Afternoon at the Museum

I love it when God gives you an "aha" moment.  Yesterday all 350 of us went to DC for a ministry field trip... focusing on reaching internationals and getting a better understanding of our people's culture and worldview.  (Sidenote: one of our assignments was to eat lunch at an ethnic restaurant... Ethiopian food is REALLY good, if you can get over eating with your hands out of one huge bowl on the table!)  The group I was with decided to go to the African art museum to try to find some Africans and get some first-hand understanding of their culture.  

While we were in an exhibit with some smaller pieces, I had the opportunity to speak with Simeon, a brother from Trinidad who came to visit some friends for Thanksgiving.  As a believer, he was really frustrated with the whole Thanksgiving thing, and observed that Americans in general used Thanksgiving more as an excuse to overeat than as an opportunity to show their gratitude to God.  We had a great conversation about what really matters, and some good time to encourage each other.  Please pray for Simeon as he returns to Trinidad, to be strengthened in his faith even more.

When our conversation ended, I realized the girls in my group had left the exhibit in the museum, so I decided to check out some of the other exhibits in the museum to try to find them.  The next exhibit I went into was an African textiles and clothing exhibit.  The rooms were completely dark, except for spotlights shining on the pieces of fabric or objects in cases.  All of this was pretty cool, until I got into the big room of the exhibit.  When I went in, I saw that there were four full-sized masks on display around the room.  Before I go any farther, you need to understand that masks and the costumes that go along with them aren't just considered to be art in animist Africa.  Each mask and costume represents a different spirit or god.  During a ceremony, the tribal priest wears a mask and costume and dances and performs rituals.  They believe it is actually the spirit dancing and conducting the ceremony, not the priest.  Animists spend their entire lives trying to keep the spirits happy and appeased, but every bit of trouble in their lives is proof that the spirits are displeased.  But Jesus came "to free those who through fear of death were subject to slavery all their lives." (Heb. 2:14)

When I walked in and saw these masks and costumes, my heart stopped.  It was like being in the presence of these demonic beings all at once, without warning.  I was seriously creeped out.  I was still looking for the girls, and I was trying to get myself under control.  "Be a big girl... they're only objects... they have no power, God is bigger..."  These were my thoughts as I was trying to get a grip.  I kept walking around the exhibit, trying to focus on the fabrics and clothing, trying to find my teammates, but it honestly felt like one of the costumes in particular was watching me wherever I went.  I have truly never felt such heaviness and oppression in my life.  My only thought was leaving the room and getting away from these demonic manifestations.  I really felt like a big loser for not toughing it out, because I know that greater is He who is in me than he who is in the world. (1 John 4:4)  But there also comes a time to flee from evil... so that's what I did.

As I was walking out, the Holy Spirit spoke very clearly.  He said, "You were under that oppression for 30 seconds, and it was all you could stand.  How do they feel, My children who live under this oppression every day, all their lives, slaves to fear?"  As much as this short experience was so gut-wrenching and difficult, I wouldn't exchange it.  God, in His wisdom, placed me in this museum and this exhibit to allow me to get just a taste of that fear and oppression that my people in Africa live under every day of their lives.  I didn't enjoy it, but I am so glad I went through it.  God gave me an experience that lets me understand my people just a little better.  And that little taste makes the whole experience worthwhile.

Where are we?

Can I just say that I love it here?  I have made some great friendships with fabulous, Godly women (and a few fabulous, Godly men, too!), and have had some really wonderful class sessions.  But, for the international traveler in me, the best part is just how international these 50 acres in Virginia really are.  Twice now, we've had "special" meals... code around ILC for "international food you have to eat with your hands.  Our first meal was Middle Eastern- great meatballs with flatbread, olives, hummus, and cucumber-onion relish.  Number 2 was Indonesian- a ground turkey curry with rice and lots of toppings, including a mildly spicy chutney that was awesome.  Honestly, the special meals are really better than the regular ones!  Side note: when you eat with your hands, you're only allowed to use the right hand... In countries without "facilities," your left hand is your toilet paper.  Pretty gross, huh?

Today I went to check mail and got a surprise.  Our lovely mail team decided we're in another country.  There was a sign on the mail room door saying that mail would only be available from 4:30 to 5:30.  It was almost 4:30, so I decided to stand in line. (Yes, there was a line by this point.)  At 4:30, one of the guys came out and said that he needed one person from each household, but only one person could come in at a time, and that we needed a photo ID to check our mail.  The guy in front of me went on in, and I'm waiting, but I started thinking... I don't have my ID with me.  I don't usually carry my ID to walk around campus.  Crud.  About this time, another guy comes out.  "I can get you in," he says, rubbing his fingers together, basically asking for a bribe... which I gladly would have paid, IF I had cash on me.  But I didn't.  Double crud.  Customer #1 comes out, and the first guy comes to the door to bring me in.  I am wearing my nametag, which lately has been a rarity, and I ask him if that will work, but he says no.  (About 4 people behind me get out of line at this point to go get their IDs, which they also left in their rooms... good to know I'm not the only one!)  So I got out of line without my mail... still haven't gotten it, and I'm debating whether or not I'm going to get it today, since that means going to the opposite end of campus to get my ID, then hiking all the way back up here.  I really don't need my mail all that badly!

But I really do love it... sarcasm aside.  I know, when it's real life and not just an "exercise," the novelty will wear off... but it just goes back to the whole American convenience issue.  We are, by far, the most convenient society on the planet.  And I'm not really sure that's a good thing.

When is it ever?

When I was in high school and college, I always felt like I got cheated. I had grown up in a Christian home, came to know Jesus when I was young, and fell in love with Him early. I didn't go through some of the traumatic experiences and phases other people my age did: I didn't get involved with the wrong crowd, didn't use drugs, had a fairly stable home life... you get the picture. I was grateful that I had been spared from those things, but still felt that my testimony was, well, boring.

As I went through some "adult trauma," my testimony evolved. The pain that I was spared in my youth I have now experienced... and by God's grace, I have made it through to the other side. He has brought me to a place I never would have been if I hadn't gone through these pains. I have experienced the passionate, amazing, can't-get-enough love of the Creator God. I have seen Him faithful to me in so many ways in the past few years, and He has truly been my Savior, my King, my Husband, my Everything. I focused on how He has provided for me with mercy and grace in the past few years. If you asked me to share my testimony, I would breeze right through coming to know the Lord as a child and tell you more about who He has been to me recently. I still thought my childhood testimony was boring.

When is the salvation of a soul BORING? The holy God of the universe rescues me from an eternity in Hell, and I call it BORING? A sinful child is still a sinner... and believe me, I was one! The Lord has shown me, once again, that I have no right to minimize His grace. He did not NEED me. He had no reason to take me in, even as a child, except that He LOVED me! Almighty Father, please forgive me for taking Your amazing sacrifice lightly. When is the Cross EVER boring???