Monday, July 19, 2010

Meltdown

Let me just begin by saying that it is hotter than BLAZES in Qingdao right now. It’s not that the temperature is so high, it’s the gosh darn humidity. The weather can appear to be perfectly lovely, nice and warm with a gentle breeze off the Yellow Sea, and then BLAM! Humidity punches you in the face and puts you in a chokehold. Is it possible for air to be chunky? Because it sure feels chunky here sometimes and it makes it hard to breathe. It’s also quite dirty. There’s lots of dust in the air and when it’s mixed with the moisture it becomes a lovely dust particle skin treatment that you get under your fingernails when you scratch all your mosquito bites. I guess it could be considered a kind of exfoliating. There are probably spas here that market it to gullible foreigners.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I drove. The problem is all the walking. I can leave my lovely air-conditioned home, walk ten minutes to my lovely air-conditioned school, and by the time I’m there I find myself soaking wet with misshapen, droopy clothes, hair stuck to my neck and face, and an overall sense of nasty, sweaty grossness. It’s unfortunate. I think I prefer to be cold. I’m much more comfortable bundled and chilly than I am sweaty and overheated.

You know what Chinese men do when they get hot?

This.

 














If only I had no shame…

So, I’ve been in China for six months. July 13 was my anniversary and I celebrated by having an emotional meltdown (I think that’s the standard six month anniversary gift actually, like gold on your 50th). My mom and I were skyping and the topic of dads came up. I have a long and sordid dad story and the Lord has been so gracious and caring and present in that daddy place throughout my life. I have been spared so much, but I am not without my father issues and on this day they came welling out of me in dramatic sobs. My poor mom, she was confined to a computer screen and, I’m sure, felt rather helpless in bringing me sufficient comfort.

It’s interesting the things that Jesus is addressing in my life while I’m here. I feel quite vulnerable in this foreign land without all my people; without my fallbacks and comforts; without my hideouts where I can avoid dealing with hard things. It’s like I’m being stripped bare. God is peeling back my facades and uncovering all the things I’ve camouflaged with optimism and sunshine and cheerfulness. He’s asking me to be honest. He’s asking me to confront unmet expectations and come to terms with the possibility that they may only be resolved and/or fulfilled in Him. And He’s asking me to be okay with that.

It makes me feel like a pouty three year-old who’s upset about not getting her way. I’ve shrouded my disappointment in compliance, but it’s still there. Underneath all the “it’s okays” and “I don’t minds” I’m discovering this stubborn, clinging part of myself. It’s not angry or resentful, it’s resolute. There is a part of me that refuses to let go of hope. Hope is not bad, but this hope is on my terms. And it’s primarily related to my dad. The three year-old in me is still waiting for the magical father-daughter reunion. She is still looking out the window hoping her daddy-knight-in-shining-armor will ride up on his horse and take her away with him. She is still imagining he wants her.

I wish I could send in 30 year-old Jaime to have a good, rational discussion with her, but there’s nothing rational or relenting about this girl’s hope. It’s something that only Jesus can address. It’s something only He can touch and transform into the kind of hope that brings healing and wholeness.

And I’m okay with that.

I’ve got a few more months in China and I’m sure I have a whole mess of things God wants to address in me. My heart is open and I’m okay with whatever He says because He knows best.

But I’m still not okay with the humidity.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Wants & Wonderings

Sometimes it’s really difficult for me to be honest about my desires. There are definite things that I want in life, but I struggle even to allow myself to voice them. I don’t know if it’s because I’m afraid that on some level what I want isn’t healthy or right, or because maybe I feel like only the less spiritual would admit such longings. Regardless, I have dreams and hopes and desires yet unmet.

I’m not bitter. I’m not cynical or desperate or hopeless. I guess I’m just wondering. I’m wondering when and where and why and how and IF all these bottled-up wants will come about. I suppose you’re thinking that my longings have to do with getting married, having a family, typical girl stuff.

They do.

But that’s not all.

