The Jungle

Is it kind, I wonder, to bring up a child in a jungle? It depends, I suppose, on the child, and on the jungle. My parents raised my brothers and I in a jungle far from America.  Our jungle became home to us, with its creatures and smells and sounds.

It was a fight at first, a series of unfortunate events. There was the day I was swarmed with biting ants and too terrified to run away, the day I played in a field of sharp-edged grass, and came home covered in tiny sharp grass hairs that hurt like needles.  The jungle didn't let you go unscathed. I learned to love it, but it was a kind of love that mingled with respect. 

There was the day I found jungle fruit trees covered with clusters of red, velvety fruit; the day I saw caterpillars spinning themselves into shiny green cacoons; the day I found purple nuts that I learned to crack open with a rock. When I weigh the good and the bad together, I find them both to be of value. The good is so good it was worth going through the bad; and the bad? It taught me to respect the jungle.

Eyebrows

Eyebrows fascinate me.  The newest fad here in Redding is to draw them unnaturally full.  I secretly want to go to one of those places where they do your eyebrows using thread.  The only reason I haven't tried it yet is because I'm afraid of it costing too much.  Also I am afraid they will laugh at me because my eyebrows are blond and hard to see.

I have heard that once you shave your eyebrows they will come in bushier.  I am not entirely sure that this is true, but I don't want to shave my eyebrows in the first place.  I've heard of shaping ones brows using depilatory wax, but that sounds too painful.  I prefer to use tweezers, which breaks up the pain into smaller increments. 

Broken Together

I have a hunch that Jesus weeps when we weep, and rejoices with us too.  After all, why would the Bible say to do this for others, if God did not.  I think he may even hurt with us.  If we are the body of Christ, and one part hurts, wouldn't the whole body be affected?  Even the head?  Maybe that is taking analogies too far.

What about when God hurts, that must affect his people too, in some way.  We share Jesus' sufferings, we fill them up, Paul says.  He calls it the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings.  Fellowship.  I've heard of the Fellowship of the Rings, but this is fellowship with Jesus, when we suffer. 

There is a song by Casting Crowns called "Broken Together".  It's really about marriage but it always reminds me of a time when I was very sick.  The radio was on, and this song came on, "could we just be broken together?" I think sometimes Jesus calls us to be broken with him. 



  

The Lace Cross

A long time ago in Cambodia, a friend gave me a lace cross she had made.  I keep trying to find a way to display it, because it's beautiful.  Today I repainted a picture frame for it, but I don't know if I will feel right about displaying it.

I am a Christian but I don't like to broadcast it.  I'm hoping my life will be evidence enough, without a cross letting people know.  Maybe I will put this cross back in my Bible as a bookmark, and let it be beautiful there. 

The Word Under The Coffee Table

I needed a coffee table for my apartment, and saw one being thrown away, and asked for it.  It came from a counseling center for troubled missionaries and their families, as is evidenced by the word I found written under the coffee table: poop.

I could just picture some troubled kid laying down under the little table and writing that one word.  Who knows why, perhaps they were upset at being trundled off to a counseling center, but they weren't supposed to complain, hence the unspeakable word hidden away just under everyone's noses. 

That is what this blog is like for me, since I am sure few will ever read it.  It's like the underside of a beat up old coffee table, where I can write to my heart's content.

Today I'm writing about the death of a former colleague.  He wasn't even as old as my parents, but suddenly died this week.   He loved God, and cared about people.  He used to pray for me, when I was a missionary and sent out prayer letters.

Anyway, I just think he must be very happy now, being in heaven, because he gets to see Jesus and ask all his questions, and see people he knows there, and see the answers to his prayers.  Maybe that sounds silly, but the coffee table wouldn't care.