Today God talked to me about how much like the Israelites I am.
Now, if you've ever read much of the Old Testament you probably wouldn't consider this comment to be a compliment. Nothing against the Jew, of course. Just that we're all so human and flawed and in need of redemption; they just happened to end up being the poster children.
Anyway, in this particular case God was addressing the issue of my discontent. Recently I read the passage in 1 Samuel where the Israelites have decided that they need a human king, like the other nations around them. Since their miraculous deliverance from Egypt (where they were slaves) God had been their king. He blessed them and caused them to conquer their enemies and to prosper. And at that particular time, God had given them Samuel, a priest and prophet, to lead them. But they weren't satisfied with all of that. They wanted a king. The people in the lands all around them had kings, and for whatever reason, they wanted a king, too.
Samuel (slightly put out that his leadership wasn't satisfactory) consulted God. God pointed out that the people weren't rejecting Samuel, but Him. And he told Samuel to give them a king.
Now, this is the part of the story that is scary. God let them have what they wanted, even though He knew it wasn't the best plan. It was obviously A plan; God still used the David's lineage to bring the Deliverer. But I can't help but wonder what bigger and better blessings God had in store if the Israelites would have been satisfied with Him alone.
Enter me. Thousands of years later, I reenact this ancient story. God has blessed me. He has saved me from myself; forgiven me for forsaking Him; promised me eternal life with Him; offered me abundant life on earth in the meantime; gifted me; given me a ministry; provided for every need and many wants; so many blessings that I stack them in corners and in the closet and forget I ever got them. More blessings waiting in His hands, waiting for me to ask for them.
And yet I look at others and I want what they have. I look at friends who are dating and I want that. I look at married friends and I want that. I look at friends who have children and I want that. I look at friends who have great relationships with their moms and I want that.
I'm not saying it's bad to want what we don't have. All those things are good and healthy, but God hasn't given them to me in this season. The problem comes in when I can't enjoy and appreciate what He HAS given me because I'm too busy complaining about what I DON'T have. Losing focus. Losing perspective. Assuming that what I want is the highest priority.
How many times must I be reminded? It's not all about me. I'm sitting here, staring at those words on my computer screen.
It's. Not. All. About. Me.
God's highest priority is not my latest desire. He's got His sights set higher. I must look up to see where He is aiming.
God, help me to look up. Keep reminding me. Don't give me a second-best option. I want Your best for me, even if I'm not smart enough to recognize it. Help me to keep Your perspective; building the kingdom. Reaching up to the God who created me and reaching out to all He created. That's why I'm here.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Present Living
Today is my final day of Easter break. I've done a lot of nothing during the past few days and so today I found myself lying on my bed, listening to my roommate's music from the other room and gazing out the window.
It looks like summertime here in the mornings, though it is only April and the warmer part of the year won't arrive for another month or so. But from inside the window the big, fluffy white clouds, deep blue sky, and the green plants, trees, and flowers can trick you into another season.
As I was lying there, enjoying the freedom to stare out the window without doing anything, a small white butterfly flew into my line of vision. Instantly I was flashed back to my childhood. Summertime on the small farm where I grew up. Me, seven or eight, in my favorite apple-print shorts and shirt outfit. The sun warm and friendly on my skin. Running barefoot with Britt and Josh, through the freshly-washed sheets, drying on the line in the east yard. The sheets making sweet-smelling, cool hallways for us to run through. The wind whipping through them and sometimes blinding us with clean, soft cotton. Scooter, our faithful dog, running around with us, loving playing with us.
Mom, calling us in for lunch. PB&Js or hotdogs or leftovers. The kitchen, slightly cooler than outside because of the shade. Naptime when the sandwhiches were gone. Dad coming home in the afternoon. Supper together and then playing outside in the summertime evening-light. Mom calling us in to bed- 8:30 but the sun still hanging in the western sky. We complain about going to bed while it's still light. Mom holds firm and we crawl between the sheets, hallways transformed magically into personal pre-sleep forts. Cool, clean, safe. Drift off to sleep.
Another in a long line of summer days. No thought of past or present. No worries to speak of. The serinity of living simply in the here and now. Present living.
