Saturday, November 21, 2009

Un Poco de Español en Chungju

Jesus Adrián Romero has become one of my all-time favorite musicians. Written in Spanish, his songs describe the characteristics of God in such finite pictures--"telling details," we English majors call them. They speak truth and encouragement to those of us trekking through life on a faith journey. I brought two of his CDs with me on my own trek across the ocean and had a chance to listen to one of them last night for the first time this side of the Pacific. It brought a sense of somber direction and perspective. Reflecting on my current life situation, Romero's words reminded me of where I am and all that Christ has brought me through to now.

Two songs have ministered to me in particular. The first, "Te Veo," which means "I See You," describes different places in which the speaker finds a glimpse of God: "en la noche," at night; "en la luz," in the light; "en la sonrisa y en el amor," in a smile and in love. "Veo tu mano guiandome," he says-- I see your hand guiding me. He speaks of feeling God's hand on his life and being able to hear God's word and voice. The crux of the song comes down to the chorus: "Eres tan fiel y no hay razon que me haga dudar de tu corazón... Siempre eres fiel." You are so faithful and thre is no reason to make me doubt your heart; you are always faithful.

If there were anything in the world that would make someone doubt God, surely moving to a foreign country ranks high on the list. If there were anything to make someone feel as if they cannot hear God, surely being a woman alone, a femme sole, without any familiar face or comfort or covering, would be one of them. Surely losing your luggage or your contact or being unable to read simple signs or communicate to the grocery clerk--surely those circumstances would cause a man to doubt! And yet...

I had a friend tell me before I left that he thought my desire to go wasn't a good idea. "It's not a wise decision," he said. "If none of the pieces are falling together like they should, then it's probably not from God." And yet, the moment he said it I was at best a month away from leaving! I had only to pack and obtain my visa! From the moment I heard about the opportunity, peices fell together: God released me from my living situation and allowed me to move back home; my then-employer could not have been more cooporative with my desire to go and asked only that I keep them informed; within a month from starting to gather my documents, a willing sponsor was found to interview me and offer employment; my visa was granted and issued with enough time for me to leave just three days after receiving it. From the start of the whole story, I could say like Romero, "Veo tu mano guiandome; siempre eres fiel." I can see your hand guiding me. The LORD has surely proved Himself to be faithful in this venture!

The second song, "Aquí Estoy" (Here I Am), speaks of God searching the world over for a faithful servant. "No tienes que buscar a nadie mas," reads the chorus. "Yo quiero ir. Aquí está mi tiempo; aquí están mis horas. Aqui estoy yo." You don't have to look for anyone else: Here is my time; here am I. The speaker confesses that he doesn't want to lose the talents and gifts given him, but give them back in a way that God could use. "Mi vida es para ti," he says. My life is for you. Away from the comforts of home, a confession like this grips my heart and makes me remember why I came: "Aquí estoy, Señor; here I am." It convicts me not to sit on my haunches and let time (and my talents) seep through the cracks in my building. It reminds me that even here--6,000 miles from home, as literally far away as you can get from American, Texan normal--selfishness and laziness still reside. My issues didn't dissolve when I jumped ship for Korea. They may not have magnified, but I still carried them with me. Here the flesh lives on just as much as in America. Here, it still requires a fight.

I used to think that if only I could get somewhere else--to another country!--my life would be all the easier. But sitting on the floor of that other country, I realize that's an illusion: You can't escape life. The best you can do is choose to live it differently from now on. Jesus Adrián reminds me how to do that. One shouldn't make a trip like mine impulsively, but deliberately--consciously choosing to say to God, "Here I am."

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