Summer 2008
Note: this is more of a short story than a blog entry. Take your time with it.
This summer has been one of re-integration; of community, laughter, challenge and great joy. Before I left for Canada I spent three days on the coast reading back through my many journals and speaking with God; going deep into prayer and preparing my mind for the transition back into my own culture. I found that expectations were a central thing; what was I anticipating? What would surprise me and what would not? Because it's twice as shocking and painful when something completely unforeseen comes you're way.

I have seen a contrast in the way I re-entered this year as opposed to 2006. The first time I crashed back into the atmosphere unprepared and plummeting at top speed. I burned up. The second time I came in armed with something unshakable; I had Yahweh as my fortress. I feel like, after six weeks, I came pumped up and "on fire" for God. My faith was an emotion, founded almost entirely on others' reactions and my personal passion and happiness. I struggled to maintain that wavering worldview amid a clamor of other ideas, insults and disappointments. It sort of toppled and left me wondering what it meant to be a disciple. Was this it?

After having lived in the slums for a year, being involved so deeply in real life experience with countless families and friends; after having felt their pain and shared in their victories and danced to their joyous music; after having listened to their stories, witnessed their circumstances and perhaps even come to comprehend the paradoxical contrast of bliss and suffering in which they lived; after all of this I think I was ready to let go of many of my preconceptions and begin to re-construct- with God's help- a concept of what life is all about.

And so I returned, wiser and more reliant on God. My faith was based not others or even myself; at the heart it was rooted deep in the love of God. I had found something so solid that it would outlast the mountains; something so invincible and inexorable that not I or anything else in all creation could even touch it. It was unalterable and indestructible: a faith that had prevailed through the furnaces and the depths, through depression and pride, a trust in God's faithfulness. 'He has seen me through so much,' I reflected on the plane, 'how will he not use this homecoming to let his grace and purpose shine once more?'

A surreal week of forgotten amenities, new old faces, art, media and music was all I had before diving in to work at Camp Chestermere. I felt strangely comfortable about it though, despite the abruptness. What I found cannot be fully described; it was like this land of walking, wise, strong, prayerful, hilarious, loving giants. I rediscovered acceptance and belonging among these Christian brothers. They supported me and I them. In this interdependent environment, we brought out the best creativity and humor and humility and satisfaction that each had to offer. With God as our Captain, we flourished and superceded our individual potentials. As each leader found their element and began surrending to God, things started to shine.

My first few days at camp were overwhelming; I felt in over my head. I was overjoyed to find that someone was willing to step in while I backed into a more laid-back position; until I was told that it would involve dressing up like the Fairy Godmother- tutu, tiara and all- and prancing around as part of a drama. I guess that was kind of like initiation; after that nothing was too daunting. I did go through some anxiety, though- a lot of fear and self doubt- and it struck me how I (Fabio) and a young camper named Justin Fabi seemed to go through very parallel experiences. He suffered from seperation anxiety. Every night he would get this horrible "botomless pit feeling" as he described it quite consciously.

As everyone else was falling asleep, Mike (Tiny) and I would walk him over to get his Rescue Herbs and encourage him to make it through the night. We would pray and tell jokes and analyze what it was that made Justin feel the way he did. "One more night,' Mike would say, 'we're going to make it through this- together." I got the sense that he was speaking to both of us. As the week progressed it was fascinating to see how we each overcame our struggles and found that, in this place, all worries seemed to melt away.
By the time Thursday rolled around we had almost forgotten what Monday was like. I was brought to tears later as I considered how proud Justin's father was when he came to pick him up on Friday; embracing him and congratulating him on his strength and perseverence. It was a beautiful story of restoration; he had made it through- and in style at that (one evening as I was serving supper he whispered in my ear: "Hey, uh, F-Fabio, like, every girl in the camp knows my name." He had the greatest little stutter and ended the statement off, fists clenched, with a giant YESSSSS). I was forced to remember, as well, how proud God was of what I had conquered that week.
One thing I really gained from the Dominican was a more relational and social nature. I engaged people on new levels, becoming involved in issues, strife, questions, traditions and journeys; beginnings and ends. I had found fresh contentness and significance from it as I continually saw how key it was to deeply love God's people; to put them first; to weep when they weep and rejoice when they rejoice. At camp, I felt God continually pushing me to put people first; to take what I had so treasured over that year and apply it here in Canada. I am so grateful for that initial trial and for the decision I made to stick with it; to continue to hope in him.

