(Still) Growing Up

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Our holiday festivities began last Friday night with a Life Together Group Christmas party. They continued on Sunday with the Adams' family Christmas. We took a short pause on Monday before heading down to the land of the pines on Tuesday morning, where we spent two full days with the Wase's. Then we headed out Thursday morning for Burlington to hang with the extended Cheek fam. With all that family-fun-time, you better believe that Cristina did a good deal of sticking her foot in her mouth. I really thought I'd grown out of it---like, about 25 years ago. Turns out, I'm just more polite around people I don't know as well. Being around those familiar folks, I get a little too comfortable, and revert back to some of my childish ways.

But, you know what? There was a time when this wouldn't even grieve me. There was a time when I would have thrown back a quip and patted myself on the back for being so clever. There was a time when I thought someone needed to earn my respect before I gave it (for some people...that would've taken forever a while...ha just kidding...sorta). There was a time when gossip didn't hurt my heart. There was a time when I couldn't admit I was wrong. There was a time when I didn't know the conviction of the Holy Spirit laying heavy on me until I agreed with God and changed my mind and my way. There was a time when I was dead (see Ephesians 2). What a wretched man that I was! Who could deliver me from that body of death? But, thanks be to God who delivers me through Christ Jesus our Lord! (see Romans 7:24-25).

I am learning to appreciate the process. I once was dead. God made me alive in Christ. And I've been growing up. But I've still got a long way to go. And that's okay. Because He who began a good work in me will complete His work (see Phlippians 1:6). Time to trust, and obey.

The Tomb Became a Womb

Yesterday I got to go to my first My Life Matters club. It was great. One of my favorite parts was a large-group story time. Brett talked with the students about the first Christmas story. Then he talked about the Wise Men, who came to worship Jesus and to bring him gifts some time after he had been born. We all know the gifts---gold, frankincense, myrrh. I've even heard what the different gifts represented before---gold for a king, frankincense for a priest (or, as Brett said, because Jesus is to be praised!), and myrrh...hm...I had forgotten what that one represented.

The room took on a strange tone when Brett explained that myrrh was meant for dead bodies. "Ewwwwwww!!!!!!!!!" they cried. He held up a small "wooden" (cardboard) box and told them that giving Jesus myrrh would be like someone giving this small wooden box---a coffin---to someone at their baby shower. Wow. He explained that Jesus was given myrrh because Jesus was born to die. We humans all die at some point because of the curse of sin, but perfect Jesus actually came to earth to die on purpose. For us. Is that not amazing?

Now, before club yesterday, God had Psalm 139 on my mind---particularly v. 16: "...All the days ordained for m were written in your book before one of them came to be." But, as I backed up and  read the entire psalm, I noticed something in the note on my Bible for v. 15. Here's v. 15: "My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth." Okay, now here's my Bible's note on "secret place...depths of the earth": "Reference is to the womb: called 'the secret place' because it normally conceals (see 2 Sa 12:12), and it shares with 'the depths of the earth' (see note on 30:1) associations with darkness, dampness, and separation from the visible realm of life. Moreover, both phrases refer to the place of the dead...with which on one level the womb appears to have been associated..."

I think that wording is interesting---that the womb was associated with "separation from the visible realm of life...the place of the dead..." Now, this morning, I was thinking on club and this psalm from yesterday, and something beautiful I'd read in college came to mind. It's a quote from a poem in small little book called "The Gospel Primer", which I highly recommend for rehearsing the gospel to yourself. Here's a portion of beauty from that book (bold and italics mine):

"Now after Christ died

He was placed in a tomb,

Which first was a grave,

but then served as a womb,

Travailing and quaking

the day He was raised

And brought forth by God

to be handled and praised.

The Firstborn from death 

on that day emerged He

With power to save

to the utmost degree."

Is that not beautiful to you? Could it be that the reason the grave and the womb had an association all along was that one day Jesus would come to earth and be born as a baby, live a perfectly righteous life, die a criminal's death, be buried in a tomb, and then burst forth, reborn as the Firstborn from the dead?! That is beautiful to me this morning. Oh the depth of the riches of the wisdom and the knowledge of  God. 

Some Ways That God Is Good

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You turn evil into good (see Joseph's story, Genesis 37-50).

You created everything "very good" (see Genesis 1).

When Your creation rebelled against You, You showed Your mercy and compassion and covered our shame (see Genesis 3).

You planned all along to redeem us from slavery to sin and death through Jesus (see Ephesians 1).

You've loved us when we hated you (see Ephesians 2, 1 John 4:9-10).

You were bruised, beaten, spit upon, mocked, tortured, killed---for us (see Isaiah 53, John 18-19).

You rose from the dead (see John 20).

You humbled Yourself (see Philippians 2).

You hear me when I call to You, and You are near (see Psalm 145:18).

