Learning from Moses

So Deuteronomy 34:7 says Moses was 120 years old when he died. Before God called him to any sort of action, Moses waited 40 years... in the wilderness... with a flock of sheep... wandering aimlessly. And then, boom! A burning bush and God sent him to deliver the Israelites from slavery.

I'm can only imagine what was going on in Moses' head those 480 months of wandering. I bet for awhile he fought off memories of killing the Egyptian (Ex. 2). Maybe he wondered if Pharaoh would ever find him or forget about what he'd done. Perhaps he thought he'd be a shepherd the rest of his life. I wonder if that bothered him or if he was satisfied with it. But I imagine every time he'd try to convince himself he was content, the image of the Egyptian beating the Hebrew would pop into his mind and anger at the injustices would ensue.

4 months. That's how long I've been waiting for direction. Nothing compared to Moses, granted, but I believe I've had some of the same feelings. In an attempt to reach contentment, I've found myself pressing towards nirvana - trying to remove my desires, tricking myself into wanting nothing (which I'm convinced isn't what God wants). Like Moses, I know things aren't as they should be. I've seen injustices done in various developing countries around the world. I've read blogs, watched videos, viewed photos of hurting, abused, neglected, hungry, thirsty, dying people nationally and internationally. I've been livid when it appears justice doesn't prevail. I've been broken when I read statistics of orphaned children. I've been down-right infuriated when I hear about human trafficking. Ahh! There's just an infinite amount of brokenness...

I see so much need in the world, and while I only have one life to offer, I want to give it. I want to act. I want to do something. I want to make a difference. I'm willing to travel the world, to sell everything I own, to -gasp- wear dresses or skirts every day if need be. But I find myself in Champaign, Ill.... in the middle of corn fields... in a college town... wearing the only pair of jeans I own every day... looking for a job...

If you've read any of my previous posts, you know I moved here to be part of a church plant, Confluence Church. And, I want to be clear, while I'm here, serving the Champaign-Urbana community with Confluence is my purpose. God is moving in this city, and it is a privilege to be serving Him in this capacity and partnering with Him in this work. Truly humbled.

I just know this is temporary. I don't know if it's temporary like Moses' time as a shepherd, the 40-years-type of temporary, or if it's temporary like 1-2 years, the you-don't-have-an-income-type of temporary. But I do know this: Even in the temporary, God meets me. Even in the waiting, He shows up. Even in the longing for more, this is enough.

Reading about Moses encourages me. I'll wait as long as I need to wait, and I'll know there is strategy and purpose in the wait and timing. (deep inhale, slow exhale -- this is not easy.)

Risky Business

risk /risk/

Noun: A situation involving exposure to danger
Verb: Expose (someone or something valued) to danger, harm, or loss

Words or phrases I think of when I hear "risk": action, adventure, scary, dangerous, against the norm, a lot on the line, scary, unknown outcome, scary...

I've always hated the fact that I'm not much of a risk taker. Risk takers are unique people. They believe in what they're risking for. They're willing to put it all on the line. They're actually doing. They're acting out of their beliefs, regardless of the outcome.

All the situations I can dream of people "risking" involve them doing something, taking some crazy action. Buying a company despite the opposition from others. Bungee jumping despite the minute chance of an accident. Taking a job despite having to relocate across the country. ...Those are what I think are risks.

But here's what hit me this morning: If risk, by definition, is "a situation involving exposure to danger" then perhaps is NOT acting sometimes a risk? Isn't it a risk to be offered a job then NOT take it? Isn't it a risk to see an opportunity and NOT pursue it?

Couldn't it be a risk to, dare I say, wait?

I'm in a waiting time of life. And while I don't usually want to do anything too risky, I do usually want to DO something. I want to make some kind of action. I hate sitting still. But I think right now, I need to take a risk and wait. Believe me, that's terrifying.

Waiting room muse

As I was hanging out in the hospital waiting room, I decided to write. It's been a while, and though I've been promising an Everyday Jesus story, you're still waiting. Maybe I'll work on that after this post (that is, if I don't fall asleep).

My Aunt (great aunt, actually) Marsha was admitted to the hospital today. She works at the hospital, which proved convenient when her face went numb, arms started tingling and head started spinning this afternoon. Currently, she is sleeping. Tomorrow will be a day full of tests for her, and hopefully, some answers will come. In the few minutes she was awake while I was in her room, she told me the doctor said it could have been a mini stroke.

Our other family members were here earlier. They left when she started falling asleep around 10:30 p.m. I came to the hospital after work, shortly after 11 p.m., to stay for the night. This isn't the first time I've spent the night in a hospital room or waiting room. A couple of months ago I stayed in my grandma's room with her, and my grandpa spent 21 days in the hospital a couple of years ago. That was a long month—August 2007. (Don't worry, no one stayed the entire time. But my grandma got pretty darn close.)

Every other time I've stayed in a hospital with a friend or family member, the hospital has been quite a ways away. Tonight, that is not the case. And because of that, I can't help but feel judged by the nurses walking by. It's like they're wondering why I'm here.

To be honest, I'm not doing anything. I probably could easily go either home or to a cousin's house in town. But here's why I'm staying: I think that regardless of if I'm in the room with my aunt or not, she knows I'm here, and I give value to that knowledge. I place weight on the fact that she knows someone is waiting here with her. Do I really thing she would care if I went home? No. She told me I didn't have to stay. But possibly by knowing I want to stay will be helpful.

It's more the principle of it. I think there is value in moral building. And if this situation was, God forbid, more serious, I hope that knowing someone stayed all night would be encouraging in some strange way. That's what I want to tell the nurses that keep walking by looking at me strangely.

I could be completely wrong; I have no idea. But I'm still going to stay.