The Lowly

When I was thirteen years old, obsessed with the crush of the month, head banging to emo music, and smoking anything that I got passed…I never thought there was life beyond it.

When I was 16, blinded by the bondages of lies and seeking a something to fill the cross shaped hole in my heart…I never thought there was life beyond it.

Even when I was 17, and the Holy Spirit cleverly pulled back the veil from my eyes, I had no idea what he was actually capable of.

And now, 20, I sit on a matt in the corner of a room next to a stranger who is my friend. Fans momentarily relieve the thick, hot air of Southeast Asia—but not my awe.

My awe at the moment I saw myself teaching Christians thousands of miles from my home about the concept of redemption..and using my life as an example. My awe as their nods confirmed what I never thought could be possible—God has redeemed me. He has taken what was bad and made something very, very good. Very good indeed.

My awe at the position he has put me in, the life he is calling me to and the family, friends and adventure he has blessed me with.

 Psalm 138 says: “For though God is high, he regards the lowly."

…I am most definitely the lowly. 

My Job Description

It has been a little over one month since I arrived in Thailand, and so much of my worldview and heart has changed I am not totally sure what remains from before.

When I left Moon's village, it was very difficult for me to understand how God can still be good when such strategic, cleverly placed and powerful evil exists in the world. I couldn't help but ask God why he would have all power and not use it to rescue children from rape, give women more of a choice than that of prostitution or starvation ant to stop militaries from forcing families leave thier homes and livelihoods. Why would he not come down in fire and glory, with mighty hands and trembling anger to stop oppression and corruption? Where is his comfort to people who have lost all sense of their inherent, precious value in his eyes? By what method is he healing wounds of abuse and exlpoitation?

Then, suddenly and painfully, I realized what Scripture says is God's primary method of relieving injustice is:

Us. 

Man, it would've been a lot more simpler to blame it all on God. Because if this is true--that His People are indeed the sources of justice in this world, not organizations or governments or programs--that changes the filter through which we see our lives.

If my number one job description as a follower of Christ is to "seek justice" (Michah 6:8) and walk with the poor, than my first question to God when 'planning' my life is, "How?" How, God, do you want me to orient myself to injustice? What are you calling me to do?

This makes the reality of evil in this world menacing. I spoke with my mom today, and she captured it in very simple terms. We were talking about the boys I met a couple weeks ago who were being ministered to by a local NGO. These boys are currently in prostitution (some as young as 5). They are given two options in life, basically: starvation or prostitution. Of this stark fact my mom said, "Lyric, the very fact that these boys are forced into making that choice is a direct result of our sin." What does that mean?

That means that Christians aren't doing enough. I am convinced of this. That means that millions of disciples in the US (not to mention the others around the world) grow up in the church, go to college, make for themselves a career, get married, work, have kids and retire when four year old girls in the Phillipines are strapped to boards of wood and raped continuously. When five year old boys are sent to the city to provide for their families by having sex with American men. When Christian women's bible are taken and burned, then they are raped and murdered in front of their husbands and children because of the color of their skin and their faith that threatens communist thought. When fathers watch their children burn alive because armies are full of evil and corruption. When genocide plagues countries around the world.

That, my brothers and sisters, is why it is a painful realization. I can only imagine what Jesus is going to say to us when he comes back. There is injustice that we have never known surrounding us from all angles, and we choose to enjoy our blessings and freedoms in the States without interruption. That's like if the disciples kept all the fish and bread that Jesus made for the crowd of 5,000 for themselves--praising God for what he given them when there were people dying of hunger all around. How can we justify a life like that? (Good News About Injustice by Gary Haugen)

...Well, I don't want to. My God has had to be so much bigger for me here than he ever did at home. In the face of true evil his goodness has had to be so much more bright. His grace has had to be so much more free. His love has had to be so much more selfless, patient and sacrificial.

But his call has been so much more active and huge.

A couple of days after returning from Burma, my professor told me a story I don't think I will forget. She was studying human trafficking for the UN--writing papers on how governments can address the issue. Out of nowhere, Moon called her. "Christa!" She said, "There is a young girl who is about to be trafficked but she doesn't know! There is a man putting her on a motorcycle--what do I do?"

Christa, surrounded by pages of research into the issue, had nothing to offer her. "Pray?" She mumbled.

Moon clicked her tongue and sighed: "You pray, Christa. I am going to go grab her off the back of that bike."

Somewhere

I apologize for the lack of posting in the last 2 weeks. ...I haven't really had enough time to think, let alone let others hear my thoughts.

There is a plethora (that one's for you, Katelyn and Josh) of things that have happened since my last post, but I will attempt to highlight what I think may be the most life changing thing that has happened to me...(Not that there hasn't been more).

Two weekends ago, we got the opportunity to visit Burma, a place that has been highlighted in our Exclusion and Exploitation class for the vast amounts of social, political, environmental, and economic issues that the land has...

