Bought with a Price

I have a confession to make, one that may come as a shock to some of you, seeing the adventure I've been on lately. Ready for it? ... I MISS CZECH.  So much it really truly hurts.  The team from my church just got back from serving in Czech and doing English camp with my beloved Cheb brothers and sisters.  It's amazing how much God can grow your heart to love a country and the people in that country in such a short amount of time.  The first time I ever even heard about Czech Republic was when my brother went in 2005.  In 2006, I went and I have never been the same since.  It ruined me in the best way possible.  I couldn't bear to look at the world in the same way.  It no longer became political lines and a painful reminder of Junior High geography class.  The world became a place that desperately needs the good news of Jesus Christ, a huge globe filled with beautiful reminders of the creativity of God in every language and culture and face.  And that was just the first trip.

Next was the feeling that this foreign country with a crazy language and weird Easter traditions was like home to me.  I didn't want to leave, and when I did I couldn't wait to go back.  I could no longer walk through any public place without stalking someone who seemed to be speaking any sort of a Slavic language, hoping that it happened to be Czech and I could tell them how much I loved their country.  And then the confusion of where I belonged in this huge world.  And the painful yet hopeful reminder that I don't--anywhere.  That the One who is holding all these countries and people in his hand has created me for another world.

Then there was living in a new country, yet the one that had become so familiar to me.  There was trekking through snow and missing trains and always feeling a little out of place and confused; there was lives being transformed by the power of the gospel for the very first time, and lives that were being refined by that same power in new ways; calling people "mom" and "dad' that I had known only a few years, but being so loved and cared for by them that I had no other name to refer to them by.

Then there was the part I wasn't expecting or ready for in the least bit--letting go of all of those things: the comfort level I felt in a foreign place, the people that had become so much more than just a picture on a postcard or a statistic, and every conversation and memory I had with them--and I wasn't quite sure what letting go meant.  There was the realization that all of the things that I had prayed for and desired for the beautiful people I love so deeply were happening--growth was happening, believers felt the burden to reach their own people, discipleship continued, God was purifying His Church there.   Along with it came the pride that didn't want to admit that God was doing all of it without me.

But, I felt like Abraham--is He just asking me to let go to test me and see if I'll obey?  Or is he, like Abraham, asking me to give it all up and follow Him to a land I don't know?

Well, though God has continued to direct me to other places, I don't like to look at it as "letting go" of all of those things, because that implies a sense of loss.  I haven't "lost" those things--they are irreplaceable.  The lessons that I learned in Czech will be with me for the rest of my life and can never be forgotten.  The people that I have walked alongside of since my first summer there are people I will never forget.  They changed my life, just by watching theirs.

It's hard for me to believe that it's possible for me to ever love a country and a group of people as much as I love Czech Republic and the people there.  But, I know that God is capable of doing that.  He's the One that enabled me to love the people of Czech.  But, even if that deep sense of love and affection never comes, He brings me back to this simple realization: He has not called me to a place; He has called me to Himself.  That never changes.  But, with that calling comes this truth: "You are not your own, for you were bought with a price." (1 Corinthians 6:19)  I am His, I have been bought with His blood, and that means that I follow Him wherever He leads--even if it's away from where I so badly want to be.   

Beautiful Feet

“How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news…” Isaiah 52:7

This verse has always been somewhat entertaining for me; one, because I really don’t like feet and to call them beautiful is out of my realm.  But, more importantly, when I think about the feet of those who bring good news to people, the last thing I would think to call them is beautiful.  Dirty, rugged, tired, worn—that’s more what I picture.  And the past 6 weeks I finally understood how this paradox could be—and is—absolutely true. 

I visited 3 countries in Central Asia and walked rugged dirt roads along which millions and millions of people are lying in Spiritual darkness and are perishing without ever hearing the Good News about Jesus Christ.  At the end of the day my feet were dirty and tired—anything but beautiful.  They were far from having a fresh pedicure, which is what most would define as beautiful feet, especially in the US.  And yet, there was something beautiful about it.  Those dirty feet had walked among some of the poorest people in the world who still had smiles that showed all their missing teeth.  Those feet were tired because they had been walking for countless hours on rocky, dirt paths visiting people who desperately needed to know that Someone cared for them, especially enough to come and visit. 

It became more and more clear that the way the feet looked had nothing to do with their beauty; it was where those feet had walked that made them beautiful.  More and more, I longed to have beautiful feet—feet that walk where very few before have walked so that Good News may be brought to those that are lost in darkness.  Though my feet will look more and more worn and feel increasingly fatigued, there is a simple and profound beauty to feet that bring good news to places it has not yet gone.