Mary

I was reading this today and my heart leaped. Hearts leap, I think, every time there is an instinctive recognition! My heart does this for the clear voice of God, when I stop to listen; for rain and snow, for as long as I can remember; for babies; and for puppies and other little things; for missions; for ideas and stories that have been mine and I see in other people's writing... When I was 14, I remember describing this in a composition assignment as the germ of my idea having taken root and grown in someone else's imagination...

My heart leaps for many things (chocolate comes close, ladies!) It leaps for that unmistakable presence of God that comes in worship at church, in the process of cleaning out a stubborn stain on my jeans, or even when I'm singing barefoot in my classroom during planning time! That's a good expression. I admit to being a geek. I looked for something to tell me the background, the story of a Hebrew idiom, what it meant when the babe in Elizabeth's womb leaped for joy. The other place it's used in the Bible is when a woman is pregnant with twins. The story is that they definitely jostled each other and mummy knew it. The twins were going to be pretty important in history and they were fighting for their places! Leaping = strong emotion? Definitely. But I found no contextual interpretation. It is quite literal, I suspect.

Here's the background. An expectant Mary visits her cousin, Elizabeth, who is now pretty darn pregnant! Elizabeth has been waiting for motherhood for a really long time (if you know how that feels, back me up here!). There is joy in the encounter. And baby John kinda skips a little when the ladies are saying hello. He knew who he was meeting. Not his pregnant aunt, but someone else. Inside that cocoon of his mother's womb, he recognises the Spirit of God, now made flesh... and John's giving a little gasp and a stutter and screaming in his head 'There he is! That's him!' and wants to get out. Like your heart kinda flips over and knocks on your chest to reach out to the one you love.

Well, so here I was, my heart leaping, my head thinking about the beautiful account of the resurrection by this amazing blogger and trying to make connections. And I was struck by how another Mary's heart must have leaped on that Sabbath day.

Mary was in that dreadful waiting place with all the others when we just don't know. We think we're facing irrevocable loss. Something as final as we believe death is. Most of us haven't taken God seriously when he said he was going to raise up that temple in 3 days, anyway. We've become used to interpreting statements outside God's vision, inside the most-likely box. Some of us haven't even heard that there is more to the story. We think we've just read the last chapter and we've lost. Some of us think there might be because there is hope but it comes and goes. I know I have to hold on to it with every last ounce of strength some days. I know you all have those days. So we're... what is that word? Oh, 'coping'.

Mary's there (I'm assuming she's also the woman caught in adultery). And then there is a 'But God' moment. Mary sees him and knows in that moment, that Jesus lives.

Still that isn't what made my heart leap today. Those moments when I recognise my God, when I look and find that I'm looking into His eyes - they're beautiful. Heart-stoppingly, undeniably beautiful. And you can't but smile or grin or laugh in joy. But what made my heart leap was thinking about what made Mary's heart leap.

This - Jesus said to her, "Mary!" (John 20: 16)

He knows my name. He knows me. He knows that I sinned and pushed my limits so much that I was the black sheep of my little Magdalene community. The one that nobody really talked about at weddings and feasts, the one that everyone whispered about. He saw my demons. He cast them out. He knows. 


But He also knows just how very, very much I love Him. Because He was looking into my eyes as I faced death, and He was willing me to live. He was there daring everyone else to so much as touch me before He cold reach out and save me. And He saw the light change in my eyes, when I felt it and knew I would never be the same again. And with that one word, He turns my life around. Again. Mary. Just the sound of his voice.

And that's what really amazes me. Love so big that it hurts. That He died for me. That He knows me inside out, better than I know myself, and loves me. I am constantly learning about this God who loves me.  Despite my pastor who keeps telling us more about who God is every meeting, and God Himself who reveals more every day, I will never fully know Him because He's infinite God. But thank God that I do know Him. And this vast, this infinite, endless God with no limits, this Man who simply died and rose again because death had not a finger's hold on him... this God is my God. And this God knows me. Little, insignificant me. And because of that, I am who I am. I have my identity in Him. I am the person He made and loves and I'm growing into who He wants me to be.

And I still can't get my head around this - He knows me intimately. And when I don't see Him because I've forgotten to look, He's gonna call my name.

Headless Driving ;)

Ever heard that expression '... like a headless chicken'?? Well, I think I know its equivalent now. I've never understood, always thought it was a heartless comparison, and it usually put me off my curry ;)! Now, however, I feel like said chicken. Decisions, decisions.