As the weeks progressed, I found myself in many ways. I was put with the youngest group- five to seven-year-old kids- and loved it. I fed off their energy, rejoiced in their simplicity and rediscovered the childlike joys of younger days. It was incomparably beautiful. We would color and play with toys, jump over volatile volcano sprinklers and share mini-lunches, operating as a unit, often using a rope to walk from place to place. They taught me and impacted me in ways that I am still trying to work out.

In the silence and solitude of my break times, I encountered a new richness in my relationship with God. On an island at the end of the dock- beneath a tree- I would sit down at a picnic table with my journal, the Message Remix and a coffee. 'Show me your glory,' I would often say. 'I want to see you more fully as you really are.' I was blown away by the answer I received; God showed up. I was saturated in his love; he fulfilled and completed me, like just being there in his presence was perfect and enough. I could feel his light shining upon me; his Spirit invading and spreading his life within as I tore down flags of rebellion and allowed him to be King. I would sometimes begin by speaking to God when suddenly his reality would hit like a tidal wave: "Be still and know that I am God."

In the inescapable glory of God I found that I was, first and foremost, loved. God's vitality bloomed inside. I began to see myself, exctiningly, in a larger story- an enwrapping adventure. I saw that I was becoming; that I was being healed and set free and that I must enjoy the process, like an artist throwing paint on a canvas or a gardener delighting in a tree's growth. Yet it was even deeper and more personal than that. It felt at times like reorganizing a huge cluttered mess or untying some complicated knot. God was wildly rearranging, sorting and making sense of my heart; things were being pulled and moved and my task was to trust.

I collided with unspeakable ecstacy bound up at the center of things; Jesus, in whom I find affirmation. I felt like a wanderer who had found the path; a prisoner rescued, a rebel enlightened, a slave unchained. I dwelled in the pervasive peace of Yahweh; a relevance that covers all things. I was sitting across from the Lord of all love, friendship and miracles; I felt a sense of anticipation each time I retreated to pray, like I was embarking on a new adventure. In meeting with him I completed my supreme purpose. This was the most meaninful aspect of camp.
Another highlight was my final week. I felt ready for the responsibility of leading an overnight cabin and was moved in with a group of thirteen-year-old campers. Turns out I wasn't ready, but God was. Oftentimes the most testing weeks are the most rewarding. I felt like as I continued to submit and refused to rely on my own strength- if only out of a total feeling of exhaustion and incapability- God moved me from strength to strength.

I had a really affeminate guy in my cabin named Nathan. He had been through some pretty intense stuff, which I didn't realize at first. I found his random, strange comments and flambuoyant personality to be so irrational; I fought to understand this boy. Much of what he said left me scratching my head or staring off into the distance, confused. I was reading his bluff: he wore this insane mask that people seemed to love in order to cover and avoid deep pain and loss. I got really frustrated and wanted to just be real with him. Christ wanted me to see him through his vision, though, and as my eyes were opened to his situation I simply had compassion on him and loved him without an agenda. I didn't expect things to change in a week- not with what he'd been through. From Sunday right through to Wednesday he would just shut down during devotionals and didn't want to have anything to do with God, but towards the end he expressed God as someone he could trust; someone who saw his innermost thoughts and hurts and loved him no matter what; someone he could talk to about anything. I was overjoyed to see how he had opened up so much.

The next wall I ran into was a guy named Jamie. Somehow he just got on my nerves. His comments should have been easy to shrug off or disregard and perhaps I was just short on patience, but I found him extremely hard to love. He would say little things like: "This sucks" or "You're boring, Fabio" or "When are we going to get off this stupid beach?" or "I could own you at tetherball" or "I could beat you in a race" or "You don't look so tough; imma wrestle you." I got so fed up with it all that I began to avoid him. I left him alone to hang out with his groupies while we chilled to some music and played Risk in the cabin. At one point, though, God stepped in and said: "This isn't good enough." He wanted me to actively love him. I reflected on God's glory; on how he is slow to anger and rich in love. I considered Christ on the cross, forgiving his enemies and removing our punishment. I decided how, coupled with my limited perspective and wisdom, this affects my right to judge or mete out punishment. After all that I was able to take a breath of fresh air and offer my friendship to him.
The third obstacle that came my way made the others look like child's play. I was even forced to wonder at how they had even been difficult at the time. We had this broken fourteen-year-old guy at camp named Aaron. He looked about eighteen and had a hardcore attitude. He had obviously not been raised in any kind of positive environment and it showed. He was full of hurt and contempt. He hated authority. That week Aaron did everything he could to push all the staff members past their breaking points. He mistreated and intimidated the campers; he drastically changed the entire camp dynamic. If we were just focusing on the rules Aaron would have been sent home about ten times. But Sonya (Yoda), our program director, had God's initiatives in mind. She wanted to show Aaron that at camp we did care about him and we were going to put up with his garbage. It was evident that he really didn't have anyone else in his life who gave a rip about him, and we decided to relentlessly love the guy.

