Bushmen and Impala

I wear a ring that I got in Zambia - silver with little black figures all the way around it...a bushman, an impala, another bushman, impala, etc. Well, I call them bushmen, but they're really just stickmen, holding staves. And the impalas sort of look like deer. I've worn it every day since I got it - and I got it the last day I was there. It's been almost four years.

Yesterday, my nieces were hanging on me, and they noticed the ring again - they've seen it as they've played with my hands before, but this time they were taking it off and making like they were going to hide it from me, to make me chase them. I found myself kind of upset about it - I knew if I told them that it was a "special ring" to me, they'd note the seriousness in my voice and stop. I guess I wasn't really upset - I was just sort of interested in the fact that I felt uncomfortable about the thought of being without it.

It's not even that attractive a ring. It's just meaningful to me, and so I wear it. But will I wear it for the rest of my life?? Will my hand still be wearing this ring when I am 83? Will I have lost it, given it away, forgotten about it, or tucked it in the back of my jewelry box for safe keeping? Will I feel like passing it on? Will I be buried with it?

The significance of this ring has something to do with the connection I feel to Africa. Zambia is a huge part of who I am inside - it wasn't just another trip for me. Obviously. But I guess there's sort of this fear in me that I will not finish what was started. Wearing the ring reminds me that I promised to be different, to change, committed to let my life make a difference, and not to forget the need and the beauty of Zambia in all of that. When I'm shelving another copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Askaban I sometimes think about the stark contrast in the tasks I'm doing daily here, now, and that summer when everything I had done before seemed suddenly paler.

I was having a talk with my manager, Jeremy, the other day. He was talking about how guys that set out to climb all the highest peaks in the world, and succeed, often come back totally changed. Their friends say that they have lost a taste for anything else, that all they can think about doing is finding the next challenge, the next goal. The rush of being up there is so overwhelming that they can't function on the ground anymore. Many of them end up dying in an attempt to do the next big thing - all the same climbs, only in the dead of winter, alone, or whatever. I don't doubt it. It's a form of addiction, on the surface, but I do think that something deeper, something fundamental is going on there.

Remember Moses? Went up on the mountain, met God, came back changed. White hair and all. Glowing. Actually had to wear a veil to dim the light of his face. Now THAT is an encounter with God. But I think what Jesus did kicked the door down for us to meet with God, as ordinary joes. Combine that with the burning heart of God full of desire to meet with us, and you can bet that he'll break through when opportunity arises. Often, it happens though nature.

We've probably all had it in some form - some insane sunset, some perfectly peaceful night camping, some white beach, some 2 minute old infant comforted by being bundled up. True beauty slaps us in the head and our innards wake up and go, "HEY! I know you - I remember you - but wait...don't go..." And it's gone, and we are left with the vague sense that something bigger than our brains just happened. Something so sweet, tipping the scales so everything else loses a little taste...something so weighty that everything else seems a little less real. And you like the way it feels, because we're built for it.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what happens to those guys. The rush everyone talks about? I think it's an encounter with God, not adrenaline. It's a moment where you suddenly feel significant and purposeful, and at the same time, small in the infinity of the universe. Basically that what my relationship with God looks like a lot of the time - a whole lot of me going, "Dude, you're HUGE," and Him going, "Yeah, and I love you."

I remember Zambia that way. Like, here's a place of dire need, and for some reason I got picked to go and witness that - to have my heart broken about it, and be scarred by it. And then I came home, and home seemed frivolous, lacking perspective, wasteful, weightless. And I didn't want to go back - I didn't want to reaclimate to that. But how could I go on, and be happy where I had been planted?? The ultimate challenge. Paul wrote about it:

"For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain. But if I live on in the flesh, this will mean fruit from my labor; yet what I shall choose I cannot tell. For I am hard-pressed between the two, having a desire to depart and be with Christ, which is far better. Nevertheless to remain in the flesh is more needful for you. And being confident of this, I know that I shall remain and continue with you all for your progress and joy of faith, that your rejoicing for me may be more abundant in Jesus Christ by my coming to you again." (Philippians 1:21-26)

He knew what would be more enjoyable for him - he wanted to be with Jesus. But Jesus wants the lost to be found - and that takes laborers. People who have tasted, seen, and understand the reality of realities, and who are willing to do what is necessary and stay in a world that feels so fake and flimsy (once you've seen what's really real), for the sake of Christ's priority of Salvation. That, my friends, is the Great Commission. We bring the gospel of Truth so everyone can taste how good the Real thing is.

This stupid ring keeps me grounded. It is a flash of "SOMETHING BIG IS GOING ON" in the middle of my mundane daily tasks. And I'm gonna keep wearing it, because I need that sometimes. I need to remember that God wove me into his plan way before I knew what was up, and he's still up to something. I get to be a part of that, and right now my part is here. It's hard to stay calm about that, I'll admit, but I know it's good. It's ok. It's not over yet.