"My pants smell like poverty."
That was actually something that I wrote in my journal a year ago. Can you believe it? Who comes up with a thought like that and then goes so far as to write it down. Granted, they did smell like poverty- that's what 3o hours in New Delhi will do for you.
It's weird to think that it was over a year ago that I was in India. Weird to look back on that whole experience actually- some moments the memories are fresh; poignant and sharply focused usually induced by the taste or smell of curry. Other times the experiences slink into the back of my brain like a quiet fog- my heart strains its eyes to make sense of what comes from the shadows of that dark spiritual place.
Did I ever really talk about what happened in India on this blog?
I'm not sure. I know I talked about have curry armpits, and that one time that little boy tried to mug me and he got more than he was asking for. But I don't know if I ever really painted a good picture of what it was like- for me at least.
I am only able to recall it now because I spent an hour or so reading through my red leather journal from Massah. A lot of the things that I wrote in there are embarrassing- petty frustrations and my general immaturity. Some of the pain was so acute though- so crushing, and so familiar that I had to give pause and think for a moment.
I thought that God had left me. Over and over again I begged Him to speak.
Say anything! Don't you hear me, God?
I had a lot of doubts. How do we know that Jesus is who He says He is? How can God become man? What if Jesus' death wasn't enough? Is it really Jewish to believe in Jesus?
I wasn't sure if His loud silence was judgment, passivity, or absence. I demanded answers.
I began to realize that my whole life was tied up with Christianity- school, family, friends, future career goals... Jesus was the thread that held it all together. To pull on that thread would mean that I would totally unravel.
And then what?
Well, the doubts didn't just stop. I still had (ok, have) massive questions about God and his character and who I am and how the heck I can't do a single thing on my own to please the Lord... the list goes on. We can talk about that later if you want.
But the first part of my journal was an e-mail that my friend Natalie had sent to me. Gosh, what a beautiful e-mail. I might post it some day. The part though that helps me articulate the necessity of the depth of pain and spiritual wandering I felt in India is in the line that she quotes from Oswald Chambers:
"Dare to invest yourself in the character of God."
Way catchier than my pants smell like poverty.
If we're investing ourselves in the character of God, that means that we will often be deeply rooted in things that do. not. make. sense- at least in this life. Like unconditional love. Faithfulness in spite of faithlessness. Forgiveness. Grace.
Especially grace.
But here it is:
I prayed that I would be able to live in the reality of God's character, and as much as that means owning my own failures, I think it is more owning God's sufficiency in the face of my failures. When my faith fails, he is faithful. When I am selfish, He is working for His glory. When my sin has left me dirty and disgusting, filthy and naked, crushed under its burden, it is His hand, which is not too short to save, that reaches down and makes me new.
I guess- well, is that a creed? Maybe.
God was not silent. He answered my "dare" and placed my roots deep into His character.
And I am free to grow and thrive and be pruned and to sometimes whither.
But above all, I am His.
"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Romans 8:38-39