Aaron reminded me of the type who tossed me around and tore me up in highschool. He opened old wounds and revealed insecurities I had never really dealt with. One morning at breakfast Aaron sat at my table. It was horrible. He shut down everything that came out of my mouth with a "That's retarded" or "That's gay." He would divert my attention to something happening across the dining hall and then smack me in the back of the head. He poured coffee on my seat when I got up to go to the bathroom and I stained my shorts (I didn't realize until later that day). He just about poured a pitcher full of dirty water and cutlery all over me. I basically just sat there and took it, but inside I was furious. If he made me react, though, he won. I didn't want to give him that. As we cleaned up from breakfast, I was done. I just sat on my bunk and brooded.

During my break I just submitted completely to God. There was nothing I needed more. Something I wrote in my journal caught my eye: "Our God is not an Olympian god. He is Agape. He is sacrifice. He is not detached or disinterested. He does not await the worthy hero who scales his mountain. He marched down- descneded from his lofty temple- with his face like fint, his will firm and unmoving. He poured out his heart; our Champion, our Master, to whom we bow. Our God pursued us, treaded our paths and encountered our trails; sought us like a hunter. Like a lover. He strode valiantly through the valley of death- for us, his joy- and now, in the most intoxicating mystery, we deserve to be in his presence. He holds out his arms in radical invitation; the Adventurer, the Hero, our Paraclete." With God's amazing love at my side, before me and inside me- surrounding me and clothing me- I was able to go way beyond my own potential. I didn't just endure Aaron, I cared about him.

On Thursday afternoon we began to see the most inexplicable, transformation. Aaron actually began being polite. It was the craziest thing. He would run ahead of female staff and open the door for them. He denounced some guys for objectifying girls. He rebuked some complacent campers and told them to show more respect. Everyone had been following him around all week, the cool, hard gangster that he was, and he had been dragging them down. Aaron, once an agent of destruction, actually began turning campers back towards their leaders. Some little five year old approached him later in a squeaky voice and asked: "Could you sign my t-shirt?" Aaron sort of looked at him funny and walked off. Meanwhile, some other kid threw him a football and smiled with eagerness. Aaron threw it back gently, looking more than a little uncomfortable. Just then, the t-shirt kid begged him to sign a second time. Aaron did; he grabbed the marker and scribbled his name on the boy's back. As my brother Eldon (Scrum) later concluded: "The world that week didn't make sense to Aaron. We pumped him so full of love that he actually started being kind to others." I think Aaron himself said something to the effect of: "I'm not used to this whole Not-Being-Mean thing." We hope he keeps coming back.

One last story: that same week I was blessed to have a Colombian refugee in my cabin named Roy. On Sunday I saw his family and just began speaking in Spanish. It was so refreshing; it all just started coming back and I realized how much I missed this awesome language. It's so fun and logical and straightforward. Anyway, his family felt really good about leaving him with someone who could communicate in his heart language. He was very apprehensive the first day; I got the impression he really hadn't been treated well at school and hadn't received a very warm welcome into Canadian culture.

I understood where he was coming from; culturally, emotionally and religiously. On Monday he pulled out this little child Jesus figure, depicting him divinely dressed in golden robes with a crown and scepter, his hands raised in saintly symbols and a glowing halo around his head. "This," he said, "is what protects me. It protected us and rescued us from Colombia; in fact, it's the only reason my ancestors made it through the Black Plague. Jesus of Prada."

