“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him…” Romans 8:28
Where to I begin to pick up after my last blog? It’s been quite a while indeed. I suppose first things first would be to tell you that I’m not writing from Ensenada, México. I’m writing from Eugene, Oregon—an incalculable distance not only in terms of geography but in very the fibers of my soul. It feels strange here. Granted, I’ve been here for a while now (I got back mid-October), but I suppose the definition of the word “home” has so radically changed for me that I may never fully understand the word again. So many people in México became a sort of home for me. Even writing the words here on my computer, something inside of me writhes at the use of the past tense when speaking of it. Where does one pick up the pieces of an old life?
So many things on the outside should smack of “normality” but really they have become a reminder of where I am. And where I’m not. I’m back at my old job—the one I though I quit for good. I do happen to love my coworkers, but nothing breaks the spirit like the triglyceride-fighting power of dishwashing soap. I’m walking the same streets I used to, but now I feel like a visitor in my own neighborhood. Don’t even get me started on the church situation here in Eugene. I have a church. It’s just in the wrong country.
If this blog seems to be starting off on a sad note for you, you can skip ahead. I’m just trying to process in words for the first time what on earth is going on. A dream has died. There’s no way around it. When I first pulled up into Ensenada, I really saw myself being there for some time. The stars were aligning—I had graduated from college, tidied things up nicely back in Oregon, and in general was feeling ready to take on the world. Somehow things just didn’t go the way I had hoped. I’m “back.”
I’ve burned bridges and been burned this past summer. I had more fun and more heartache than any other time of my life. I’ve done things that I regret and even had a few shining moments of triumph. I made the kind of friends you hope to come across once in a lifetime. I was let down by the kind of friends you spend your lifetime trying to avoid. In short, México was everything all at once.
México is the kind of place that crawls under your skin, and painfully, slowly, and skillfully, weaves its way into every part of you. It becomes a layer you cannot avoid. You wear it—not because you want to or because you’re trying to prove something—but because to deny it would deny the person you have grown to be. There are times when I hear it whisper in my ear, when I taste it, when it unexpectedly takes hold of me. Certain smells now are either avoided or treated with caution, lest the flood of memories they stir up breach the temporary dam I’ve created while I sort this mess out. I cannot deny what a huge part of me México is now. It’s like the your ex-boyfriend who, even though the relationship was rocky, still causes that rush-of-air feeling in the pit of your stomach. It’s a sort of delicious pain really, because it is rooted in love. Just as you once maybe loved him, I love México. The people, the sights, the food, the smells, the mange-infested dogs roaming about. Together they form a mosaic that is my own definition of the country. My experience, certainly, was unique. It was unthinkably short, but it has changed the course of my life forever.
How could I simply return here to Oregon and follow the “American Dream”? Can I honestly say that I still believe it? Furthermore, if the dream were real and came true and I found myself the proud owner of a 2-story house with a white picket fence and 2.2 children, could that, even in it’s most shining moments of joy and glory, make me happy? Absolutely not. Once you’ve built a house no bigger than the average living room and watched a family break into tears upon receiving it, it’s hard to say that you need an aircraft carrier-sized abode to be happy. Once you’ve spent time with the people who work in t-shirt factories so spoiled Americans can buy hundreds of shirts they’ll never actually wear, it’s hard to get the same buzz at the mall. Once you’ve been part of a family that needed no greater occasion than a Sunday afternoon to stir up a flurry of love, dancing, and food, it’s hard to say that a bigger T.V. will bring you more entertainment.
Now don’t get me wrong—I’m not proposing that we all move to the woods or form some sort of commune. I’m only sending a simple idea out into the cosmic void. What if the basis of American society, that idea of he-who-dies-with-the-most-toys-wins, is wrong? What if that idea of go-to-college-so-you-can-get-a-good-job-and-buy-the-most-toys is also wrong? What if spending the vast majority of your waking hours in a cubicle doing God knows what so that God knows who makes a profit is completely absurd? Are my questions here really that far off base? Let me be honest, by the time most of us make it to 60 we’ll be lucky if we can still physically do all those things we tell ourselves we want to. Which means, essentially, that our worldview trains us from a very young age to work from sunup to sundown so we can pay for a future that, by the time we get there, we will be too old to enjoy. Dear God. I don’t know about you, but I’m depressing myself here.
