1) I have a home (and a dorm, and a home in Ghana).
2) I've never had to prostitute myself for money.
3) I can choose to fast but I've never been forced to.
4) I can wear a scarf and a sweatshirt and a down vest and huddle under a blanket in front of my fireplace.
5) If I don't shower, it's my own fault.
6) I own at least 5 Bibles.
7) I can choose which clothes to keep, which to donate, and which to return.
8) I've never had to turn to drugs, alcohol, or sex for affirmation or love.
Obviously, only the material things; the biggest of all is knowing that I have a Savior in Heaven, and His name is Jesus.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Pilgrims Travel Light
My phone vibrated at 6:15 this morning, and I, snuggled comfortably and contentedly in my bed--mine, at home!--but still curious, fumbled around on my nighstand to see who might be calling me at this hour. "P.P.OD," announced the glowing screen. It had been several months since we'd talked, so I picked up: "Hello?", but not the usual "hell-O?"--no, "HA-lo?" And a little confusion ensued, since the connection from Ghana wasn't great:
"Akua?" / Jessica?
"HA-lo, P.P.OD?" / Hello, P.P.OD?
"HA-lo, Akua?" / Hello, Jessica?
"Aane, HA-lo?" / Yes, hello?
"Akua, εtε sεn?" / Jessica, how are you?
"Nyame adom! Ei, m'ani agye sε woafrε me... Na wo nso wo ho tε sεn?" / By God's grace (I'm fine)! Hey, I'm glad you've called me... And you also, how are you?
By God's grace, P.P.OD responds, he's also fine. We chat, him asking my how my family is and both of us lamenting that it's been so long since we've talked; me asking how Nana, the chief of Oguaa, is, and learning that he's doing great and able to walk anywhere without trouble after a year-long battle with an infected leg wound in the hospital; and him asking, as usual, how long it will be until I'm able to return to Ghana. Somehow the time does tick away, and no longer is the answer "aka mfeε nan; mewie sukuu a, mεsa aba" / in four [eternal, unending] years after I graduate.
I ask him how everything is going at his new job teaching at the local international school since he and all his fellow teachers-in-training were fired from their post at Seniagya Methodist JHS, where they had worked without ever receiving their pay for the past 8 months. The pay is small, he replies, and he can't stay there forever; instead, he'll pay the entrance examination fees and purchase an application to university in the spring, and pray--really, bring before the throne of grace with desperate pleas and humble, persistent reliance--that God grants him admission. Surely God is a provider, but I ask how much the fees will be, and after a pause, a mental calculation, carry the one and do the sum: "Bεyε 100 Cedis." About 100 Cedis, $70. This for a man whose monthly rent for a cramped room with a single bare lightbulb about a 5 minute walk from the borehole is $3/month, who went into a debt of $15 that took months to repay so that he could give parting gifts to the five Princeton students on the Bridge Year Program who had come to live for some few months in Oguaa. Seventy dollars that could kill a dream before the real obstacle, the 700 Cedis, $500 in tuition that university will cost if he's accepted, even needs to rear its head. I burned through almost $20 on incidentals and food at various airports as I flew home yesterday.
We end our conversation; his phone credit has almost run out, and I know full well that our quarter-hour conversation has probably cost him the equivalent of half of that month's rent:
"Hwε wo ho so yie." / Take care of yourself.
"Wonim sε mεnyε basa-basa." / You know I don't get into trouble.
And I went back to sleep, woke up a couple hours later to another cell phone vibration, a text from my dad wondering if we could do some errands, and soon found myself wandering the aisles of WalMart and Festival Foods. Bounty upon bounty towered before me, and as I trundled around, I thought of my friend Danny. After he graduates in the spring, he'll spend 11 months trekking across the world, serving God and loving people and living the message of the Gospel in 11 different countries. And he'll do it with a backpack full of clothes, a Bible, and not much more than that.
Remember what Jesus, the Word and our Emmanuel, says to us about how we're to go out when He sends us into the world? Sometimes I forget that, too, what with my prideful, foolishly self-sufficient, and ultimately sinful desire to do everything myself and not disturb God with my requests for food or protection or shelter. So I'm glad that my friend Lizzie called me back to the words of Matthew on her blog: "Do not get any gold or silver of copper to take with you in your belts--no bag for the journey or extra shirts or a staff, for workers are worth their keep." No staff, no copper for my belt? Okay, this I think I can handle, but no extra shirts? No bag for the journey? Really?