Whenever Roy felt afraid or homesick or sad or angry we would speak in Spanish. It was really good for him because he felt unashamed. He could ask questions and express how he truly felt without feeling unashamed at all. In fact, for the first few days, I was the only one he spoke to. It was heart-rending to see, though, how he came out of his shell and opened up, making new friends and finding a place to belong. He encountered acceptance, brotherhood, love and almost unbearable amounts of fun. He got excited about God and began to understand the gospel in its purity and simplicity.On Wednesday night he expressed wanting to start studying the Bible- the way we did in the cabin- with his family. On Thursday he remarked: "I've never had a week like this before in my life." For Roy, it was unforgettable. He had a t-shirt covered in signatures from staff and boys and girls alike, a new Spanish-English Bible the camp gave him, and a mind alight with great memories. This confused, nervous young man had found clarity and restoration; he broke free and was loving it. On Friday morning, his father came to pick him up early around nine-o-clock. "Today is a very special day for us," he said. "Why is that?" I asked. "Today we become Canadian citizens," he replied. This was like icing on the cake. What perfect timing; what a fitting finish. Roy had just finished being ushured in to Canada in an unprecendented way and here it was: congratulations. Welcome to a life of peace. Camp has become for Roy like a second home within a newfound second nation.

It was definitely a "God" summer. We laid down everything at his feet, depended on him, and he did amazing things in and through us. All I can do is give thanks. Now, as I enter into Biblical Studies and Art at Trinity Western University I will have some majestic inspiration to draw on. May I never forsake the divine and interpersonal intimacy that so brightened my summer. All I can do at this point is sit back and thank God.

My Last Supper
I am coming to the end of my trip, reflection and anticipation and flight arrangements filling my head. Now, as at the beginning, I am forced to ask the question: how does one sum up a year of experience? I would look at it as a time of tremendous spiritual training and growth; a time in which God has begun to penetrate my heart and the roots of an authentic, intimate relationship with my Creator have begun to deepen.

Jesus has been my guide through this wilderness; my strong foundation, enabling me to stand on firm spiritual ground in a turbulent environment. I have found that Christ is brilliant, creative, challenging, fearless and ultimately satisfying; that he is compassionate, unpredictable, exhilarating and longs to radically transform my life.

I once looked at Christ, more or less, the way I initially looked at Mambo when I came down: boring, repetitive and over-played. But I do so no more. Slowly but surely, the mysterious and beautiful groove started to grow on me. First, I began tapping my feet- almost involuntarily. I guess this isn’t so bad after all. Pretty soon, I was in the mix, dancing and enjoying it all. This is pretty awesome; I wish I had known about it earlier. Now, I am in a new place of embrace, singing along and discovering new songs all the time.

Last Sunday I was blessed to share in a meaningful conversation and a delicious Taiwanese meal. Over dumplings, Rod, Tracy, Darin and I discussed the future. I sat back and enjoyed the green tea and air conditioning while Rod made some quick calls and arranged a trip to Tunisia in the fall. After enduring about thirty minutes of easy listening music and wrestling to pronounce his destination (he eventually had to spell it out), Rod turned to me and asked: “So what do you think you will do after four years of university?”

I had to pause and consider the whole four years thing...honestly, who knows? If you had asked me about my prospects four years ago, there is absolutely no way I would have guessed working voluntarily with a Christian Ministry in the Dominican Republic, living with a native family in one of the poorest slums in the country; speaking Spanish and eating rice and beans and shaving my head at a 70 peso barber shop- without Barbicide (who knows what kind of fun guys head in to get a cheap clip? Avoiding hongos has been a pleasant surprise).

I know that even in the last six months my motives for university have shifted considerably. Paul’s exhortations in Colossians have been bouncing around in my head at night: Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly… Maybe I will encounter Shalom-reflective community at Trinity- maybe not. Perhaps I will meet a woman and fall in love- perhaps not. Hopefully I can get the President’s Scholarship to help pay for my education. Hopefully I can get off the waitlist for Art 181: Fundamenals of Design. Hopefully my roommate is tolerable. Yet I will not allow my hope to rest in any of these things, for any one of them could fade away in an instant. Knowing the context and original Greek of first Corinthians is only beneficial as it intensifies my connection to God.

I was encouraged and also challenged by the words Rod left me with as I exited his jeep that night: “I just want you to know that I’m proud of you. You’re going to tear it up man; you’ll be like the next C.S. Lewis or something. Just don’t forget about us, alright?”

“Who could?” I responded. I treasure this year, with all the perspectives and relationships and lessons I can draw on; I have gained so much. It has been utterly crucial and worthwhile. In the end, I am brought to contemplate one key truth. If the words of the Director of TEARS can bring me to emotional heights, what happens when the perfect, flawless words of my Savior begin to reverberate across the surface of my spirit? Shall I be skyrocketed to the moon? I have only heard the echoes, I have only felt the breeze rush past- a glimpse of glory. The mere whispers of Yahweh have been enough to divert my desire and capture my heart and thus draw me toward a path of devotion, discipleship, authority and obedience; the adventure has just begun.