I want to stop being insecure.
I want to have discipline.
I want to write and actually enjoy it.
I want to travel the world and make Christ and His love known.
I want to be okay with hard work and sacrifice.
I want to feel beautiful.
I want to feel established as a grown-up.
*the fact that I say “grown-up” instead of “adult” attests to my lack of feeling established
I want to be entrusted with something bigger than me.
I want people to see more than niceness and sweetness when they look at me.
I want to be bold and confident and unshakable.
I want a man to think I’m adorable.
I want to never wonder if that man will stop loving me.
I want to raise children consecrated to God and His purposes.
I want to sing and play the guitar really well.
I want to be healthier.
I want to exercise and eat right and actually see it through.
I want to know my dad.
I want to break down misconceptions concerning God.
I want my life to be utterly confounding to those around me.
I want my faith and obedience to challenge and encourage others.
I want my message and preaching to demonstrate the Spirit’s power.
I want to see miracles.
I want every person I meet to know that they’re worthwhile.
I want to laugh really hard every day.
I want contentment.
I want to see whatever it is that Jesus sees in me.
I want to voice my opinions with conviction, even at the expense of looking dumb.
I want to stop fearing rejection.
I want to live on the same continent as my friends and family.
I want to be braver.
I want to NOT want all these things and JUST want Jesus.

It’s hard.

I know these are good things and I know it’s okay for me to want them. What I have to work against is being controlled by them. I have to fight the urge to let their fulfillment, or lack thereof, dictate how I feel about myself, my life, my worth. That’s why I want Christ to replace them. I want Him at the center. If all I want is Him, then I will never be disappointed. Jesus Christ is always a sure thing – His love, His plan, His purpose – and if He is my focus then my satisfaction hinges on Him, not on what He gives or takes away.

“I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through Christ who gives me strength.”  -Philippians 4:12b-13

This China life is teaching me a lot about trusting God.

Please pardon the cheesy graphics (close your eyes or something so you don't have to feel embarrassed watching it), but this song is a beautiful expression of this whole process of trusting God... All My Devotion, by Kristene Mueller

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Deception

The other day, just before I was getting ready to leave for work, I heard this really loud buzzing sound coming from my bathroom. I stuck my head in to investigate and the buzzing was so loud and intense that I instantly squealed, ducked and ran out, having no idea what exactly was buzzing (reflex reaction… apparently I’m a flighter, not a fighter). I thought about just closing the door and letting whatever was in there die of starvation or something, but then I thought about it escaping into other realms of my house and I just wasn't okay with the idea of waking up with an oversized insect monster on my pillow. So I put my brave face on and walked (or maybe cowered) into the bathroom, checking every corner and crevasse for the buzzing culprit. My plan was to first identify my opponent and then select the weapon with which to bludgeon it (plunger, flip-flop, giant glass vase to trap and suffocate it with). As I continued my inspection, I noticed that the sound got louder as I closed in on the toilet, so I surveyed all the sides... nothing. Then I thought, "Hm. Is that my toilet buzzing?" It does this trickling water thing where I often have to tap the flush-button to make it stop and I thought maybe it was worth a shot to see if that same trick would make the scary buzzing stop. I cautiously approached the flush-button and did one last squealy jump backwards when the buzzing warbled and it seemed that maybe some ghastly winged creature was flying at my head. Recomposed, resolute and undeterred, I set forth again, tapped the button, and what do you know? The buzzing stopped. 

I hate it when toilets make scary China bug sounds. It causes unnecessary alarm and squealing. The whole episode reminded me of Buddy the Elf when he encountered the horrible noise coming from the evil box under the window (the radiator). Sometimes household appliances are just downright scary. Is a toilet an appliance? 

Monday, June 21, 2010

Courtesy vs. Confrontation

“For He whom God has sent speaks the words of God, for God does not give the Spirit by measure.”  John 3:34

Jesus said some of the most confusing things! Reading his conversation with Nicodemus is just downright confusing. Jesus, what are you talking about? Poor Nicodemus just wanted to find out if Jesus was the messiah or not, but instead he’s met with all this talk about being born again and testimonies from heaven and such. I think I probably would have said something like, “Give it to me straight, Jesus!” But the thing about Jesus was that He was never really concerned with answering the questions people thought they had. He posed new questions and/or addressed the question/answer they needed. He didn’t mind confounding people. He didn’t mind leaving them to ponder and consider truth on their own. He always knew exactly what should be said, and it was rarely what people wanted to hear. He spoke the words of God, drawing from a limitless well of wisdom, knowledge and insight made available by the Holy Spirit. “God does not give the Spirit by measure.”