It looks like summertime here in the mornings, though it is only April and the warmer part of the year won't arrive for another month or so. But from inside the window the big, fluffy white clouds, deep blue sky, and the green plants, trees, and flowers can trick you into another season.
As I was lying there, enjoying the freedom to stare out the window without doing anything, a small white butterfly flew into my line of vision. Instantly I was flashed back to my childhood. Summertime on the small farm where I grew up. Me, seven or eight, in my favorite apple-print shorts and shirt outfit. The sun warm and friendly on my skin. Running barefoot with Britt and Josh, through the freshly-washed sheets, drying on the line in the east yard. The sheets making sweet-smelling, cool hallways for us to run through. The wind whipping through them and sometimes blinding us with clean, soft cotton. Scooter, our faithful dog, running around with us, loving playing with us.
Mom, calling us in for lunch. PB&Js or hotdogs or leftovers. The kitchen, slightly cooler than outside because of the shade. Naptime when the sandwhiches were gone. Dad coming home in the afternoon. Supper together and then playing outside in the summertime evening-light. Mom calling us in to bed- 8:30 but the sun still hanging in the western sky. We complain about going to bed while it's still light. Mom holds firm and we crawl between the sheets, hallways transformed magically into personal pre-sleep forts. Cool, clean, safe. Drift off to sleep.
Another in a long line of summer days. No thought of past or present. No worries to speak of. The serinity of living simply in the here and now. Present living.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Gringa Gringa
[editor's comment: "gringa" (or gringo, for a male) is the slang term here for a white, North America. It's not offensive, just a word of identification.]
Last night I ordered pizza from Papa John's.
For those of you who've never had the pleasure of a phone conversation in a language not your own, let me fill you in a bit. Of all the means of communication, the phone is by far the hardest in a second language. There are several reasons for this. For example, you can't read someone's facial expression or other body language over the phone. You can't point at things to help with context. You're often talking to someone you don't know personally, and who doesn't know to speak slowly and clearly to you, as people you know usually will. Often the words are harder to understand because of a garbled connection. And it's all immediate, so there's no looking stuff up in your handy-dandy bilingual dictionary. In short, it's hard. I have never yet been comfortable talking on the phone in any language other than English.
So, all that said, I dialed Papa Johns because my desire to eat pizza outweighed my fear of the phone conversation. This was the second time I've ordered pizza from this particular establishment. The first experience was a resounding disaster. I did get the pizzas that I had ordered, but it was a painful journey to that end.
I dial. I take a deep breath. The lady answers...
Lady: (huge jumble of words that I can't understand completely due to the lightning-fast speed of delivery. similar to the "welcometomcdonaldswouldyouliketotryournewtriplebigmacvaluemealforjustfiveninetyfive?" spiel that we're used to in the States. I did make out "Papa John's", "special", medium" and "Monica".)
Leslie: Um, hi Monica. First I have a question for you.
(silence...I press on)
Leslie: how much would it cost for a medium Pepperoni Pizzazz pizza?"
Monica: $14.9? (I missed the final digit b/c I was processing the more important, first two digits)
L: $14.9....?
(silence again. I give up on that last digit and press on again)
L: Ok, and what was your special again?
M: Two mediums of your choice for $17.9? (same number processing problem)
(silence while I process)
L: So the second pizza is only $3.00 more?
M: Yes.
L: Ok, I'll take your special.
M: So, one medium pepperoni pizzazz and what kind for your other pizza?
L: Italiano, but without black olives.
M: Vegetariano, minus black olives?
L: Yes. (yes, you're noticing the problem here, because you're READING this, and probably in your first language. I didn't notice.)
M: Anything else?
L:No.
M: Ok, two medium pizzas, one pepperoni pizzazz and one vegetariano minus black olives. Your phone number?
L: 4 - no, sorry- 246-1307
M: On Brazil, next to the Domino's?
L: Yes (delighted that this much at least had been communicated during my last, disastrous interaction with the fine people at Papa John's)
M: How will you be paying?
