There are times when I feel sorry for the readers of my blog. There's no valuable information, I rarely provide scintillating antidotes, and my posts are usually irregular and random compilations of my pet peeves, emotions-off-the-cuff, frustrations galore. My mother calls it "emotional journaling." Which is nice of her. The word "journaling" gives it some amount of redemption.
Today I made Julie-Bop some hot chocolate. I turned the whole activity into a therapeutic teaching moment. It was beautiful. Then my mom comes out of nowhere with a can of whipped cream, and my beautiful hot chocolate tutorial (emphasizing the words "in" and "stir") ceased to be a teaching moment as my little sister jumped around the kitchen screaming in glee.
Oh, and Julie has taken to calling us all by boy names. Today, as I handed her the hot chocolate, she said, "I'm Bob, and you're George, okay?"
Today my name is "George." Yesterday I was "Franklin."
However, that's not why I'm writing. (The brief paragraphs above were my attempt to deviate from my traditional "emotional journaling" as I provide something redemptive to the future generations.)
Last night, lounging on the couch after a not-so-strenuous day of trying to decide if I was avoiding, or working hard on my comprehensive exams, I picked up the magazine "Voice of the Martyrs."* For anyone not remotely aware of this organization, please visit the website posted below. VOM is an organization near and very dear to my heart. Last night, after a lazy day, grumping about how boring and awful my life is, I picked up this magazine. Bad idea. If there is anything, perfectly designed to make you feel small and petty about your daily complaints, it's the suffering of people in third-world countries around the globe.
An 86 year old Pakistani man, beaten, repeatedly, for 3 days. He refused to alter or renounce his faith. After being rescued, he clutched his Bible, tears of joy streaming down his face. He cannot read.
A mother, in Somalia, watching as her 11 and 12 year old sons were beheaded "for the sins of their father." Musa, the father, led a house church.
What about India? A land of progress... There is a growing conclave of women, raising children alone, because their husbands (pastors) were brutally murdered. Their homes burned. No where to go. And yet one such woman said, "I am giving pardon to them. One day let them come to Christ. That is my hope."
And I sit on my couch, whining because I have massive papers to write. It sounds more ridiculous now, doesn't it? Yeah, that's what I thought too...
Halfway through the magazine, I got up. I walked into the living room, and sat down at the piano. In the dim light I played, "Oh the deep, deep love of Jesus." There are moments when I just don't understand. I don't know why the world is the way it is. I don't know why God hasn't descended in righteous anger. I remembered the words in Revelations: "I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain because of the word of God and the testimony they had maintained. They called out in a loud voice, "How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?" Then each of them was given a white robe, and they were told to wait a little longer, until the number of their fellow servants and brothers who were to be killed as they had been was completed." And I just don't understand.
But it makes my griping about papers, my desire for an amazing job, nice car, cute shoes, etc., etc. look less desirable, more paltry.
I am surrounded by people with amazing gifts. Amazing talents. People who can do great things to alter the current way of the world. And I have a degree in speech pathology... (Forgive the over-simplification of our job, fellow SLPs) but how many starving children are actually concerned that they can't say "r"?
I can't take amazing pictures, raise money, or use valuable political connections to alter the status of entire nations. But I do love children.
So I will finish these exams. I will get my degree-- while I dream of finding a way to spend at least six months of my life with tiny children in Africa.
Because even if it's not big and important-- this is what matters.
*http://www.persecution.com/
1 comment:
First of all, I just want to say that I really enjoy reading your blog posts. I think they are always interesting. :)
I know what you mean about seeing how pathetic your little complaints are. I had a cold over Christmas break that I kept complaining about...and then I read Job. Okay, so maybe I shouldn't be complaining about a sore nose. :)
I am reading through "Don't Waste Your Life" by John Piper now. An amazing book - and particularly applicable for me right now as I decide what to do in the future. And of course we talk a lot at Bible school about the opportunities - abroad and in our own backyard, and how we need to live for God's glory and not for prestige or power or wealth (which in the end counts for nothing). There are so many needs out there...it's hard (for me, anyway) to find out what I can do that would be most strategic - reaching the most people possible with the love of Christ.
This post was just very encouraging. Thanks for posting.
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