Ego Death, New Life, and the Crucial-ness of Christ

I have one month left here in the Dominican Republic, and I feel like recent events have marked/ shaped a sort of re-emergence; a re-emergence of the gospel’s centrality and magnitude and a subsequent re-emergence of my true self. These two increase proportionately: the more Christ is the foundation, the more we come into harmony with the life God has for us. This, I feel, is one important message Jesus illustrates in Matthew 10:39: “Whoever finds his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

This has to do with the letting go of the ego- our life- and doing so for the sake of Jesus, seeing the gloriously transcendent and eternal life he offers far exceeds what we currently have. To find the sort of life he has in mind, we must begin to let go of our own life, shifting our hopes and force and passion and allegiances and loves- the fundamentals of our heart- to him.

Deepak Chopra writes: “the ego keeps its grip by making us feel needy and powerless. From this sense of lack grows the enormous hunger to acquire everything in sight. Money, power, sex and pleasure are supposed to fill up the lack, but they never do. You can escape this whole package of illusion if you see yourself not as a shadow fighting to get to God but as in the light from the first moment.”

If I begin the recognize in a more complete way that I am, right now, in the light of Jesus; that God sees me in light of what Christ did: redeemed, forgiven, saved, holy, perfect, pure and new, the ego would begin to lose its grip. It would be washed away and carried out to sea by the enormous wave of satisfaction that comes rushing in- God’s very righteousness, flowing like the ocean’s tide. In my journal I wrote down a list of “not enoughs” that commonly plague my heart and steal my priorities:

Not enough style, good clothing
Not enough women, charm
Not enough eloquence, popularity
Not enough confidence, practical skill
Not enough money, stuff
Not enough friends, community
Not enough strength, conditioning
Not enough achievement, success
Not enough…Jesus?

Now we’re hitting on something. All those other lusts precede Christ simply because I’ve been thinking upside down; in terms of worldly power and accumulation and hierarchy, rather than in the counterintuitive but surpassing power of sacrifice and humility. “Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?” cries Paul in 1 Corinthians 1. Now it’s up to me to get my logic right-side-up again.

I like how G.K. Chesterton puts it: “This is what I call being born upside down. The skeptic may truly be said to be topsy-turvy; for his feet are dancing upwards in idle ecstasies while his brain is in the abyss. To the modern man the heavens are actually below the earth. The explanation is simple; he is standing on his head; which is a very weak pedestal to stand on. But when he has found his feet again, he knows it. Christianity satisfies suddenly and perfectly man’s ancestral instinct for being the right way up; satisfies it supremely in this; that by its creed joy becomes something gigantic and sadness something special and small.”

In the Bible, the tree of life is referred to in Genesis and Revelation, and in Proverbs it is described like this: “[wisdom] is a tree of life to those who embrace her; those who lay hold of her will be blessed.” In paradise there was this tree in the middle of the garden. What does it represent? I believe it has to do with fullness of life; our desires for creativity, beauty, romance and knowledge being absolutely satisfied. Adam and Eve lost this; a fiery sword prevented them from ever approaching. A deep part of our condition is this sense of irretrievable loss- cosmic nostalgia. We’re longing for something we remember, yet never had; in all music and relationships and pursuits; something grasped at, but which fades away in reality.

As our ego drags us around our sprits become drained and crushed. What is our hope? Jesus became human and came down to clean up the mess. Spiritually, he was ground to dust- cut off from the Father- so that we could once again find that perfect fulfillment God intended for us; a place where we can rest in wholeness and bliss. This is my hope and, in the end, the only sure foundation we can put our trust in- a sun and a shield all at once, protecting and guiding us on the path of life.

“All ye that pass by- behold and see
Man stole the fruit, now I must climb the tree
A tree of life for all, but only me.”
-George Herbert, The Sacrifice

Fire. Sparks rising into the moonlit sky. Laying in the green grass, evangelizing to the drunkard next to me, observing the flashlight-flooded drama before me; a beautiful expression of Jesus’ love and our struggle. Countless things all seemed to begin to come together up there; I cannot really explain it.

The journey began as I lugged my pack up the rocky slope, flicking sweat off my brow in the relentless heat. A formidable group, beloved companions all of them: the El Camino drama team, the New York team, TEARS Staff and translators. We marched along like a ragged army- some pushing ahead, others lagging behind. I felt uplifted to listen to the testimony of my new friend John, bearing witness to the common thread of rebellion and repentance that ties us all together- like a diverse yet inextricably related family.

