Spencer's Mom

Except a kernel of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.

The Prize

 

“God help me to know and to live like the time is short. To give you all I have today. Tomorrow is really not promised.

  • Spencer Macleod

 

The quote you just read was written by a 19-year-old. Less than three years later, he left this world forever, his life complete three weeks short of his 22nd birthday. Above my bureau, which is splayed with earrings and makeup and half-used perfume bottles, a picture of Spencer hangs, printed on a board with his words etched across the top. He is holding a microphone, he’s in South Africa, sharing his testimony and Christian rap he wrote with hundreds of high school students. His face is tan, focused.  And he is looking upward.

Looking up – I have to post reminders around my chaotic life, reminders to reorient my perspective, my vision. Things are fairly dismal on planet earth. We try to speak hopefully of “maybe next year,” when things will return to normal, when we can meet for coffee without being assaulted with a book of rules (a restaurant today asked me to complete a form for the CDC. I declined.) We seek truth, we long for hope. We’re so tired we didn’t even go buy batteries and water for Hurricane Isaias. And God knows we all have enough toilet paper.

I think when you lose a child, you gain a piece of eternity. For the longest time, I simply wanted Spencer back. Don’t tell me he’s in a better place. A better place is sitting at my table, having coffee or pot roast. But slowly my gaze has shifted over the years. I’m looking up. “I press towards the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus” Philippians 3:12. This has been on a blackboard in my dining room for almost 10 years. I used to change the verse, but this one stayed. As my eyes catch the chalked scrawl, I am reminded of what matters. Look up.

So what is the prize? I’m not sure. Heaven, just for starters, and that’s reason enough. But I think to God it’s much more specific. He weaves and pulls and stops. And I think sometimes He just steps back and watches and waits. God is not in a hurry, not in a panic over all this. What seems like a fretful mess to us is not a surprise to God Almighty. He is big enough to name the stars of an immeasurable universe, but close enough to speak in a still small voice.

“This is life eternal, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent.” John 17:3

It sounds like life eternal can start right here. I think that was something my son Spencer figured out as a teenager. He knew heaven was closer than we think. “To give you all I have today.” That’s exactly what God is waiting for.

I learned a new phrase a couple of years ago when my son Miles and his family sold everything and moved to Malaysia. “Third Culture Kids” or TCK’s, are children who spend much of their formative years in a culture other than their parents’ or passport culture. Three of my grandchildren are TCK’s now. Brooklynn, almost 12 and Olive, 10 have had to reconcile their lives to a place that is really not “home” culturally, but have also let go of a place they left over two years ago called “home.” They are in a sense, homeless,  although they love Malaysia. Quincy, age four, thinks he’s Malaysian, even though a classmate calls him “Olaf” who is a snowman. The “third culture” is neither here nor back there. It is a unique life that is separate from both worlds, shared with other TCK’s.

Homeless.  I started to think about this, how it must be hard for these two girls at times, but then I realized they are way ahead of most of us. If we call ourselves Christians, followers of Jesus Christ, then we are all homeless.  We are all TCK’s.

Jesus told us clearly that His kingdom was not of this world. Paul wrote,

“But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.” Philippians 3:20

What am I holding on to? What am I keeping in my back pocket “just in case?” What am I stockpiling? Money? Facebook friends? Retirement plans? We have not chosen God – He has  chosen us. If His word is Truth, then “we are not our own, we are bought with a price.” (1Corinthians 6:20)

For a long time after Spence died, the world seemed one-dimensional to me. The life I lived before was gone, and none of it mattered anyway – career, friends, approval. I was holding on to my other two sons with a tenuous grip, but all else seemed pointless.  Even an ocean sunrise or fall foliage looked tacky and fake. My heart had disconnected and I deeply yearned for home, to just check on my son, and maybe have a small conference with Jesus.

Eventually, I resigned myself to life on earth.  Beauty came, but it was not in the ocean or the mountains. It was in the projects of Pawtucket, the faces of all the children who walked through the doors of our little storefront church, many scanning the countertops for something to put in their pocket for later. I found beauty in sitting at a breakfast table with three mentally retarded men, delighted in the new day and amused at their guest. Though my heart still ached for heaven, I had found contentment in the hidden places that God pointed to. Then one day, God gave me His joy. It wasn’t in my work, or even my family. It was when I looked up, across the clouds that blazed behind a dirty city landscape. I was looking for Him and He surprised me with a splash of joy, real joy that brings renewal and hope – just a taste of what’s to come. It’s enough.