Because the truth is this: I have lots of stuff. Too much stuff--way too much stuff. I was packing two nights ago in preparation for returning home, and I had to do some visual inventory:
(1) Closet of tops, dresses, and skirts
(2) Drawer of sweaters
(3) Drawer of t-shirts
(4) Drawer of socks, bras, underwear
(5) Drawer of shorts
(6) Drawer of jeans and dress pants
(7) Drawer of sweatpants and leggings
(8) Crate of shoes
And please, let's not go into the books piled everywhere, and the assortment of jewelry, and the two plastic totes of random things lurking under my bed, and the laptop I'm writing this blog post on. God, the things You've entrusted to me are really beyond my comprehension, and obviously well beyond anything I deserve. Thank you.
So let's keep this straight, this procession of thoughts in my head today, and add to it a few spices until we have a nice little mental soup simmering. Firstly, the broth: my conversation with P.P.OD. Secondly, a collection of vegetables: Danny's upcoming trip 'round the world with a backpack. Thirdly, the meat: this confounding passage in Matthew 10:9-10. Fourthly, some noodles: the excess of my life as divulged by my dorm room's contents. And then the spices: room cleaning, and Jesus' return, and contentment in all circumstances, and being a pilgrim.
When I came home yesterday I brought a suitcase full of clothes with me, justifying spending $25 (which, disregarding the disparity in cost of living between Ghana and the US, let's remember, equals 5% of the annual tuition for a university like the one P.P.OD is hoping to attend) to check stated suitcase. I reasoned that I need something to wear for the next three weeks and I thought really don't have many clothes at home. (Judging by how much clothing I have at school, I was hoping this would turn out to be the case when I arrived home, and it sort of did.) Upon arriving home, I did a visual inventory of my room here, too, and found, again, many things. I've been thinking about all these ingredients in my soup, and adding the spice of a quote by Randy Alcorn, author of The Treasure Principle, who makes this keen observation: "Pilgrims travel light."
Certainly, as my friend Trent has reminded me, to be ungrateful for the things that have been entrusted to me would be to refuse to be "content in every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want," as Paul wrote to the Philippians; but are we not pilgrims living in tents? I want my life to reflect that. So I'm cleaning house. How many pairs of jeans and t-shirts and sweaters can I need anyway? There's a satisfyingly robust pile of clothes on my floor now, waiting in limbo to find a better home than my closet. And that makes me excited, because the fewer things I have, the less tethered I'll be to my earthly treasures when God calls me to follow Him anywhere, whether that means to my next class or back to Ghana or Uganda--traveling light!
Yet not only my closet, Lord, but my heart also: Clean me out!
Remember that Christmas is coming? Sometimes I forget. But it really is, and soon: that day when Emmanuel actually is given birth, when the Word takes on a garment of flesh and breathes among us as God breathed Him into creation. Please, beloved friends, can we prepare our hearts for the arrival of our Savior? Because He has already come, lived, and defeated death; but He's coming back. Revelation makes that clear: "[Jesus] who testifies to these things says, 'Yes, I am coming soon.' Amen. Come, Lord Jesus." And so, just as we sing "let every heart prepare Him room" at Christmas, let each of us prepare room in our hearts for Jesus to return, not clinging to things but learning to live light, to travel as pilgrims in this world, unencumbered by things that tether us. We must throw off everything that hinders--our pride, our reliance on ourselves, our self-focus, and maybe even our fascination with things and clothes and gadgets and stuff--to run with perseverance this race set before us. Amen!
Prayer Requests:
"Akua?" / Jessica?
"HA-lo, P.P.OD?" / Hello, P.P.OD?
"HA-lo, Akua?" / Hello, Jessica?
"Aane, HA-lo?" / Yes, hello?
"Akua, εtε sεn?" / Jessica, how are you?
"Nyame adom! Ei, m'ani agye sε woafrε me... Na wo nso wo ho tε sεn?" / By God's grace (I'm fine)! Hey, I'm glad you've called me... And you also, how are you?
 |
| Me and P.P.OD, aka Oduro, at Oguaa [April 2010] |
By God's grace, P.P.OD responds, he's also fine. We chat, him asking my how my family is and both of us lamenting that it's been so long since we've talked; me asking how Nana, the chief of Oguaa, is, and learning that he's doing great and able to walk anywhere without trouble after a year-long battle with an infected leg wound in the hospital; and him asking, as usual, how long it will be until I'm able to return to Ghana. Somehow the time does tick away, and no longer is the answer "aka mfeε nan; mewie sukuu a, mεsa aba" / in four [eternal, unending] years after I graduate.