Sometimes I think I get a little preoccupied with telling people what I think they want to hear. I don’t like stirring the pot. I don’t like confronting the exclusivity of my faith, especially if it causes people to walk away or be offended. But Jesus wasn’t afraid. Jesus didn’t avoid talking about the difficulties of following Him and embracing His message. I think if I operated more like Jesus and less like me, I would find that I say exactly what needs to be said at the precise time it needs to be said – even if people walk away; even if people think I’m foolish or crazy or close-minded. I’m not doing anyone any favors by making the Gospel easy to swallow. It is Good News, but it’s a narrow road.

If I want to be effective, if I want to say what needs to be said, then I must draw from that same limitless well that Jesus did. I must speak the words of God by the measureless power of the Holy Spirit. It’s the only way I can know I’m saying the right thing at the right time. And it’s the only way I can have assurance that even if someone walks away, they heard what they needed to hear.

Lord, forgive me for being more concerned with courtesy than with confrontation. Help me, as one who has been sent, to speak Your word by Your Spirit. Help me do so boldly and without regret. Redeem what I’ve squandered and give me more opportunities to engage people the way Jesus did. Give me wisdom and understanding, but more than anything, give me Your presence and Your Spirit’s power. Thank you for including me in Your plans and purposes. I want my life to bring You glory.


This is straight out of my journal. I have more thoughts on all this business and plan to write a follow-up soon... :)

Monday, May 3, 2010

Crucified

Pilate presents the people with a choice... "And he released to them the one they requested, who for rebellion and murder had been thrown into prison; but he delivered Jesus to their will."

Man is perpetually prone to making terrible choices. On this day, when given the choice between a Man who gives life and a man who takes it, the people chose the murderer. In all my spirituality I would like to say with absolute certainty that I would not have made the same choice, but I think my flesh would tell a different story. 

There are moments everyday of my life where I stand with the raging crowd and plead for the life of the murderer. I petition for the rebel. And in so doing, I send Christ to the cross. It's illogical, and when the murderer wreaks havoc on my life, I come to my senses and chase after Christ all the way to Calvary. There He invites me to die with Him, and again I am faced with a choice.

How do I want to die? 

Do I want a destructive death marked by chaos and brokenness and rebellion? Or do I want a death that leads to peace and contentment and life renewed? It's an easy answer and it should be an easy choice. I'm going to die either way.

"Let us also go, that we may die with Him."

"I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live,
but Christ lives in me."

How deep the Father's love for us
How vast beyond all measure
That He would give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One
Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon a cross
My guilt upon His shoulders
Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no powr's, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Letting Story Guide Us

This story was crafted through the joint efforts of my roommate, Kelsey and I (although she was the primary mastermind and overall creative genius/composer of this brilliant work). Enjoy!

Once upon a time, two lovely, beautiful, intelligent, fabulous, hilarious and exceptionally vibrant young women decided to set out to make a story for themselves (thanks, Donald Miller).


The story begins in the bathroom, where all good stories begin. Kelsey, the younger and lower-maintenance of the two, took a mere four minutes to complete her morning dressing, hairstyling and basic cleanliness routine. Jaime, on the other hand, likes to feel extra pretty in her stories. And sometimes feeling pretty requires roughly one hour of general appearance overhaul. Now, feeling presentable and ready for adventure, our ladies left their apartment and entered the bustling world beyond their door.


After taking the elevator down to the newly white-washed, although still smelling slightly of “mystery and intrigue” lobby, the ladies marched out into the bright light of the great outdoors. They were greeted by a multitude of people coming and going, several honking car horns and a giant, inflated Hisense arch that only seems to make appearances on weekends and national holidays.

Since this was May Day (and the beginning of flip-flop season in Qingdao), our two heroines determined that some good old-fashioned rhyming was in order. They spent several minutes rhyming with the words May and Day and then moved onto more complex terminology like option and orange.

