Internet. It’s amazing how something you cannot
see has become something so integral in life. And when it doesn’t work it’s
almost as if the world is about to end… almost. It’s easy to do without it,
unless you were counting on it.
These past months the internet has come and
gone randomly. And it’s made me more thankful when it does work, and less
frustrated when it doesn’t
Here are a couple of reflections written in the
absence of internet, which even so record some of the movements of my heart in
this time.
Cumbuco- a little
interval of rest at a cottage (read: apartment) on the beach.
I write this as I sit outside on the veranda of
a little beach apartment facing a huge swimming pool; listening to birds squeaking,
and the waves hitting the shore in the distance. It’s 5 pm, my favourite hour
of the day. The hour when it’s not quite as warm, and yet the mosquitoes
haven’t made their appearance fully yet. It’s a good hour to write. And yes, I
don’t have internet here. Just my laptop with its battery still charged and a
cracked screen which still works, kind of. And my mind and heart full of words
and impressions I want to express before they drift into oblivion.
As we stepped into the apartment it really
reminded me of a Norwegian cottage. Not because of its structure or decoration,
but simply because you could tell it belonged to someone and was filled with
random things which slowly had been collected to make it function. Old cushions
in the sofa and walls in need of paint, in some way added to the charm, and
although it would have been nice to have fully working fridge/freezer I am
grateful for a freezer part which functions as a fridge (milk tends to go sour
very quickly in room temperature here). Still, even with quite a number of
improvements waiting to be made, it has its charm. The three ceramic flowers
with ladybirds on them hanging on the wall of the veranda add a personal touch,
as do the random collection of paintings displayed throughout the apartment.
Not sure if they were bought, received as gifts or simply painted by someone in
the family- however they came to hang on the walls, they definitely add
personality to this little place. (We later found out they were all painted by
the owner.)
But the inside isn’t really at all what brings
the most joy. It’s the swimming pool. The front part of the apartment complex
had a huge swimming pool, and with the other apartments not in use at the
moment, it remains clean and vacant. I love the beach. I love hearing the sound
of the waves and enjoying the spectacular view of the waves crashing against
the shore- never crossing the boundary of the sand which has been put in place
as a limit. Yet, I do love swimming pools- not water parks with slides and
things. Just a simple pool is enough for me. One that you can swim in.
Peace and rest.
That was what I came seeking, and that is what
I am finding. It’s such a privilege to be able to sleep until you wake up and
even then have the luxury of lingering in the hammock reading until you feel
like getting up. Resting with no agenda or demands on your time. Resting
without having to accomplish something at the end of the day.
Resting.
My mind has slowly started to wind down. After
a couple of months of intensity and busyness, I am in great need of rest. Not a
rest that produces, at least not in the measurable sense. But a rest that
produces a capacity and a peace which brings strength for the journey.
Rest.
I wish I knew how to remain in the state of
rest, yet I haven’t figured that out yet. And until I do, I will take the
moments and days like these and be thankful.
The need for life
(reflection the day after a night of outreach on the streets).
As I think about the women I met last night, I realize
that as we go out, there is so much of God’s heart expressed in the simple
going out there representing Him. There is such a desire in God’s heart to see
these women and men on the streets not just survive but truly live. He came
with life.
Came with abundant life. A gift. A gift
available through Him giving His life that we might live.
Life where there is a purpose beyond simply
making it through the day.
Life.
Realizing that my definition of life could also
be so different. Different from their understanding. Different from what Jesus
means when He says He came to give abundant life. It can look different. My
definition is different. My definition of being alive might well not mean what
they are saying when they say “I feel alive.”
Life is an inner reality. It begins on the
inside. The surroundings might change as well, but they might not. Still, even
when poverty and need remains, there is always the invitation to “take heart” and
know that He has overcome the worlds.
Overcome. Eternity.
Everything falls into place when the goal is
eternity. The obstacles and mountains in our paths crumble and become so small
in view of eternity. Maybe that is what Jesus meant when He said that faith
moves mountains. Maybe He didn’t mean just a physical rock being moved, but that
the mountains of life are moved because our faith sees the bigger picture- the
eternal vision.
This is not it.
This is not the end.
This life is but a fleeting moment. And yet, I
don’t want to miss the moment. I don’t want to struggle through. I desire life
now; believing it is available if I simply take a hold of it.
But how?
“How?” is an eternal question. “How” is part of
the journey because if I knew “how” I wouldn’t ask Him. I wouldn’t set my heart
to seek out the way. He leads me, but also walks with me. And the delight of
discovery is part of life; part of being alive.
Palm trees swaying in the wind. Trees
desperately preserving water so that they might live and not die in a time of
draught. Deeply rooted in sand- although their roots must go deeper to tap into
the water that will bring them life.
Life water.
Remembering Jesus at the well. A time and place
where water was so important. A time and a place where life and water went hand
in hand. They still do, but we’ve forgotten to be thankful.
A little bird.
I sit here on the beach admiring the
spectacular beach and ocean while feeling the breeze. I hear the calming sound
of waves crashing against the shore- a constant sound that is a reminder of the
incredible power in the waters and currents. I smell the freshness of the air
mingled with salt. And a little bird appears. It’s tiny and it’s perches
momentarily on the laminated menu lying on the table. I notice him and then he’s
gone. And yet that moment is like a whisper from Father God to me, saying: “remember
like the sparrow has a home, I will give you a home also.”
Amazed.
Amazed at how a simple moment can speak volumes.
How a split second can bring an infusion of hope and peace. How creation speaks
the very words of God.
Another wee bird hops along the sand and then
flies off- “I am with you also in the desert times, my daughter. I never left
you and I never will,” the familiar voice speaks to my heart again.
I am listening.
The key ingredient to receive what is being
said is to listen. The key to let the words of life become life- listening,
knowing the words always come with an invitation.
Listening is more than a physiological process
of sound waves entering the ear and vibrating off the ear drum. Listening is
paying attention and letting the brain a part in interpreting what those sound
waves really mean. It’s choosing to understand so that there can be a choice to
allow it to remain or not.
Listening. Maybe that is the key to life. Listening
to words that bring life, and as they bring life, walking in that life and
letting it become not just something heard, but something lived.