 |
| My students assemble at the end of the day at Seniagya Methodist JHS [March 2010] |
I ask him how everything is going at his new job teaching at the local international school since he and all his fellow teachers-in-training were fired from their post at Seniagya Methodist JHS, where they had worked without ever receiving their pay for the past 8 months. The pay is small, he replies, and he can't stay there forever; instead, he'll pay the entrance examination fees and purchase an application to university in the spring, and pray--really, bring before the throne of grace with desperate pleas and humble, persistent reliance--that God grants him admission. Surely God is a provider, but I ask how much the fees will be, and after a pause, a mental calculation, carry the one and do the sum: "Bεyε 100 Cedis." About 100 Cedis, $70. This for a man whose monthly rent for a cramped room with a single bare lightbulb about a 5 minute walk from the borehole is $3/month, who went into a debt of $15 that took months to repay so that he could give parting gifts to the five Princeton students on the Bridge Year Program who had come to live for some few months in Oguaa. Seventy dollars that could kill a dream before the real obstacle, the 700 Cedis, $500 in tuition that university will cost if he's accepted, even needs to rear its head. I burned through almost $20 on incidentals and food at various airports as I flew home yesterday.
We end our conversation; his phone credit has almost run out, and I know full well that our quarter-hour conversation has probably cost him the equivalent of half of that month's rent:
"Hwε wo ho so yie." / Take care of yourself.
"Wonim sε mεnyε basa-basa." / You know I don't get into trouble.
And I went back to sleep, woke up a couple hours later to another cell phone vibration, a text from my dad wondering if we could do some errands, and soon found myself wandering the aisles of WalMart and Festival Foods. Bounty upon bounty towered before me, and as I trundled around, I thought of my friend Danny. After he graduates in the spring, he'll spend 11 months trekking across the world, serving God and loving people and living the message of the Gospel in 11 different countries. And he'll do it with a backpack full of clothes, a Bible, and not much more than that.
 |
| My room in Oguaa, surrounded by my possessions for those 9 months: clothes, books, gifts, toiletries [April 2010] |
Remember what Jesus, the Word and our Emmanuel, says to us about how we're to go out when He sends us into the world? Sometimes I forget that, too, what with my prideful, foolishly self-sufficient, and ultimately sinful desire to do everything myself and not disturb God with my requests for food or protection or shelter. So I'm glad that my friend Lizzie called me back to the words of Matthew on her blog: "Do not get any gold or silver of copper to take with you in your belts--no bag for the journey or extra shirts or a staff, for workers are worth their keep." No staff, no copper for my belt? Okay, this I think I can handle, but no extra shirts? No bag for the journey? Really?
Because the truth is this: I have lots of stuff. Too much stuff--way too much stuff. I was packing two nights ago in preparation for returning home, and I had to do some visual inventory:
(1) Closet of tops, dresses, and skirts
(2) Drawer of sweaters
(3) Drawer of t-shirts
(4) Drawer of socks, bras, underwear
(5) Drawer of shorts
(6) Drawer of jeans and dress pants
(7) Drawer of sweatpants and leggings
(8) Crate of shoes
And please, let's not go into the books piled everywhere, and the assortment of jewelry, and the two plastic totes of random things lurking under my bed, and the laptop I'm writing this blog post on. God, the things You've entrusted to me are really beyond my comprehension, and obviously well beyond anything I deserve. Thank you.
 |
| My bookshelf--before this year's books were added [February 2011] |
So let's keep this straight, this procession of thoughts in my head today, and add to it a few spices until we have a nice little mental soup simmering. Firstly, the broth: my conversation with P.P.OD. Secondly, a collection of vegetables: Danny's upcoming trip 'round the world with a backpack. Thirdly, the meat: this confounding passage in Matthew 10:9-10. Fourthly, some noodles: the excess of my life as divulged by my dorm room's contents. And then the spices: room cleaning, and Jesus' return, and contentment in all circumstances, and being a pilgrim.
When I came home yesterday I brought a suitcase full of clothes with me, justifying spending $25 (which, disregarding the disparity in cost of living between Ghana and the US, let's remember, equals 5% of the annual tuition for a university like the one P.P.OD is hoping to attend) to check stated suitcase. I reasoned that I need something to wear for the next three weeks and I thought really don't have many clothes at home. (Judging by how much clothing I have at school, I was hoping this would turn out to be the case when I arrived home, and it sort of did.) Upon arriving home, I did a visual inventory of my room here, too, and found, again, many things. I've been thinking about all these ingredients in my soup, and adding the spice of a quote by Randy Alcorn, author of The Treasure Principle, who makes this keen observation: "Pilgrims travel light."
Certainly, as my friend Trent has reminded me, to be ungrateful for the things that have been entrusted to me would be to refuse to be "content in every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want," as Paul wrote to the Philippians; but are we not pilgrims living in tents? I want my life to reflect that. So I'm cleaning house. How many pairs of jeans and t-shirts and sweaters can I need anyway? There's a satisfyingly robust pile of clothes on my floor now, waiting in limbo to find a better home than my closet. And that makes me excited, because the fewer things I have, the less tethered I'll be to my earthly treasures when God calls me to follow Him anywhere, whether that means to my next class or back to Ghana or Uganda--traveling light!