One of the issues there is human trafficking. The country (until 2010) was (or some would still say, is) ran by a military regime that took power through a coup in 1962. The brutal regime has since accrued thousands of crimes against humanity, attempting to basically torture, rape, murder and eventually eradicate every single minority group within Burma. (Which, by the way, has about 30-40% of minorities in it's population.)

The disgusting and inhumane recklessness with which the government has led it's people has ran the economy straight into the ground, creating an extreme lack of options for the majority of the population in regards to work, etc. Thus, thousands of ethnic minorities are prone to being trafficked by men and women who promise jobs and deliver slavery.

Two weeks ago, I met a survivor of this terrible cycle, who had been rescued from a brothel by my professor's husband when she was just 14.

The survivor, Moon, took us into her home village where her family, and most especially her mother, was. Her mom, who knew our professor from the time her organization rescued Moon, was now blind because she could not access medical care for her diabetes.Things quickly became surreal as we learned that only 4 weeks prior, the family had found out that Moon's sister, Star, had passed away while in prostitution. The mother began to wail, seemingly without end. All we could do was weep with her, and pray in a language she could not understand.

I was completely knocked off of my balance. The horrors of this dark world, the cycles that permeate the lives of these innocent individuals shocked me. I was even more shocked when, later, we heard the rest of the story.

To be brief, Star has a 9 year old daughter, Semia, and a 8 year old son, whom have never been to school. Wanting what was best for her children, Star agreed to join the sex industry--basically the only fruitful career a woman can have in a place like Burma. She went with a man whom she trusted, who promised her the ability to refuse her customers.

A few months later, she became pregnant. Due to Buddhist and Asian cultural values, her immediate feeling was shame. She took pills in an attempt to kill the baby, and ended up killing herself.

At first, I could do nothing but experience heartbreak for this woman, as she watched this never ending, hopeless cycle take the life of her daughter. ...And then we learned that the reason Moon first ended up in slavery was because her mother had sold her.

...I never, ever thought I would be able to empathize with an individual who enabled child sex trafficking.
...But I am pretty sure that Hebrews 4:14 encompasses it.

There is more to the story. There are darker details. There is an entire background of information about the countries of southeast Asia that would help you to understand that most women who end up in prostitution are not actually kidnapped and forced. They are forced by circumstances, which are created by corrupt governments.

Studying Buddhism would help you to understand that women here must repay their parents for all that they have done and that, because they are not men and cannot be monks, the only way to do that is to support the family in this life, physically. At any cost.

Our Western view tells us that's dysfunctional. Surely, counseling and scripture memorization will help. Surely, they must realize that their innocence, that their soul is worth more than to support their families. Surely, the US must impress sanction upon sanction upon sanction on the Burmese government so they can experience consequence for their behavior.. Surely, that would make them change.

If there is one thing I have learned since being here, it is that nothing is black and white.

We did not end there with Moon. In fact I would like to share with you another story about her, but I feel it is necessary to hold off on that. For now, I will leave you with a poem I wrote in the van, through tears, as we pulled away from that oppressed village and into the driveway of our safe, air conditioned hotel.

Somewhere.

and as i washed the filth off my hands

i couldn’t help but ask myself if i were also washing away the pain.

the concern that i was struck with.

the immediate, powerful release of divine heartache.

an ache that did not stop in my gut.

one that was not expelled as the tears fell from her eyes, or mine.

but an ache that persists.

that cannot—will not—be banished or told to subside.

at the core of who we are

(creation)

there remains little but the ability to experience bliss and devastation.

and as her blind eyes looked up, instinctively,

at a sky she could not see,

i wondered what wrath there exists to make such suffering

normative.

i cannot dismiss the sound of her wailing from my ears.

wails that spoke more than any sermon i’ve ever heard.

more convicting, i’d say, than most scripture i read.

i laid my hands on her broken, weary shoulder

bony from years of hunger

tense, for decades of guilt

decades of war.

against enemies that she cannot see.

with weapons left unloaded.

soldiers, untrained.

it was warm, and shaking with her sobs.

no words with which to pray

groanings to deep for them.

nothing to do but to weep with her,

and stare in horror as the realities of this dark world shattered my confidence, my joy.

…but maybe not my hope.

it was not the end,

but we left anyway.

though i think i could have stayed, enraptured, for days.

wounded by her wounds.

confused by circumstance.

wondering the same word i thought i saw her cracked mouth form:

“why?”

…but then again, she never spoke the same language as me.

not in words, no; but in the melodies of her murmurs.

in her futile anguish, that would not bring back her love.

i watched as her memories beat her.

worse, still, than the most wayward forms of torture.

when you hung on the cross, Lord,

did the nails help you to feel her pain?

did you see her,

(while she still could see)

with her brown skinned teen

with the paper she took from the man

who would take what was precious?

your love is higher than the mountains that surround her village.

it is stronger than the locked doors of the brothels where

children

lose their innocence.

somewhere, i know, it still exists in these cycles.

somewhere, i know.

somewhere,

somewhere.