This is a post I’ve wanted to write since the end of May, but I just haven’t been able to find the words. Luckily, God has gifted other people with a greater gift of communication than I possess, so I’ll use their words. Bear with me, folks. This post is an answer to questions from a plethora of people, but it’s also an answer to my own questions—so if it doesn’t make complete sense, let’s blame it on that.
I love flying. As an “adult,” that attachment is mostly manifested in my infatuation with airports and a burning desire to go skydiving. But even when I was a kid, I loved the idea of flying. I used to watch Peter Pan right before bedtime in an effort to bring dreams where any merry little thought could life me to the skies.
My first connecting flight on the way to Kazembe this summer was from DC to Addis Ababa. I settled into my window seat and started making origami birds for the kid in front of me. Literally moments before the plane took off, a young South African man sprinted onto the plane and dove into the seat next to me. I was a little startled. He introduced himself, but the name was not one I was familiar with or could pronounce, and I don’t remember it. He told me a little bit about himself. He had come straight from college graduation to the airport to fly back home to Cape Town and had majored in international development and something else. After a polite amount of chatter, we both settled into our seats. A few minutes into the flight I pulled out my journal to chronicle my adventure thus far. It’s a red leatherbound notebook with the names of Jesus engraved on the cover. Almost immediately, the guy next to me pointed to one of the names.
“Who is this?”
I completely froze. What did he mean? What did he want me to say? Was he asking as someone who was curious, or combative, or instigatory, or maybe confused? What base of knowledge did he have—I mean, did I need to start with Genesis? What words could I possibly offer in explanation?
A billion words and phrases rushed through my mind like an unstoppable waterfall. He is Savior, Lord, Redeemer, Friend, Father, Romancer, Advocate, Judge. He’s the reason I get up every morning, the reason I can offer forgiveness rather than demand what is “mine,” the answer to so many questions, and the source of so many more questions. He makes perfect sense but is beyond comprehension; He is the Alpha and Omega of all great mysteries.
How could I possibly explain who He is to me? What He is to me? The religious catchphrases of Christianity fall woefully short and in many cases only serve to confuse or disenchant the asker. How incredibly heartbreaking that the inadequacy of Christian explanation and the inconsistency of Christian action should be the reflection of Christ that a lost and broken world sees. As the mighty philosophers of DC Talk once said, "The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, then walk out the door and deny him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable."
I love flying. As an “adult,” that attachment is mostly manifested in my infatuation with airports and a burning desire to go skydiving. But even when I was a kid, I loved the idea of flying. I used to watch Peter Pan right before bedtime in an effort to bring dreams where any merry little thought could life me to the skies.
My first connecting flight on the way to Kazembe this summer was from DC to Addis Ababa. I settled into my window seat and started making origami birds for the kid in front of me. Literally moments before the plane took off, a young South African man sprinted onto the plane and dove into the seat next to me. I was a little startled. He introduced himself, but the name was not one I was familiar with or could pronounce, and I don’t remember it. He told me a little bit about himself. He had come straight from college graduation to the airport to fly back home to Cape Town and had majored in international development and something else. After a polite amount of chatter, we both settled into our seats. A few minutes into the flight I pulled out my journal to chronicle my adventure thus far. It’s a red leatherbound notebook with the names of Jesus engraved on the cover. Almost immediately, the guy next to me pointed to one of the names.
“Who is this?”
I completely froze. What did he mean? What did he want me to say? Was he asking as someone who was curious, or combative, or instigatory, or maybe confused? What base of knowledge did he have—I mean, did I need to start with Genesis? What words could I possibly offer in explanation?
A billion words and phrases rushed through my mind like an unstoppable waterfall. He is Savior, Lord, Redeemer, Friend, Father, Romancer, Advocate, Judge. He’s the reason I get up every morning, the reason I can offer forgiveness rather than demand what is “mine,” the answer to so many questions, and the source of so many more questions. He makes perfect sense but is beyond comprehension; He is the Alpha and Omega of all great mysteries.
How could I possibly explain who He is to me? What He is to me? The religious catchphrases of Christianity fall woefully short and in many cases only serve to confuse or disenchant the asker. How incredibly heartbreaking that the inadequacy of Christian explanation and the inconsistency of Christian action should be the reflection of Christ that a lost and broken world sees. As the mighty philosophers of DC Talk once said, "The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, then walk out the door and deny him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable."