The sense of community, the essence of the gospel as it exploded to life in the darkness, the prayer; as I later reflected on it all I felt overwhelmingly like a longing inside had been fulfilled. I was like a parched man drinking deep from a desert well- but somehow I knew this was not an oasis.

This deep intimate relationship with God and with other believers had been flickering in and out of existence lately, yet as wood was thrown into the fire, so God also fueled my own heart and heated the furnace within; he had been waiting to show me something for a long time. As I felt the reassuring touch of hands on my back and shoulders, powerfully uttered prayers and subtle whispers- uttered in tongues of unspeakable passion- the Spirit seemed to act as a spotlight, throwing the love of Christ into brilliant clarity. The sense of newness, healing and encouragement is more than I can describe.

The following morning I prayed in the cool of the dawn, watching the splendor of the sun crowning the valley below, slowly creeping over the horizon and- almost imperceptibly- giving warmth to my chilled hands. I opened the Scripture to Isaiah 26 and asked the Lord to speak to me. I would say that this verse, perhaps better than anything else (certainly better than my words), does justice to the experience:

“You who dwell in the dust,
wake up and shout for joy.
Your dew is like the dew of the morning…”

God’s glory. The world is drenched with it- real, true, full, now, resplendent. I must give thanks, for he has given me a beautiful existence- breathtakingly beautiful. Yahweh is the Wise Master who orchestrates everything; the beauty of nature and culture and our very minds are like tributaries, running down from his river of imaginative and cognitive power. My final request that morning was simple and sincere: What do I have if I don’t have you? Help me to see past the illusions of money and success. May the material become for me immaterial, and may you be my Everything.

Expectations: I came down with a whole lot of them- good and bad; accurate and inaccurate. I was warned to be careful and realistic about them, and as idealistic and imaginative as I am, I tried not to let my hopes swell too much and to keep my head out of the clouds. Shattered expectations, apparently, are the chief cause of missionary depression. One is left disappointed and with a haunting sense of failure: I was hoping to have more converts by now or I thought God would have helped me overcome this sinful habit or I had expected to have accomplished more in one year. These are a few vague examples; real disillusionment is not a pretty sight.

As I jogged tiredly downhill last Wednesday, having finished an exhausting twenty-minute climb, my mind moved into the realm of expectations; dreams and results and truth and the like. And as I let my legs flow like Jell-o, leaning lazily back and letting the hill pull me closer to the barrio, I was forced to ask myself the question: do you have the right to feel discontented or regretful at this point, as your trip comes to a close? What are you able to say in response to all you aspired to and all that was realized? Has this trip not exceeded your expectations in many ways?

As I continued my contemplative descent, some examples moved to the forefront of my thoughts. Were you really expecting to achieve this level of communication ability in Spanish; to have your ears opened to the language, when at first all you heard was gibberish? Were you really expecting to be able to conquer the Hill? [The first attempt I made it about 300 meters, the sun beating down on my back, and just about fell over; the incline is brutal.] Were you honestly expecting to have grown creatively in the ways you have; to have produced art and music; to have written and discovered and been inspired; to have begun the first crucial steps in developing style, mixing it with passion for Christ and letting your talents unfold?

Did it enter your mind that, by the end of twelve months, you would have been a part of such great photo opportunities and experiences, having expanded your knowledge and captured moments to the extent you have? When that airplane took off, did you imagine being so deeply integrated and accepted in another culture; moving with the flow and learning to love its beautiful aspects in all their variety and newness and wonder; to be telling their jokes and savoring their food and dancing to their rhythm? As you entered Puerto Plata, having to push aggressively for your baggage and receiving foreign insults, did you anticipate relating to a Dominican family with such depth and freedom; impacting and being impacted in countless and magnificent ways?

Finally, could you truly have conceived the ways in which Christ has revealed himself to you; his gospel crashing down like a meteor and bursting in fiery purification; his love covering you like an inconceivably glorious armament; his greatness and glory pouring into your heart and causing a new sort of life to bloom? To all of these questions, especially the last, my answer was: no, this was not part of my game plan.

But thank God I wasn’t in charge! When I see my Master’s wisdom I find that it is infinitely more profound and intriguing and wonderful than my own. Ephesians 3:20-21 puts it like this: “Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work in us, to him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.”