Someone wisely reminded me a couple of days ago that God has these questions already answered in his perfect plan. It is comforting to remember that... That however much 'headlessness' I encounter in my everyday decisions and interactions, He's got it covered. So tonight I am going to put my goals down on paper. These are my goals. Some of them I know that God put on my heart. Others I can simply trust him with. Much of my wondering boils down to this one question which I wrote down in a blog post, on another blog.

What is it about missions and worship that makes me cry and hurt so much both with happiness and longing?

I sometimes wonder if this decision-making process would be easier if I weren't in India, in Chennai. Some day soon I'll blog more about this - hopefully it'll make you guys laugh! It almost seems as if one is answerable to everyone else but God and oneself here. Suggestions, opinions, ideas - they all become quite categorical, and turn into moral issues. And I have to struggle hard within myself to focus on the One person who must influence all my decisions, to whom all my answers must point, in the final instance. I've taken a pretty major career decision on that one pivotal idea. Now to stick it through! Whether I choose a job in the corporate sector with a fat enough pay-check for those goals, or go the teaching route on this school contract and gain the international corporate management experience in the evenings, or take up a position abroad, I'm hoping pretty hard to choose the shortest way possible to be doing both those things.

D'you know that involuntary cringe when your patient but ever so slightly annoying SatNav lady wheezes: 'Tu-urn missed! Go 2 miles and take the 2nd exit off the roundabout!... Tu-urn missed. Go 1 mile and...' Lol, and everybody in the car groans harmoniously... Uh. I'm switching on my SatNav, cranking up the volume to max. Ecce, dominus.

Dosais and other things

When somewhere between your stomach and your throat, it feels like some internal organ is being rolled up into the kind of dosai your mum makes when you haven't got time for a plate with chutney on it... you assume, without any respect to physiological facts, that it's your heart. And you sort of know which specific, inexplicable things might have that effect.

I have a list - somewhere on Facebook. But I'm blogging now about something that is not on that list. Not in detail anyway. Children.

This is not a long blog; this is an exercise to help me remember if I should look at this again in some distant future. There's something about adopting children that has that sit-up-on-the-end-of-your-seat-take-quick-shallow-breaths effect, I think. I try not to grin and I try not to cry. This might be why I'm writing, because something has to come out somewhere. Recently when I thought I might be at a loose end with my life, I was thinking about social work or missions... They aren't different except politically. If Christ lives in you, He goes with you into whatever grimy context you choose to enter. And whether you preach or don't, Christ still calls you to be His ambassador in an Isaiah 61 kind of way. No? But I noticed I was choosing the mission based on where I could serve children or young people.

My parents tried to adopt a child. Although I had prayed before for a sister, I remember praying at the time not for a younger sister but just to be able to adopt. God, even if you don't allow us to open our family just now, please please please let me able to adopt children when I'm older. Lots of them.

Weird. But my picture is so beautiful, I don't want to let it go. I am single. My parental units might be too old to take on the challenge of providing a family from scratch to wide-eyed, little strangers. I see how all this sounds strange. But humour me and think about it. Socio-economics, ethnicity and history would not give them a 'family-ness'. But it would be. Sort of like God's church.

Colour

Do you think some of us run away from intensity? Father, forgive me.

I know I have been away for some time - I have had a rollercoaster ride of a few months! And boy, do I mean that. I had supervisor problems - race, being one of them. I have learnt that people everywhere can be racist and not. I have learnt that I have a lot to learn - at least in so far as blinder-ing myself to what others do and don't do that strikes me as so wrong. And I've also become a lot humbler in thinking that I am not above certain emotions...

I am so mad when people say 'I want a black/white guy' or 'International students are not as intellectually capable'... People, that second sentence is a whole story but not for here and now! I went through years of being mad at members of extended (and not so extended) family being caste/colour/race-prejudice-ridden. White people aren't different. I'm saying white because, in post-colonial India, they used to be the other. Political correctness is all very well, and I love us all, but for the purpose of this blog, can I just call us by our colours? I am brown. There are shades of us. And black and olive and white. It gets me somewhere deep inside and twists my gut in a pre-sick feeling when I hear it being called 'our culture' - when what they mean is our race/nationality.

Are we really that different?

We're loving whatever our colour. We're racist whatever our colour.

I had an interesting class this morning. One student called another 'not Chinese deep inside your heart' because she had learned English at a young age and so 'was corrupted by Western culture'. Another crime was watching 'Western' movies and listening to the music.

I hurt. She hurt, but she was the bigger person. It hurts. And the more you hurt, the more you grow. Why must this be?