Plant your feet firmly therefore within the freedom that Christ has won for us, and do not let yourselves be caught again in the shackles of slavery. Galatians 5:1 Philips

We are Third Culture Kids. We can’t go back; we seem to not quite fit in here. And as Spencer wisely noted 20 years ago now, “Tomorrow is really not promised.”  But there is a beautiful freedom in that, and we DO have a home, a better place, and joy within the journey. On that day, our homecoming, we will be complete.

Look up! Let’s keep our eyes on the prize – the high calling in Christ Jesus.

 

 

 

“God Be With You” by Selah.  Enjoy!

 

Five Hard Lessons for the Christian (or Read the Fine Print)

Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it. Matthew 7:13-14

                I feel like I say this a lot lately, “Life is hard. It’s supposed to be.” I say it to crowds, or friends or sometimes strangers. I would not have to say this in most other countries except maybe France, because they know this already. And sometimes I get this back: Blink. Blink. Respectful silence. I know they want to argue. Many know it can be difficult, but most do not agree that it should be. In fact, our culture sets comfort as a priority.

             Okay, I admit I like comfort too. I love my flannel sheets in winter, and I secretly covet those car-starter-uppers on days when snow and wind make just a short walk to the driveway feel like an arctic trek. But I also have learned the benefit of being challenged – at work, at home, in church. Here is where Pride collides with our incompetence or sometimes laziness, where a mirror is held up to self-righteousness and we are uncovered. Our first instinct is to cover and deflect. We get angry, petulant. “I have my rights.” Well, actually you don’t.

Hard Lesson #1. God’s kingdom is not a democracy.

           There are no rights for God’s children because it is an unimaginable privilege and undeserved gift to even know Him, let alone be “joint heirs” to all that is His. Leave your rights at the foot of the cross and make sure you read this disclaimer carefully:

And if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him. Romans 8:17

           Ah, the hard part!

Hard Lesson #2: You will suffer if you follow Christ. No sissies allowed. Read this too:

Count it all joy, my brothers,[ when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. James 1:2-4

            Don’t worry – be happy! We get a variety of trials and they are good for us, because there is no other way to have a faith that is real and unshakeable. And then you get to be perfect, complete, lacking NOTHING. Wow! But first, the fire…

Hard Lesson #3 God does always answer prayer, but sometimes He says No.

           He’s God. He can do whatever He wants and it’s always right and for our good.

Hard Lesson #4 You have to love everyone. E-ver-y-one! No exceptions.

           In fact, God will intentionally bring you unlovables, all those people you really can’t stand. (refer back to Hard Lesson #2).

Hard Lesson #5 It’s not fair.

So the last will be first, and the first last. For many are called, but few chosen. Matthew 20:16 

            Back to the narrow gate. It’s not that Jesus doesn’t want us all crushing the gate, or having to create a wait-list because the line is so long. Jesus really is calling, but few are answering this call. They hear the call, but opt out of the “difficult” part. We want results, guarantees, position. On this side of heaven, there is no reward. Instead you will likely be laughed at, scorned as foolish or ludicrous.

            You don’t mean to tell me that you believe the whole Bible? My mother would ask, one eyebrow raised as if to coach me away from saying something she considered idiotic.

            Yes, I would say. The whole thing. Because it’s not just a book, it is life, from the Giver of Life.

            But what about Blessing? The Promises? Ah yes – lots of those. But read the fine print…

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28 

            Do you love me? Jesus asked this of Peter three times. Exasperated, Peter finally said, “Lord, you know all things.” He does, He knows what is love and what is just lip-service or lukewarm compliance.

            Called according to His purpose. What if His purpose for my life is obscurity? Or more humiliating than that – a laughing stock, an offense? Elisabeth Elliot noted:

Did the earthly life of our Lord appear to be a thundering success? Would the statistics of souls won, crowds made into fruitful disciples, sermons heeded, commands obeyed, be impressive? Hardly.

            At the foot of the cross, there is a lot of room. There’s no box seats, or roped off sections. It’s you, it’s me, staring into this unfathomable love despite the seeds of evil that are implanted deep in every heart. He is calling me from death to life, into a love I am incapable of but for His immeasurable grace. 

            Follow me. The way is difficult, uncertain. I stumble, waver or sometimes stop dead in my tracks. Which way now?

