the little things
It's funny that I still remember a little word from a tiny moment that took place in Israel 4ish years ago. I was there for a study tour with my church and in the middle of being homeless. I had committed to living in a homeless shelter for a year to minister to the homeless, volunteer in the shelter, and grow as a christian.
I left the shelter for my 10 day journey to Israel with a sour heart. When I first started at the shelter everything was new and exciting. It was challenging and humbling. I felt fulfilled and satisfied. Now only a couple months in, everything had become routine. The early mornings were early, my roommates were not perfect people, the shelter was smelly - and my heart, as I said, had become sour.
I wanted this trip to help restore me. To help me renew my faith and wonder. To help me find awe in God again. But I also felt guilty for going. I spent $3000 - probably more really. It was a good price for a trip overseas, but living in "poverty" helped me see the need of others. I knew the money could do great things. But it was too late to back out - and of course - I wanted to go.
I don't remember everything about Israel. Some of the strongest memories I have are not exactly happy ones. The trip was amazing, but it didn't restore me the way I wanted. At least not right away. I remember sitting in a garden built by one of the supposed locations of Jesus' tomb, preparing to take communion. Would there be a more wonderful place to ponder the death and resurrection? Would there be a more fantastic way to remember the sacrifice of Jesus? I remember trying to feel thankful. I wanted to be moved. I wanted to cry. But my heart felt hard.
I remember praying in the garden of gethsemane. A place where Jesus had played fervently before his execution. And I remember our guide whispering a quote from Jesus into my ear, "are you sleeping?" My immediate reaction was surprise. Of course I'm not sleeping, my eyes are open and I'm looking at you. But I quickly realized his meaning and I knew it was a profound thought, but it was one that my heart was not ready to grasp. It was still hard.
God had somehow become distant and unfathomable. Our relationship had been gradually weakened. And it's because I forgot something important. I forgot who God really was. I forgot his love, patience, and forgiveness. But standing on Mount Carmel - where Elijah prayed with great faith and God brought fire down from the heavens - I heard a simple word. It was whispered by a little child while our group prayed silently. It was soft, but powerful. It reminded me who God was. She said, "Abba." Father.
I left the shelter for my 10 day journey to Israel with a sour heart. When I first started at the shelter everything was new and exciting. It was challenging and humbling. I felt fulfilled and satisfied. Now only a couple months in, everything had become routine. The early mornings were early, my roommates were not perfect people, the shelter was smelly - and my heart, as I said, had become sour.
I wanted this trip to help restore me. To help me renew my faith and wonder. To help me find awe in God again. But I also felt guilty for going. I spent $3000 - probably more really. It was a good price for a trip overseas, but living in "poverty" helped me see the need of others. I knew the money could do great things. But it was too late to back out - and of course - I wanted to go.
I don't remember everything about Israel. Some of the strongest memories I have are not exactly happy ones. The trip was amazing, but it didn't restore me the way I wanted. At least not right away. I remember sitting in a garden built by one of the supposed locations of Jesus' tomb, preparing to take communion. Would there be a more wonderful place to ponder the death and resurrection? Would there be a more fantastic way to remember the sacrifice of Jesus? I remember trying to feel thankful. I wanted to be moved. I wanted to cry. But my heart felt hard.
I remember praying in the garden of gethsemane. A place where Jesus had played fervently before his execution. And I remember our guide whispering a quote from Jesus into my ear, "are you sleeping?" My immediate reaction was surprise. Of course I'm not sleeping, my eyes are open and I'm looking at you. But I quickly realized his meaning and I knew it was a profound thought, but it was one that my heart was not ready to grasp. It was still hard.
God had somehow become distant and unfathomable. Our relationship had been gradually weakened. And it's because I forgot something important. I forgot who God really was. I forgot his love, patience, and forgiveness. But standing on Mount Carmel - where Elijah prayed with great faith and God brought fire down from the heavens - I heard a simple word. It was whispered by a little child while our group prayed silently. It was soft, but powerful. It reminded me who God was. She said, "Abba." Father.
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