They rhymed their way to the bus stop, where they soon discovered that all of Qingdao, and various other Chinese cities, had been given the day off. These smart, environmentally conscientious citizens of the great People’s Republic had opted for the highly efficient Qingdao Public Transit System (QPTS). Before long, a bus without the population of Billings, MT bursting through the windows pulled up to the station. The strikingly attractive, courageous women shoved their way onto this number 228 bus and began their journey west (“go west young (wo)man!”). They decided that they were probably too outnumbered to try and teach their fellow bus riders the American way of the “Personal Space Bubble”.

A mere two stops later, the bus came to a grinding halt and only continued forward in periodic, jerking spurts for the next 20 minutes or more. The air in the bus quickly became stagnant and one young passenger had to make an emergency exit to chuck her morning’s meal on the nearest shrub. She did not re-alight the bus. After an unquantifiable period of time spent standing and bonding with some of their newest, closest friends, Jaime and Kelsey decided it was time for some fresh air and exercise, so they fought their way off the bus and were on their way.

Having exited the bus, the adventurous damsels looked up and down the street at the eternal line of busses and tried, in vain, to count up the number employed by the city of Qingdao. They also waved at their newest fan-base onboard the 228, realizing that their leisurely pace of footfall was more rapid than the movement of the motorized busses. This made them feel like speed demons. Or angels with wings on their feet.


In no time they arrived at Tai Ping Jiao Lu where they decided to cross the congested Xiang Gang Lu and venture into the Great Unknown. The Great Unknown just happened to be a lovely park! They pranced and frolicked their way down the cobblestone pathways and paused only for the most meaningful of photo opportunities.









After enjoying a pleasant man-made water feature, they stumbled upon some rather enticing specialized old people exercise equipment. Being the fitness fanatics that they are, they quickly realized this was the prime opportunity to shoot their newest (and to date most extreme) exercise video for old people and those that will one day be old.

Jaime and Kelsey are so fabulous and white that they cannot go anywhere without being mobbed by adoring passersby. That being the case, while in the midst of their intense video shoot, the ladies were approached by a darling girl with a camera and eager parents dying to take her picture with our heroines.


Spent and ready for more beauty, Kelsey and Jaime made their way towards the oh-so scenic seaside. While seated on a rocky outcropping, they observed old cooking fires, new cooking fires, people eating food prepared on cooking fires, people catching sea life to cook on cooking fires, and of course, many a bridal couple searching for that perfect shot to represent their eternal love for one another.


The duo continued their walk along the seashore where the sweet sounds of Canadian songbird Celine Dion echoed with the crashing ocean waves. Jaime of course had to join in. Kelsey was too busy avoiding the merchants selling their seashell monkeys and squid kabobs. Nothing wets your appetite like the odor of fresh squid flesh being seared on an open flame.


Soon the Number One Bathing Beach appeared on the horizon. Well, it would have appeared had it not been eclipsed by the innumerable hoards of Chinese pleasure seekers seeking pleasure in the sun, sand and surf of Qingdao’s number one bathing beach. 


Intrigued by the size of the world’s most populous country, our little adventure seekers wandered about taking in face after face after face after face. After ample wandering, a twinge of hunger struck their delicate mid-sections. They discussed their options for nourishment and began seeking transportation by which to acquire said nourishment. It was then they realized just how much 1.6 billion is. Finding suitable transportation became a challenge which folk with less faith would label “impossible”. But not these two. No, these two knew that with white skin and minimal language skills, anything is possible in China. Thus began the hunt that would end one ill-fated, directionally challenged bus ride, several long, arduous treks and many failed taxi waves later.



Mr. Ma was a very unsuspecting Knight in Shining Armor. In fact, there was no shining armor in sight, save his meticulously maintained taxi – which despite his efforts in maintenance, seemed to have a flat tire. The brave, although now tiring and devastatingly famished, damsels were in for a longer ride than they had originally anticipated. They should have known when the taxi started traveling the wrong direction that something was amuck. But they trusted Mr. Ma. He had saved them from the treacherous curving overpass where they had desperately sought a way out of the west side. To his credit, Mr. Ma tried to explain in detail what was happening. Unfortunately, his English vocabulary could best be described as “limited”, and our heroines lacked the lingual abilities to translate his explanation. After a few minutes of driving in an area of town neither had seen before, the car stopped at a fix-it shop. It was gently lifted and the tire replaced, all while the ladies lounged comfortably in the back seat.