Yet not only my closet, Lord, but my heart also: Clean me out!
Remember that Christmas is coming? Sometimes I forget. But it really is, and soon: that day when Emmanuel actually is given birth, when the Word takes on a garment of flesh and breathes among us as God breathed Him into creation. Please, beloved friends, can we prepare our hearts for the arrival of our Savior? Because He has already come, lived, and defeated death; but He's coming back. Revelation makes that clear: "[Jesus] who testifies to these things says, 'Yes, I am coming soon.' Amen. Come, Lord Jesus." And so, just as we sing "let every heart prepare Him room" at Christmas, let each of us prepare room in our hearts for Jesus to return, not clinging to things but learning to live light, to travel as pilgrims in this world, unencumbered by things that tether us. We must throw off everything that hinders--our pride, our reliance on ourselves, our self-focus, and maybe even our fascination with things and clothes and gadgets and stuff--to run with perseverance this race set before us. Amen!
 |
| Come, Lord Jesus. |
- For Siddhu, who I met on the train to the airport yesterday and who is an agnostic who'd like to believe in God but can't get over the problem of suffering and says he feels a big void in his life; I gave him a Bible and Henri Nouwen's Reaching Out, so please join me in praying that God brings growth in his life and that he comes to know God's fullness!
- For my friend David, who's trying to discern whether God has called him to co-lead the mission trip to Uganda in August with me
- For the Outreach Team of PFA, the Christian ministry I'm involved in at school; we need God's guidance and power and vision to see many, many people come to know Christ and walk in His joy and peace!
- For people who don't have close friends and people who are depressed and lonely
- For God to be preparing the hearts of those He has called to the Uganda mission trip in August, and for wisdom for me in preparing for that and deciding how to use the time before the trip
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Prayer begins... last Friday
Do you realize how much God loves dust?
Genesis 2:7 // The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.
Isaiah 41:14 // "Do not be afraid, O worm Jacob, O little Israel, for I myself will help you," declares the Lord, your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel.
Daniel 9:18 // "Give ear, O God, and hear; open your eyes and see the desolation of the city that bears your Name. We do not make requests of you because we are righteous, but because of your great mercy."
That's me: the dust, the worm, the little one, the unrighteous beggar for mercy--wow, God. I'm just thinking about the wonder of it, that God would meet with such as us, and that He calls us His people (Hosea 2:23). And I just end up stunned every time.
I guess that--to just share my amazement at God's glory--was the primary purpose of this little post, as it should be for every post, but secondarily, I've a request for you: I've been asked to lead the mission trip to Uganda (the one I went on last August with my Christian fellowship here at school), and after about a month of prayer and discernment I accepted on Friday. Which means that prayer for the trip began on Friday, and I'm asking you to join me! At this point I have essentially no details (when? probably about August; who? I don't know, but I may have a co-leader; how? by God's provision), but will share them as they're settled.
Things at school are going well, and I praise God for His work in my heart and in the lives of others around me this semester! Only a week and a half til I'm home for Christmas... Peace!
UPDATE: I'm no longer going to Uganda this summer, but please continue to keep the team in your prayers!
Genesis 2:7 // The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.
Isaiah 41:14 // "Do not be afraid, O worm Jacob, O little Israel, for I myself will help you," declares the Lord, your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel.
Daniel 9:18 // "Give ear, O God, and hear; open your eyes and see the desolation of the city that bears your Name. We do not make requests of you because we are righteous, but because of your great mercy."
That's me: the dust, the worm, the little one, the unrighteous beggar for mercy--wow, God. I'm just thinking about the wonder of it, that God would meet with such as us, and that He calls us His people (Hosea 2:23). And I just end up stunned every time.
I guess that--to just share my amazement at God's glory--was the primary purpose of this little post, as it should be for every post, but secondarily, I've a request for you: I've been asked to lead the mission trip to Uganda (the one I went on last August with my Christian fellowship here at school), and after about a month of prayer and discernment I accepted on Friday. Which means that prayer for the trip began on Friday, and I'm asking you to join me! At this point I have essentially no details (when? probably about August; who? I don't know, but I may have a co-leader; how? by God's provision), but will share them as they're settled.
Things at school are going well, and I praise God for His work in my heart and in the lives of others around me this semester! Only a week and a half til I'm home for Christmas... Peace!
UPDATE: I'm no longer going to Uganda this summer, but please continue to keep the team in your prayers!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)