Jesus Christ had to fathom every sin and every sorrow man could experience, and that is what makes Him seem strange. When we see Him in this aspect we do not know Him, we do not recognize one feature of His life, and we do not know how to begin to follow Him. – Oswald Chambers

            There are times where nothing is familiar. No GPS.

And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left. Isaiah 30:21

            God is there, always. Even in the dark, or when the pain is so loud you can’t hear him. Jehovah Shammah: “the Lord is there.” And I am His, the only one that I care to please, and He will lead me according to HIS purpose. Then one day, I will meet him at the narrow gate. I don’t know for sure, but I think Jesus will be there with a huge smile, holding it open just for us. I hope I see you there too, as we enter into the fullness of His joy and glory. Then real life, the one we were made for from the start, will begin.

 

 When Love Was Slain by Selah – Enjoy!

 https://youtu.be/6mcxNJ1BFLU

 

 

Happy New Day

                                          Quincy waving hello from a tuk-tuk

          

                The rooster crowed into the darkness around me. I squinted at my phone – 2:30 am. I could hear the music outside still playing, hints of western pop with a Khmer karaoke overlay which sounded not as bad as you’d imagine, or maybe I was just amused. My New Year was ringing in, even though I was too exhausted to stay awake until midnight, despite the neighborhood dogs barking into the thick smoky Cambodian air. Our “deranged rooster” as my daughter-in-law aptly named him, was heralding 2020 a bit early, but I lay awake now, fully alert to all of the unfamiliar sounds around me. At a time when most people. including me, are prone to looking ahead – to a new year, new start, new diet, I lingered in the moment, letting my senses capture the strange land around me. My granddaughter’s rhythmic breathing beside me brought an other-worldly peace beneath the din and revelry outside the window. 

            We talk a lot about vision and that’s not a bad thing. Humans need hope just to survive. Soldiers dream of the girl at home, of mom’s baking while the earth turns to fire around them. The castaway hopes for a ship passing by. Maybe this year you want a new job, a husband or health. The ability to dream, to look ahead is God-given. It is the mark that faith aims at. But it is not faith.

            Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1

            Some translations use the word assurance instead of substance. That means we already know that we have what we hope for. It is a robust, whole and complete hope, not a desperate or vague hope. It is knowing that whether we are in Cambodia or Cape Cod, we are still sojourners. We are not there yet; this is not our home. We are assured of that and we can not only rest in that, we can live fully and walk with purpose and conviction because we know where we are going. Our vision? Bringing others along. Using our God-given gifts to point them to Jesus. the Fountain of Life, so that they need nothing more along the Way.

            But whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life.” John 4:14

            “Whoever.” Malaysians, Cambodians, Koreans, Chinese, Nepalese, Iranians, West Africans, Pakistani. I was privileged to worship Jesus alongside all of these nationalities while I was vising my son and his family over Christmas but in God’s eyes we are just His kids, with all of the stumbling and wandering tendencies that children have. We don’t need a vision, or even a plan. We need to come to Him daily, sometimes moment to moment – and never thirst.

            “I’ve learned to stop looking ahead,” a friend told me recently. She and her husband have been side by side in the trenches ever since his cancer diagnosis several months ago. “I’ve got today, and that is enough. I just trust God with the rest.” There was so much wisdom in that, for all of us. That’s what got me thinking about the moment, how many God has hidden in each day, like He’s saying, “Look! Over here!” Use your eyes and ears and hands and heart right here, right now.
           For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. John 1:14(ESV)

            Everlasting, eternal grace.

            I am 63. There is a lot more road behind me than before me. Maybe that’s one reason why I can linger now in the priceless moments God gives me. An out of sync rooster, watching my grandchildren play with children they can’t understand but each knowing the universal language of laughter, or singing Feliz Navidad in a Cambodian church (they really love this song for some reason) and the joy we share that transcends culture.

            All these people died in faith, without having received the things they were promised. However, they saw them and welcomed them from afar. And they acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. Hebrews 11:1           

            We already have everything we need to make it to 2021, and each year after, until God’s children pass through the heavenly gates. But it’s what we do along the way that matters most. Let’s pray God opens our eyes to the moment, so we can love those He brings our way, and show them the way home – step by step, grace upon grace.

            Happy 2020 friends – and Happy Sunday or whatever day you’re in. May the road lead you to Christ Jesus, Fountain of Everlasting Life, and His hidden treasure along the Way.