Obviously, some of you will point out the obvious here. And congratulations to you if you’ve said to yourself, “but by Jolly, this woman is talking about loving México. Those people work longer hours than we do! She has no idea what she’s saying!” What I love about México is not that it has somehow become Utopia or that it is free of nasty American-type things. But it opened my eyes to see just how deceived we are as a nation. The fact that Western culture has introduced the rat race to the world does not somehow make it okay. We just managed to make other people’s lives even worse off than ours. People south of the border, speaking in complete generalization, are lucky to get retirement and even luckier to live to see it. The bottom line is that there is something very wrong in the world.
This brings me to that scripture I posted at the top. You see, the world really is pretty screwed up. When 5% of the world population (the US) consumes nearly a quarter of its resources, you know something is wrong. When every day enough children die of hunger that 9/11 seems low-key, you know something is wrong. When a teenager in Indonesia literally forfeits his youth working essentially as a slave in sweatshops so that a teenager in the United States can have new t-shirt for school, you know something is wrong. BUT—mark my words here—God is working in all things. If you want to tell me that everything is just fine and poor people like being poor, do us all a favor and take me up on that live in the woods idea. The rest of us have a choice to make.
You can buy Nike shoes because they are cool, or you can do your homework and support companies that pay their workers a living wage. You can buy Old Navy clothing because it’s cheap and fashionable, or you can buy fewer articles of clothing for a higher price from companies that refuse to put a price tag on human life. You can go shopping every time you feel unhappy, or you can give to someone in need. You can say that poor people are just born that way, or you can stand in the gap.
I’m not talking about Christian Social Justice here. I’m not trying to take what Bono is doing and slap a crucifix on the front. What I’m talking about is comprehending God’s heart toward the lost, the broken, the orphaned, the widow, and the hungry. Honestly if you hide behind the “it’s just a fad” mentality in terms of serving “the least of these,” I wonder if you really feel with God’s heart at all. God’s Word is chock full of Him stepping in to help the downtrodden—God was the one who forced Egypt to release its slaves; God sent one of his prophets to a near-starving woman to save her and her son; God instituted laws that allowed poor people to hang out in fields and pick up whatever grain fell to the ground; God declared that He does not play favorites among His children (all men are created equal!); He is the one who defined religion as looking after the widow and the fatherless.
Mother Theresa is quoted as saying, “I will not offer the gospel of talk to starving people.” Obviously, this world will never be right while men live in sin. But starving people need real bread as well as the Bread of Life. We as believers need to empathize with the hurts of humanity. Not that we become those who are marked by clinical depression, but those that rise up in holy rage against the world system.
I’m sure you’re feeling riled up. At least, I hope so. But in about 15 minutes you’re going to find yourself in the same place I am: “So what the heck DO I do?” Here’s my tip. Pray like you’ve never prayed before. Refuse to settle for those just-bless-everyone-oh-daddy-please prayers and roll up your sleeves. If this world is to bow its knees before the Almighty, we as believers shouldn’t have to ask for instructions first. We need to be in prayer as though our lives depended upon it. And believe me, they do. But be prepared. I’ll warn you. You will undoubtedly find yourself in confusing and hard situations like the one in which I find myself tonight. You will feel doubt. You will feel fear. You will wonder if you are crazy for thinking what you do. I happen to have México as my constant self-check as to whether or not I’m sinking into the world system. Find out what yours is. And refuse to settle.
Good grief, I have the most terrible habit of writing long blogs.
I ask that you would include me in your prayers. Pray that God would make a way for me to serve him among the broken, the downtrodden, and the hungry. Pray that he would open doors where I see no possible way. Pray that he would give me faith to reach to where he is leading me! And then pray the same for yourself ;)
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