plans, the plans of people trying their best to carry out Your plans. I'm scared of spending the rest of my life chasing my tail in an attempt to chase after You. I'm scared of being scared forever, and of wasting opportunities that You provide for me. I'm afraid I won't have what it takes, that I don't have what it takes.

"Even as I pray, Lord, I realize how selfish and egocentric I'm being. All I talk about is what I can do, what I can mess up, how I will fail. If, as You have reassured me, You really do have everything planned out, including my life, then it doesn't matter what I'm afraid of. Actually, I take that back--it isn't what I'm afraid of, it's that I'm afraid at all. That I'm so focused on myself, my abilities or lack thereof, just goes to show that I have failed to absorb anything You've attempted to teach me. It isn't about me, it's about You and my reaction to You, and my acceptance of You.

"But I'm still scared. What if I don't have what it takes to get through, not only the next few weeks, but life altogether! I am so restless for home, but I am like one who has no home to go to. What a terrifying position to be in, God. My hope is in You alone, my home is with You and You have made Your home in me. You go before me and with me. Please, Lord keep reminding me that I am not alone, that I am not in control, and that I am not home; that You accompany me everywhere, that You are in control, that You are my home. Please help me to accept Your love for me, Your plan for me and for the rest of humanity, and Your perfect evaluation of me. Please help me to faithfully and consistently seek after You, fellowship with You, listen to You, obey You, and trust You. Nothing else matters. I know that full well. Experience has taught me that, if nothing else. Teach me to understand and believe, to carry out and to receive. Teach me to serve and to surrender. Please help me not to be afraid!"