Basket Case

I remember being so excited as a little girl to see what Dad would bring home from his solo travels.  The morning after he came home, there would always be a little treat for each of us kids on the kitchen counter.  It might be a toy or jewelry or a book, but there would always be a little something.  He always picked the best gifts for each of us. I can't remember ever feeling jealous of someone else's gift because mine was always exactly perfect for me.  Dad just has this phenomenal gift-giving ability.

There was always something for us kids, and I'm certain there was always something for Mom.  If he ever brought something home for himself, it was usually one of two things: a handmade, basket or a small ceramic tile.  With this knowledge I've never had to wonder what to bring home for Dad, now that I go on my own adventures.  I might bring him some coffee, maybe some dried fruit, maybe a whole caboodle of things! But I've always known that baskets and tiles are really where it's at.

Four months ago I started on my quest to bring my dad a basket from the village I'm currently living in.  Are there any floating around to buy? No. Does anyone regularly make them? Nope. Apparently, basket-making is one of the dying traditional arts.  There is only one old guy in the entire village that even knows how to make them anymore.  I asked him if he would make a basket or two, and I got the very succinct answer, "No."

Then, last weekend, there was a lot of birthday talk.  'Tis the season of sticky rice and banana ice cream for the kids in our social circle, which is totally fun!  However, all the talk reminded me that I'm going to get home just in time for Dad to turn the big five-oh. And I didn't have a gift.  I mentioned this during the discussion and explained the basket situation.  I figured I'd just have to buy a basket from town and that would have to make do.

The next day, the old guy's wife showed up at the door.  With three beautiful handmade baskets in tow. She named her price and left basketless.  

It's such a small thing.  I know they're just baskets when all is said and done, but God knew I wanted to be able to give my dad a gift like he has always given me.  Once again I'm reminded that the small things make up the big things and my heart is full to the brim.

Missing Ingredients

I'm very gung-ho about strict vegetarianism.  There is a certain level of awareness about what goes into fueling my body that is, truth be told, addicting.  All that said, pre-vegan Vivian loved when Rachel would make a massive pan of Pad Thai.  It's a dish that I now crave as much for nostalgia's sake as flavor's.  About a month ago this craving prompted me to attemp a vegan version of Pad Thai. After all, I'm living in Southeast Asia. How hard could it be?

Apparently harder than I thought.

A few attempts later, I messaged Rachel to figure out what I was missing.  The answer? Shrimp and fish paste.  And it doesn't matter how I manipulate the tofu or rice vinegar or soy.  The food tastes good, but it isn't what I'm craving.

This isn't the first time missing ingredients have tripped me up.  I was reminded of that last night when Danny, Pip, and I chatted over a cup of tea.  They were encouraging me in my pursuit of Bible school and I was explaining how foreign missions are heavy on my heart.

"It doesn't matter what you eat or how healthy you can help someone become physically," I said.  "If there's a soul problem, all the physical help in the world can't replace Christ, you know?"

Danny's response hit me hard. "Right.  These are good things, but they can't be in lieu of Christ.  You can use them as tools to show Christ to lost people, but you can't replace Christ with a diet plan."

Ouch.

Why did it sting? I know those things. I've said nearly identical words myself.  

It stung because even though I had started out with those intentions at the Y, the light I strove to be flickered when the peer pressure mounted.  Lying awake last night, reality came crashing in: my career at the Y didn't fail because it was a dark place, it failed because I neglected the main ingredient.  No career, fitness or mission based, will satisfy my craving for purpose driven life if I leave Christ out.

I'm grateful for the reminder to keep my eyes fully fixed on Christ, to never look away.  Like Peter walking on the water, all my attention must be honed in on the One who enables me to stay above the waves.  I'm thankful for the timeliness of this revelation as I prepare to head back to "real life" in several weeks.  In His strength, these steps can be made by faith. By His grace, these eyes can remain fixed on Him.  

Time is Everything

(These boys let me join in their game of Roll the Hula Hoop)

(Talk about a tear-jerker.)