 

(Below is clip of children playing:)

IMG_1829

 

 

The Legend of Mrs. Santa

Hmmm…you can buy this costume on Amazon.

“There she goes! There she goes!” my father yelled as he pointed up towards the roof. It was freezing out, we had no coats on but it didn’t matter. A grown man and three or four kids had just spilled out onto the lawn on a Christmas Eve, and stood squinting up into the sky. And I swear, to this very day, that I saw the hem of a huge red skirt slipping over the crest of the roof. It was, of course, Mrs. Santa Claus.

                   Years later, my mom took credit for inventing Mrs. Santa, for leaving the basket of new pajamas on the front step, ringing the doorbell then running at break-neck speed around the house, through the back door and coming up behind us all as we ran to the door. It was the only time of year that my father read the Bible to us, from Luke, the birth of Jesus. And it was the perfect opportunity for my mom to make a run for it. I doubt we ever heard the end of the story, but it was a great way to get your kids into their pajamas on Christmas Eve.

                    It never made sense that it was my mother. She was the student, the bookworm, snapping us all to our senses. In my mind, her brows are terminally furrowed and I am in trouble or close to it. My father was a 5 year old stuck in a suit with a briefcase. I think that’s why he liked to drink, because he could bust loose, be could become what he yearned to be at the moment; a clown, a cowboy, a monster. At night he became a huge wrestling machine, rolling and growling on the living room floor while we screamed and giggled, while my mother sat at the kitchen window, smoking another cigarette. When she looked out of the window, her brows went up, like she was  waiting to be rescued.

                    I took a poll and all of my siblings, including me kept Mrs. Santa alive. For me, it was long after I put Santa to rest. My last son, Jake, never knew Santa. I told him it was me that put those presents under the tree. It was work and a paycheck. But I decided Mrs. Santa had a practical use and no other kid, in my lifetime, ever reported her ringing their doorbell. She became family.

                    By then I knew Jesus and He was much better than Santa. No one would ever tell me that they made him up. I learned the end of Luke; that He was more than a baby in a Woolworth’s crèche, that he became a man just so he could die for us. And the greatest joy and wonder of all; He could actually live within someone like me. In the same mysterious splendor that He came to earth, through a young girl in a dirty barn, He came to me one night 32 years ago. The baby really came to rescue us. I wish my mom had known that all those years ago.

                    When my brother died, my dad drank to forget, and the child inside died too. We still pulled off Mrs. Santa, until we all went off to different places and it was more sad to remember the wonder and laughter, the days of child-like hope. We had our own kids and I did plenty of tearing over snow and ice to get from the basket of new jammies on the front porch to the back door in time. Eventually they learned the truth. But I loved standing in the Cape Cod cold with my kids, our breath billowing huge puffs of steam, yelling, “There she goes!” as they peered up into the black winter sky.

                    I wonder if the shepherds that saw the angels rip through the silent night, God’s glory spilling out onto the dark earth, if they forever stood watching after that, – looking for maybe a wing, a golden hem of a robe, just a sprinkle of light or a faint song through the stars. I wish my dad had known that the child-like wonder can be real, that Jesus wants us that way.

                    According to my daughter-in-laws, the legend of Mrs. Santa has made it to the next generation, as far away as Malaysia! But it’s more for fun, honoring a peculiar family tradition. Like me, they retired Santa, and gave Jesus center stage. And I think Jesus would be right in the middle of it all; gingerbread houses and hanging stockings and singing songs, even shouting, “There she goes!” and especially the love in a mom or dad that tucks a child in at night. It might remind Him of His mom, that cold night, the love in her eyes and the love that sent Him from heaven straight to us.

                  We were worth all that to Him – the cold barn, the cross, the empty tomb. It was all His idea. It’s the most magnificent Christmas gift, every single day of the year. Christ in us – the hope of glory, a hope that is eternal.

Luke 2:11-14 (NLT)

The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David!  And you will recognize him by this sign: You will find a baby wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger.”

Suddenly, the angel was joined by a vast host of others—the armies of heaven—praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in highest heaven,

and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased.”

 May you know the wonder of His love and the glory of His salvation this Christmas and forever!

