Last night I sat on the couch next to Rodrigo, our feet intertwining. I held a wine glass in one hand, sipping a bit of Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon, and held my iPad in the other. I’ve been reading The People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks – and as a side note, absolutely loving it. Highly recommend it. Anyways, we were sitting there together, and I looked up, almost meditatively, and spoke. “It’s weird that we live in Chile.”
Rodrigo crinkled his eyebrows. “I know. It is weird.”
This time last year we were packing up our container, saying good-bye to everyone. Now, we’re saying hello, trying to figure out how to live here, making friends, learning how to pay bills in a another country, how to open bank accounts, buy cars, and to do life here. It catches me by surprise – in strange moments that have nothing to do with Chile – that I’ll think how surreal it is to find myself in this place.
And yet … I think there’s nothing unusual about my sensation. I’m sure all of us wake up from time to time and wonder at the interesting and strange turn of events in our lives. One decision leads to another, which leads to another, and one day you wake up and find yourself living in Southern Chile, or in Seattle, or in Holland, or Australia with a man or woman you still can’t believe you’re lucky enough to have in your life.
I don’t think it’s so much where you find yourself, but rather, what it is you’re doing with your life that matters. People of the Book is a novel about an ancient Haggadah – a Jewish book meant to be read at the table during Passover – the Haggadah had somehow survived five hundred years of hardship. The novel tells the history, fictionally, of various people deciding to save the precious manuscript and hide it in a safe place so no one could take it… and five hundred years later, it somehow survived. The novel is about how we react to our circumstances of adversity, what happens when someone does the right thing when no one is watching, believing that it matters enough to do it, and what happens when someone doesn’t do the right thing when it matters.
After thirty-five years of life and many adventures, I’ve come to believe something absolutely fundamental. Goodness doesn’t just happen. We have to practice doing the right thing when no one is looking, if we want to do the right thing under adversity. Cowardice and double-mindedness are easy, and turning the other way when we see something wrong is second nature. It’s hard to sacrifice comfort for honesty and it hurts to take the hard road when the masses are taking the main highway. It’s not easy to be the only voice standing up for what’s right, especially when right and wrong often get blurred by sentiment and emotion.
Rodrigo and I went out the other night and I shared with him that I’m troubled by humanity. I’m downright troubled. I’m troubled with our capacity to do such harm to one another, to turn our backs on people who we should be stretching our hands out to. I’m disturbed by so much hatred and the cruelty I’m capable of – my own capacity to say something mean about somebody else or to pretend I don’t notice someone’s pain, because I’m too tired. It’s startling really. It’s bringing me into prayer, into contemplation, into conviction.
The wise teacher, the one whom I’ve chosen to follow, says to love our neighbor as we love ourselves. He says that I’m to love God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength and … love my neighbor as myself. That’s it. That’s what I’m to be about … loving God and loving people. So simple. So impossibly difficult.
This morning when Rodrigo and I prayed, we both talked to God about what it is we’re doing here in Chile. What’s the point? What was the purpose of this great big change? Why did we pack up and move? Why are we here? Why did God lead us here? Of course these are good and poignant questions … ones that matter. But we may not know the answer to these questions ever. Not to mention, the answers are multi-faceted. There isn’t one answer to these questions.
But in the questioning, in the pondering, in the pause – The Selah – I’m given a moment to reflect, to decide, to choose what I want to be about. And today, just like every other day, no matter where I live, in whichever city I’m in, I want to love God. I want to find him, to reach out for him … and I want to love the people that are here – all around me. I endeavor love them well. I want to love my neighbor with a generous and courageous heart.
What are you hoping to be about?
Much love,
Tina