(According to S, the "man" in the middle is supposed to be me.)

In the Name of Fashion

(Me: Are you a ghost doing school?

B: No. I'm fashion.)

(A teenage water buffalo)

(Sitting on a mango tree, our morning walk destination.)

Speaking Truth

I think we tend to forget how often God uses other people to speak truth into our lives.  A week ago, Pip invited me over for coffee and a chat.  Granted, it ended up being more like an afternoon tea, but it was an appreciated time of fellowship anyway.  It started with friendly conversation, segued into a separate chat with a national lady, and concluded with a poignant exhortation:

"Every time we think 'I am too nervous' or 'I am too scared' or even 'Man, I am good at that' remember, I AM sent me. I have nothing to do with it."

These words reminded me of encouragement I received from a brother in a Christ a few years ago.  "You can either be self-conscious or God-conscious.  You have to pick one or the other."

This is an easy concept, maybe, to grasp with my Big Picture glasses on.  In daily life, it's a different story.  God is constantly growing and changing me, but there are still so many ways in which self-conscious could be my middle name. 

For example, Hala has a large art project that she wanted my help with. Initially, I was all for it when I thought I could convince her that I shouldn't do much aside from providing guidance.  As it became more apparent that I would personally have to put my own art in the open for everyone to see, I grew irritable and defensive.  In short I was self-conscious.

What if they hate my interpretion of a flower? What if I get the colors wrong? What if I screw up? What if I disappoint Hala and her parents with what I produce? What if no one likes it? What if they all realize I'm an artistic fraud?

Eventually, this prayer worked its way through my clenched teeth: "God, I don't know what to do.  Just let this bless them and that will be enough." I don't know if they've been blessed by this art intensive week or not.  All I know is ,once I finally let go and painted as to God, the peace and joy in my heart is boundless. And I actually enjoyed myself.  That isn't the important part, but it certainly didn't hurt either!

The People-less Pictures

 (Beautiful, beautiful sunset)

(A reminder that God clothes the flowers in splendor. What do we have to worry about?)

Eating Skyflakes

I thought I was dying this morning. Obviously I lived, but I prayed like I was dying, too.  The pain in my stomach left me twisting in agony. Then it was over.  I am left drained and apprehensive of all food except water or skyflakes.  Despite being under the weather, I have to thoughts I want to share in this post.

One: I am amazed in the little ways God's creation points us to Him. Yesterday, I was able to spend some time alone in the sun under a coconut tree (which is actually a bad idea, considering that one could fall on my head at any time).  In a moment of clarity, I understood another correlation between Christ and our daytime light, the sun. I marveled over God's design of our largest visible organ and it's function to protect us, but also to absorb Vitamin D from the sun.  That vitamin, by the way, is the number one depression fighter and a deficiency in it can cause a host of problems in our flesh. By the same token, our epidermis is visibly changed when it has spent time in the sunshine.  You know when someone spends time outside.  Their complexion tells you.  All of these things should apply to the effect the Son has on us.  Not only is He our light, not only is He necessary for our daily health and wellbeing, we should be visibly changed when we spend time in His light.  It should be obvious to the world that Jesus Christ has marked you as His.

Two (and completely unrelated): Yesterday also found me playing a facial battle with two village boys.  Their faces were elastic and their raucous laughter at the faces I pulled warmed my heart.  Anyone else probably would have snapped a picture of their precious  expressions as they peaked around a corner.  I couldn't do it.  In fact, my photographs of people here are incredibly limited.  Something inside of me is totally okay with snapping pictures of flowers and wildlife, but feels equally invasive of a person's privacy when I think to take a picture of them.  They're people, you know? I take pictures of trees without asking, but a person should have the right to say yes or no.  The language barrier means I can't ask.  No one comes near enough for me to show them my phone and explain.  I don't know if my apprehension is right, but I know if a stranger took pictures of me without asking, I would be upset.

Those are my thoughts. And, currently, they're all I've got.