 

 *****Beautiful song: “Winter Snow”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xpHiAmL8-b0

And A Lot of Patience

Waiting…

 

If you are really a Cape Codder, you will never admit that the weather is good – at least without adding a disclaimer like, “What a beautiful day! But tomorrow it’s supposed to rain/snow/hail…” True to my 40 years of being what is called a “wash-a-shore” on this sand bar, I will declare that this winter was really…not bad. We had a couple of slushy snowfalls and dustings, some frigid days but hey, it is New England. However, the spring seems to be stuck in March, reluctantly edging over the 40’s, maybe popping into the 50’s on a rare occasion. This IS the Cape, where the icy Atlantic grips 100 miles of shore, stalling out the release of new life from trees and flowers that are clamped down, waiting.

            Forty years ago almost to this day, a young woman left New Jersey, which had exploded in vibrant color and life, and chugged north in a rusted out Volkswagen bus. A steamer trunk with all she owned was shoved into the back with some peacock feathers thrown on top. A down sleeping bag that had been well used for several years was tossed in last minute, just in case.

            She had only been to Cape Cod once, a few weeks earlier in March, and it was cold, sleeting. “Sea frost” someone called it and it sounded mystical and poetic which drew her even more. She crossed the bridge over the canal somewhere in the afternoon and drove until she could find the ocean, then parked overlooking the gray green palette of sea, dotted with whitecaps, stretching into the empty horizon and she felt like she had arrived. She took out her notebook and wrote. But she became aware of a chilling wet cold, much colder than New Jersey and beyond the shelter that the old bus and sleeping bag would provide, so she pushed on – to Wellfleet. There, kismet led her to a tiny cottage near the bay. There was no heat or hot water, but a small wood stove would warm up the little room quickly and the stove could heat up a pan of water for bathing. As the sky turned dark, the peepers rang out across the marsh. Spring is here, they said. Close, anyway. Close enough, I thought, as I pulled the dirty sleeping bag over my head.

            Forty years. I am 63 now, and as I look back to that strange girl, I can hear the peepers and smell the salt mixed with pine on the breeze coming up over the marsh. I can remember how my heart needed to run, to keep looking, and the temporary peace I found next to the ocean, with the world and all of it’s confusion behind me. I don’t remember feeling cold, or dirty or worried at all – I had enough money for beer and cigarettes. I had no phone so I would rely on the mail and that was sufficient for someone who really just wanted to be left alone. Yet I craved more than I had. I craved a higher place than survival, a wider purpose – to be filled with more than anger, doubt and a prevailing sense of brokenness.  Maybe it’s here, I would think, looking out over the bay.  Something that could grow and thrive. I wanted to trust in Hope, but Jack Daniels was safer, easier.

            Seven years later, I ran into Jesus. I’d like to say that He wrapped His arms around me and gave me a big bear hug, but that’s not at all how it went. First, I had to die. And since I was literally almost dead from doing things my way, it wasn’t a big stretch to surrender my will, my pride and my mess.

“Listen carefully: Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never any more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over. In the same way, anyone who holds on to life just as it is destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in your love, you’ll have it forever, real and eternal. John 12:24-25 (MSG)  

              It takes some time for things to grow. At the jail every week I talk to the ladies in green or yellow jumpsuits. Sometimes I get a room full of silence. The expressions can run from bland civility to deadpan to rolling eyes, smirking or smoldering contempt. But the best part of it all is the day I see a spark – so small, you would miss it if you weren’t paying attention. It’s in the eyes and it’s called Hope. And I know once I see the spark, God can build a fire.

            “The cross,” I said, “is a place that represents death and the darkest despair yet also leads the way to hope and freedom and new life.” When I asked for their thoughts, one young woman leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling.

            “This is really deep,” she said and a low rumble of acknowledgement went around the room. She was so right. This truth must penetrate right to the core of our soul. There it will take root, and if we are patient, something wondrous will begin to grow.

            My grandson Eli discovered this first hand after I gave him a terrarium for Christmas. On the cover, you see a tropical paradise bursting from a transparent vase. What you get is a bag a dirt and a small plastic container. A four-year-old has faith to move mountains, but it’s also short-lived. After a few days, he forgot about the dirt. Then a couple of weeks later I got a Facetime call.

“Ama! ” he shouted, his little body trembling with excitement, “LOOK!”

And there it was – well, not exactly paradise, more like ordinary grass, but it was green and growing and so amazing he could barely speak. When I asked him what the secret was, he told me proudly, “A little light, a little water, and a LOT of patience!” Ah, patience!