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed

I just keep laughing to myself thinking about a conversation I overheard at the Thanksgiving dinner table. We have some young cousins. Mom to young cousins shared that they'd just bought the Little People Nativity Set for the kids. Well, Cousin is playing with the Little People Baby Jesus and realizes that He is laying in the hay in a barn. So she instructs Mom to go get her Little People Castle Set

so "Baby Jesus can have somewhere nice to sleep." Of course we all laughed at this cute story of the imagination of a little girl. But, the more I think about it, the more profound it seems to me.

She looked at Jesus, next to the animals, in a bed of hay, and she looked at her castle, with its nice big pink bed with pillows and blankets, and she saw the obvious disparity. She recognized immediately that Jesus deserved a better bed. I think she saw something that we've seen so many times that we've just started to ignore it. "Yeah, yeah, Jesus was born in a stable. No, he didn't have any clothes. Or a real bed. What's that? Well...yeah...He was a King."

Jesus humbled Himself. I'm sure she wouldn't use those words, but that's what she saw. Can you even see that anymore? Can you look beyond the familiar story and see the reality? The nativity scene should shock us every time we see it. We should sense the inequality of the King of the Universe sleeping in a feeding trough. And we should understand that Jesus absolutely willingly chose to be there. Chose to be born that way. Chose to live life here. Chose to die for us. Chose to raise to new life and give us the right to become children of God. This should blow our minds. Every time.

Indian Morning

I'm sitting on the front porch in that gigantic wooden rocker that Great Grandpa once sat in. The ends of the arms have been chewed on by Caesar, who is barking at me from behind the iron bars of his cement cage. He has been barking at anything and everything since at least 4 a.m. when the roosters started crowing. Don't they know it's not daylight at 4 a.m.? I can only assume that he's been barking at the four or five small neon yellow, blue, and green birds in the cage by the porch. What kind of birds are they? Not sure.

I look around the neighborhood at the painted cement buildings. They look old, but I'm thinking maybe it's just the wear and tear that makes relatively new buildings seem old. There's lots of color. A boy across the street is on top of the roof unstringing some lights that were up for the festival season. I've noticed several displays around the mall and airport with Christmas trees---an ode, I assume, to the fact that the Indian festival season coincides with the Western festival season. Strange.

I hear the hum of traffic in the distance. Traffic isn't even an adequate word for what happens on the roads. Even in China I didn't see quite the dance of cars and bicycles and dogs and people and cows (You can't possibly imagine how many cows there are. Everywhere. And goats, too.) and rickshaws and giant trucks and chickens and taxis. The horns beep constantly...not like the polite American way to curse someone, but more like "Hey, I'm about to pass you, please don't run me over." It's amazing to watch the moving in and out of "lanes" with such ease (side note: they drive on the left side of the road here), passing cars with only inches to spare, and rarely an accident. My favorite driver during our visit is the most aggressive one. He drives the fastest---maybe because it's his own car---and passes the most. It's both terrifying and thrilling---which is why I only sat in the front seat once.

I come back to the present. I notice that on this small side street people are walking by the front gate---part of the wall that encloses the whole house and courtyard. There goes a bicycle with its bell "horn". Ooo, then a rickshaw. A scooter. More people. I look up at a house two rows over. Several girls have been going up and down on the roof, hanging out clothes to dry, and they have some sort of fire going---maybe they're cooking something? The smoke is going up...people seem to be burning something everywhere. I guess that's part of the distinct smell that people talk about. In our house I smell the gas for the stove, and breakfast cooking. An egg dish of some sort.

I hear a bird chirping...or is it more like squawking? It's that funny-looking black bird with the long bright orange beak that was on our windowsill this morning. He's sitting on top of the wall, about level with the top of the trees---are those palm trees? They have some sort of fruit growing at the top. Maybe my strange bird friend is mimicking the music I hear in the distance. Or maybe he's responding to the people talking in the kitchen. I wish I could understand their language. Its sounds don't even make sense to my brain...I haven't heard anything like them before. I keep asking people, "Can you write that down for me?" Maybe if I can see it, I can make sense of it.

Fortunately, most people we are around speak English. But still, I long to know some word---to make some connection with the people. I ask the young lady who helps around the house how to say "thank you"---she's actually Nepalese, so I'm not sure if I'll learn Hindi or Nepali. But, when I ask, she doesn't know what in the world I'm saying, so Mom comes out to see what I need, and tells me, "It's okay, she understands 'thank you.'" Rats.

So, a day in another world begins. I forgot how interesting, and yet, exhausting, exploring another culture can be. Which I think accounts for why by 8 p.m. every night we CANNOT keep our eyes open. That, and the fact that we are ten and a half hours ahead of eastern standard time and our bodies are confused. Breakfast time. I close my journal and ask God for the strength to eat (it's been a struggle for this trip). Ask Him to lead me today---how can I serve? How can I love? Here goes...