It had been over a week in Thailand. It was a thrill for me, being there with my husband who had left a refugee camp somewhere within 100 miles from where we dined almost thirty years before.
It was an experience of seeing my husband comfortable. More so than I ever had. I was in his territory now. It was listening to a conversation that I could not understand, watching the other person stop, nod and smile, and realizing they are commenting on how he has a white wife. I smiled back.
This man (the one I had spent a decade with) had lived most of his life as a foreigner, and I expected him to act like me. Now I was on his turf, seeing someone completely new.
It was a guessing game of "Is that woman really a man?" and realizing these beautiful men were people. It was a turn of the stomach at the sight of any old Caucasian man. "What are they here for?" I asked myself, knowing I was probably surrounded by brothels hidden away from tourists such as myself, but all too easy to find for those who wanted to. By the way, those perverts are people, too. As are their targets. Such a messy world we live in.
It was exotic plants and food, ancient architecture, geckos, and alone time with my husband. It was a whole lot to take into my eclectic mind. Yet in the back there remained a spot for Panya, my sponsored child who I was oh, so close to but did not have the time to see.
I planned almost every detail of the second week, hoping I could find time, but we already could not fit in everything we had to do. My heart ached. I finally had my husband to myself, yes! But besides my quiet time, I saw very little of my Jesus, and I ached for Panya.
And then the sound of the music playing, a guitar and "We are the World" sang in bad English. Young Thai people were asking for money for starving children. Christians, in fact. My companions were rolling eyes and almost angered, but I grabbed Sook's hand- "Give them something!" So he did.
"For Panya," I thought. I was happy. I was at peace.
I have no idea how they used the money. I hope it went for a good cause. They had given me some literature- but at that point I didn't care. I was so darn happy.
I look at this world through the eyes of someone that is not me- white, comfortably Christian, middle-class... I see it through my husband's eyes- one who converted. I see it through those that have been seriously hurt by Christians on a crusade, confused by religion, or simply not interested because, well, they are not white and middle class. "Christianity is a white man's religion..." I've heard more than once by my minority friends.
This world is far more complicated than I pretend to understand. I don't have the answers. I don't want a crusade. I don't want to be a Pharisee. I don't want religion. I want my Jesus. I am angered when he is misrepresented with legislation, media, and end-time prophecies. If we only really knew Him! I want the strength to love people even when I am not comfortable. I want no agenda, but simply obedience.
I don't want to feed and clothe Panya so he can survive. I want him to get a chance at life that he would not have had otherwise. A chance to make a difference. That is who Jesus was- or is- the difference maker. The game changer. They guy that blows your mind with his way of loving because it is beyond what my self righteous mind can scheme.
I want to follow my Jesus and see the results with joy when I am with Him at the end. That is what I want. But wanting and doing are very different things. I am finding that Jesus is complicated. He is mind-blowing holy and scum-loving at the same time. How do you follow that? Not with human thinking.
I'm not there, but I know where I want to be.