            Funny that I chose a Cape Cod April as my season to land here. I was as cold and unfriendly as the unforgiving earth. But there was promise just below the surface. I wonder…does Jesus see the small seed of Hope beneath the crusted heart? Maybe He put it there long ago, and is just waiting. Sometimes I think he calls us right to the crossroads of Nowhere-Left-To-Go and Nothing-To-Lose. Let it go – the life that is mine to begin with. Give it to me and I will breathe on it and you will really live.

            I heard the peepers last week, and something in my heart leapt. The young woman I can still see in my mind is an old woman now with joints that are failing and silver strands through my hair. Someone asked me if I was in remission last week, and it took me a moment to realize she meant from cancer. “Well, I’m still here!” I answered. But I thought of another Remission – the forgiveness of my sins, the cancelled debt that was paid for in blood. As I walk through a life that flourishes with the beauty of a heavenly hope, may I never forget the cross, and the deep, unsearchable Love that gave me life, real life.  And the best is yet to come.

Therefore, we who have fled to him for refuge can have great confidence as we hold to the hope that lies before us.  This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls.It leads us through the curtain into God’s inner sanctuary. Hebrews 6:18-19

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQy4NUZKIeM

 

 

 

Feeling Young Again

*** I am so pleased to once again, share a  post with you from my son and favorite guest blogger, Miles Macleod. It is a beautiful and insightful take on Matthew 18:3. You can follow his family blog on macleodsonthemove.weebly.com. Enjoy!

 

Can you find the monkey?

 

So it’s been about six weeks in Malaysia and I’m feeling young again. But don’t get too jealous. I’m not talking about the grip-life-by-the-ears-and-drive-off-into-the-sunset-with-reckless-abandon type of young; it’s more like the I-can’t-read-this-menu-do-you-have-any-photos-of-your-food-so-I-can-point-to-the-pictures young.

It’s infuriating at times and good for a few laughs at others, but mostly it’s just embarrassing. Like the time I couldn’t figure out how to turn the water back on in my house and had to seek my neighbor’s help, or the time I drove down the wrong side of the road (they drive on the left here), or the time I did that again, or the times I pick up Quincy from daycare and can’t understand what his teacher is asking me to do so I just smile and nod and leave and don’t do what they ask, or the time I accidentally drank pond water from a spigot and the nearby guards laughed before showing me how to get filtered water, or how it’s taken me two weeks (and counting) to replace the only lightbulb in my bathroom (Erin showers in the dark every morning), or how I sometimes say “Good morning” (“salamat pagi”) to my neighbors when I see them walking in the evening (“salamat petang”).

Whatever confidence I had gained as a successful member of society while living in the States has quickly disappeared. Now, I’m more unsure, more unaware, and more pensive. More child-like.

There is a verse in the Bible, somewhere in Matthew, where Jesus tells a bunch of people to be more like children. It will help them, He says, get into Heaven. Whenever I’ve heard this verse mentioned, I assumed he wanted us to have more faith — child-like faith — a faith rooted in trust and untainted by the limitations of empirical evidence and the cynicism of adulthood.

Now, though, I’m thinking I had it wrong. Why would He want us to have the same type of faith that led me to put my trust and my bloody teeth and my cookies and milk into appeasing some mythological creature (see tooth fairy) or cultural apparition (see Santa)? That can’t be the same faith that He wants us to have, right? I would think He wants a more adult-like faith than that, one that has been tested and refined. So why be like children then? Well, in light of my six weeks in Malaysia, I’m thinking what Jesus likes so much about children isn’t so much their faith; it’s their helplessness.

I think about Quincy and his own helplessness too. At one years old, he relies on me for pretty much everything and because I come through more often than not, his love and his trust for me grows. I’m there to carry him on my shoulders when he tires and grab him from his crib when he wakes. To kiss his boo-boos and read his books; to teach him boundaries and open his doors. To him, I am everything. My identity — in his eyes — is defined by his own limitations.

And so it goes with world travel. For those who have yet to do it, I strongly encourage you to give it a try. There are numerous benefits, but perhaps none more so than the spiritual clarity that comes with it. My can-do American attitude has quickly been replaced by a please-help Malaysian posture. And through this transition and in the midst of my helplessness, my Father’s identity has been redefined by my own limitations. He is made strong in my weakness. My place in this crazy, amazing world has never been more clear. I am child-like. But for my Father, that’s okay.

Quincy in Cambodia making a new friend