L: Cash (delighted again that I remembered the word here for cash)
M: Ok, it'll be $17.9? cents in about 35 minutes.
L: Thank you
M: You're welcome. Good night.
I hung up feeling a strong sense of accomplishment. This conversation was considerably less painful than the last one. And soon I would have yummy pizza as a reward for my bravery. Yay!
A few minutes later, as I'm carrying my pizzas back up to my apartment I happen to notice the little sticker on the side of the box with the details of the order. As I'm looking at it, I notice that I have somehow ordered a vegetarian pizza (what the?).
Then I remember that Monica never asked for my name. She confirmed my identification by asking if I was next door to Dominos. I notice "next to Domino's" on the label next to my address. Then I notice what is written in the "Name" slot: Gringa Gringa.
I roll my eyes, smile to myself, and settle in to enjoy my pizza. I love Ecuador.
Last night I ordered pizza from Papa John's.
For those of you who've never had the pleasure of a phone conversation in a language not your own, let me fill you in a bit. Of all the means of communication, the phone is by far the hardest in a second language. There are several reasons for this. For example, you can't read someone's facial expression or other body language over the phone. You can't point at things to help with context. You're often talking to someone you don't know personally, and who doesn't know to speak slowly and clearly to you, as people you know usually will. Often the words are harder to understand because of a garbled connection. And it's all immediate, so there's no looking stuff up in your handy-dandy bilingual dictionary. In short, it's hard. I have never yet been comfortable talking on the phone in any language other than English.
So, all that said, I dialed Papa Johns because my desire to eat pizza outweighed my fear of the phone conversation. This was the second time I've ordered pizza from this particular establishment. The first experience was a resounding disaster. I did get the pizzas that I had ordered, but it was a painful journey to that end.
I dial. I take a deep breath. The lady answers...
Lady: (huge jumble of words that I can't understand completely due to the lightning-fast speed of delivery. similar to the "welcometomcdonaldswouldyouliketotryournewtriplebigmacvaluemealforjustfiveninetyfive?" spiel that we're used to in the States. I did make out "Papa John's", "special", medium" and "Monica".)
Leslie: Um, hi Monica. First I have a question for you.
(silence...I press on)
Leslie: how much would it cost for a medium Pepperoni Pizzazz pizza?"
Monica: $14.9? (I missed the final digit b/c I was processing the more important, first two digits)
L: $14.9....?
(silence again. I give up on that last digit and press on again)
L: Ok, and what was your special again?
M: Two mediums of your choice for $17.9? (same number processing problem)
(silence while I process)
L: So the second pizza is only $3.00 more?
M: Yes.
L: Ok, I'll take your special.
M: So, one medium pepperoni pizzazz and what kind for your other pizza?
L: Italiano, but without black olives.
M: Vegetariano, minus black olives?
L: Yes. (yes, you're noticing the problem here, because you're READING this, and probably in your first language. I didn't notice.)
M: Anything else?
L:No.
M: Ok, two medium pizzas, one pepperoni pizzazz and one vegetariano minus black olives. Your phone number?
L: 4 - no, sorry- 246-1307
M: On Brazil, next to the Domino's?
L: Yes (delighted that this much at least had been communicated during my last, disastrous interaction with the fine people at Papa John's)
M: How will you be paying?
L: Cash (delighted again that I remembered the word here for cash)
M: Ok, it'll be $17.9? cents in about 35 minutes.
L: Thank you
M: You're welcome. Good night.
I hung up feeling a strong sense of accomplishment. This conversation was considerably less painful than the last one. And soon I would have yummy pizza as a reward for my bravery. Yay!
A few minutes later, as I'm carrying my pizzas back up to my apartment I happen to notice the little sticker on the side of the box with the details of the order. As I'm looking at it, I notice that I have somehow ordered a vegetarian pizza (what the?).
Then I remember that Monica never asked for my name. She confirmed my identification by asking if I was next door to Dominos. I notice "next to Domino's" on the label next to my address. Then I notice what is written in the "Name" slot: Gringa Gringa.
I roll my eyes, smile to myself, and settle in to enjoy my pizza. I love Ecuador.
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