Tire fixed, our trio was back on the road. In good time, they arrived at their destination: iGo, home of delicious, Turkish delicacies. After a trip to the ladies room, two Turkish burrito things were rapidly inhaled, and the day was punctuated which a mutual sigh of relief and satisfaction.





Our ladies, now nourished and decidedly less agitated, returned to their humble abode (via one last uneventful bus ride where *gasp!* they even got seats) where they proceeded to do a few of their favorite activities: make cookies, eat them, watch The Office and check Facebook.

Overall, it was a splendid day with a story so splendid it was almost beyond description. Almost.

Friday, April 30, 2010

Jesus, Jack & Rosco


I think Jesus may have negotiated a beautification project with my building’s owner. Something strange has happened to the shoe-print stained walls and the lingering urine odor in the lobby. The walls are now bright white, and the air is fresh (well, as fresh as you can expect when the whole of the city is filled with various aromas). The stacks of bicycles and motorcycles scattered throughout the hallways have mysteriously vanished. The floor is swept. The elevators are wiped free of mosquito carcasses. The lights are bright and operable. We even have a coded front gate and an on-duty security guard now.

I like the security guard. I say “ni hao” to him every day. I think he likes me too because he always smiles big enough for me to see his missing teeth whenever I walk by. I imagine his name is the Chinese equivalent of Larry or Hank or Rosco. Nice guy names.

I suspect Jesus to be behind all the prettiness and safety because I will soon be living here in this building all by my brave self. I won’t have anyone to come home to. There will be no roommate to account for my safe homecoming. No other English speaker to listen for and understand my desperate cries should anything unsavory happen to me. Jesus decided to make provision for this lack by bringing Rosco into my life. He will care whether or not I make it home safely each evening. He will listen for my cries, though foreign and indecipherable. With Jesus and Rosco on my side, this living alone business will be a breeze. 

This morning I woke up early. Not on purpose. My phone rang at 7:43AM and I answered it half expecting a wrong number, but was instead greeted with a boisterous “Ni hao, Jaime!” I quickly recognized the thick Southern accent to be that of my new friend, Jack. He was calling from an airplane about to depart Qingdao for Shanghai.

I met Jack on Tuesday evening. He’s a rotund man with a belly like Santa Claus; he’s loud and jolly and so darn endearing you can’t help but instantly like him. He came to Qingdao to visit a mutual friend who invited us all to her house for a Chinese feast. The evening was spent around the dinner table listening to Jack recount story after story of his cross-cultural adventures. Jack’s a CPA from Tennessee, but said his real job is Ambassador of Christ. He’s traveled near and far making Christ known, gathering brothers and sisters and sons and daughters. I told Jack that I think he might be an opportunist because of the way he seizes every chance, obvious or obscure, to share the love of Jesus wherever he goes. He once sweet-talked a Tajik government official into issuing him a visa after he was discovered in the country illegally. Then he shared Jesus with him! He ministered to two Muslim men at an airport somewhere and managed to get himself an open invitation to stay in their homes should he ever visit Israel. This man could convince Osama bin Laden out of hiding and convert him to Christianity. I’m sure of it. He’s full of Southern charm, likability, and absolute resolve.

In between stories, Jack would occasionally burst into song. It seemed at times there was too much passion in him to be contained – even by all his size and stature – he had to let the praise and thankfulness and awe release. He may implode in gratitude to God otherwise. At one point, Jack asked me if I was a singer. When I timidly said, yes, he threw a songbook at me and made me sing hymns at the dinner table. Our Chinese friends joined in, singing the songs in their own language. Jack hung his head and wept.

I was so refreshed by my time with Jack. I just felt instantly bonded to him, inspired by his passion (which seems too flimsy a word). His goodbye hug on that night was so good and so tight, I could barely breathe in his affection. When he called me this morning from the airplane he told me he was so happy to have met me. He said I was now his adopted daughter, whether I liked it or not. He said he loved me; that he was proud of me; that he’d be keeping track of me and praying for me. I hope he does.

What a world this would be if there were more Jacks in it.