He is Aslan; He is perfection. He is Shelter and Refuge, but to follow Him—to truly follow Him, in action instead of lipservice— is not safe at all. It will cost you everything you thought was important. And the world will look at you like you’re crazy. But as Jim Elliot wrote, “He is no fool who gives what he can never keep to gain what he can never lose.”
I wanted to pull that kid into my emotions and memories and show him who Jesus is, because words just seemed to be inadequate. Unfortunately, words also seemed to be my only choice.
Scrambling for a verbal cleft to hold onto, I finally offered a brilliant and descriptive answer.
“He…. He… He’s Everything.”
“He…. He… He’s Everything.”
The guy on the plane stared at me patiently, his face impossible to read. No smile or scowl hinted at his intention in asking the question or his perception of my response. Then, before I had a chance to squeak out a feeble follow-up, he asked another: “Why Africa?”
Now there’s a question that can’t be intelligently answered with words. I can justify my dedication a bit more now, since I’ve actually been there and loved on those kids, but as of May I was just some crazy American girl with a few screws loose who had dedicated her life and her love to a people she had never met, who had sacrificed relationships and opportunities in a desperate effort to follow the call that had gripped her heart, because she feared that even the slightest distraction would turn her silly flighty gaze away from what she truly believed God had asked of her. Katie Davis, a young woman from Nashville area Tennessee who dropped everything and went to be a mom to a bunch of Ugandan girls, explains it this way. Emphasis is mine.
Now there’s a question that can’t be intelligently answered with words. I can justify my dedication a bit more now, since I’ve actually been there and loved on those kids, but as of May I was just some crazy American girl with a few screws loose who had dedicated her life and her love to a people she had never met, who had sacrificed relationships and opportunities in a desperate effort to follow the call that had gripped her heart, because she feared that even the slightest distraction would turn her silly flighty gaze away from what she truly believed God had asked of her. Katie Davis, a young woman from Nashville area Tennessee who dropped everything and went to be a mom to a bunch of Ugandan girls, explains it this way. Emphasis is mine.
"You see, Jesus wrecked my life… My heart had been apprehended by a great love, a love that compelled me to live differently… As I read and learned more and more of what Jesus said, I liked the lifestyle I saw around me less and less. I began to realize that God wanted more from me, and I wanted more of Him… Slowly but surely, I began to realize the truth: I had loved and admired and worshiped Jesus without doing what He said… So I quit my life… But after that year, which I spent in Uganda, returning to “normal” wasn’t possible. I had seen what life was about, and I could not pretend I didn’t know."
Why Africa? Because Jesus said to go into all the world. Because to feed a hungry child is to see the face of Jesus looking back at you. Because I want to spend my life on something that is worth the price. Because my soul thirsts for adventure. Because materialism and consumerism is my Achilles’ heel, and I have never been happier than when I lived in a tiny dusty room with a single suitcase of possessions. Because I highly doubt that I will ever look back on my life and think, “Gee, I just fed too many hungry people and treated too many sick kids and loved far too deeply.”
But again, how to explain that to some college grad from South Africa that I had just met?
“Because… Jesus said to go.”
And then, he smiled. His eyes were still fixed on the cover of my journal, so I asked him a question in return.
“And who is Jesus to you?”
“He…. well…. He’s Everything.”
Yep. That pretty much covers it.
Why Africa? Because Jesus said to go into all the world. Because to feed a hungry child is to see the face of Jesus looking back at you. Because I want to spend my life on something that is worth the price. Because my soul thirsts for adventure. Because materialism and consumerism is my Achilles’ heel, and I have never been happier than when I lived in a tiny dusty room with a single suitcase of possessions. Because I highly doubt that I will ever look back on my life and think, “Gee, I just fed too many hungry people and treated too many sick kids and loved far too deeply.”
But again, how to explain that to some college grad from South Africa that I had just met?
“Because… Jesus said to go.”
And then, he smiled. His eyes were still fixed on the cover of my journal, so I asked him a question in return.
“And who is Jesus to you?”
“He…. well…. He’s Everything.”
Yep. That pretty much covers it.
Beautiful.
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