"Come, Follow Me!"

"Jesus said to them, 'Come, follow me! I will teach you how to catch people instead of fish.' They immediately left their nets and followed him."
-Mark 1:17-18

I remember what it was like when I could say that there was only forty days until I left on my mission trip, and then thirty, twenty seemed to pass by before I even had a chance to acknowledge it, and then there was only ten. Five. Four. By this time, I began not being able to sleep at night anymore. I lay awake for hours thinking about what the next week would bring. Last night at my going away party, as I sat among my closest friends and family as they encouraged and prayed over me, and then when the reality of the time and situation hit that there was only one single day that separated me from leaving for two months...my heart began beating like a jungle drum.
I don't understand it; last year I was more than ready to leave on my month long mission trip to Romania, and even after three long weeks I wasn't even close to being ready to come home again, either. But this time around, I'm not overcome with relief or excitement, but rather an overwhelming, immense...fear. I'm afraid. I'm so afraid that I can't even swallow the feeling that is so strong it's become tangible. I know, same old song, "I'm going to miss my family, I'm so inadequate, false humility, false humility, bleh." But no really. And then on top of this terror and anxieties, I'm sad. I'm sad to leave. I have been blessed with the most beautiful biological sisters, incredible brothers, and inspiring parents, and then there's my church which congregation consists of one hundred and twenty people--give or take--whom over the years I have learned to see as my family in Christ, and then you have all my close friends and acquaintances whom I also think of as my brothers and sisters. Also this emotional outlook I've developed over the past few days that there are only a few days until I leave has effected the way I see everyone, so in my abundance of good thoughts and appreciation towards everyone even the random store clerk who checked me and my milk out Friday is counted as my sister in Christ. Yay.
However, through all this hesitation and even dread, the Lord has ceaselessly whispered into my heart, "Come, and follow me, and I will teach you My ways. And Betsie, through leaving and giving up, I will give you so much more."
It's not enough for me to just leave tomorrow on my flight, and it's not enough to just give up two months. It will only be enough--and not even then!--when I am leaving everything to follow the Lord every single day so as to learn His ways, to learn to be a fisher of men. Not just every day in Thailand, though, but every single day of my life beginning this moment, right now.
It is my prayer and hope that all my sisters and brothers, biologically and through Christ, all my friends, acquaintances, friendly store clerks, would grab my hand and that we would do just that together.

Always,
Betsie

"There's something in the water!"

I'm obsessed with Peter Pan. The obsession was created when I was eleven years old, right before monthly visits from "Aunt Flo from the Red Sea" or pimples, and heard of the fairytale for the very first time. When I watched the movie, Jeremy Sumpter basically sealed the deal. My obsession soon rubbed off on my two brothers, whom enjoyed a good adventure story as much as myself, and soon enough we were John and Michael and Wendy (or Tinkerbell, Hook, and Tootles, depending on our moods). Whenever we had control of the TV, we would watch the movie over and over and over again. So many times, in fact, that we had all the lines memorized and--we thought--recite them better than the actual characters themselves. ("Oh, the cleverness of us!")
One of my favorite scenes is when Wendy and the Lost Boys are captive on the pirate ship and they are about to walk the plank when Peter rescues them...disguised as a crocodile, Hook's greatest fear. It's very on edge, you know, for a kid's movie. Havoc and pandemonium are wreaked on the deck as the crew run around like beheaded chickens, so struck with terror by the combination of the unknown monster in the water and their captain, so beset on having them kill the beast. Above the pre-pubescent shrill screams, one pirate could be heard yelling, "There's something in the water!" That one statement expressed all the terror, horror, and confusion that the scene was impregnated with.
Now. I am in a play of Peter Pan. I have the role of Tinkerbell and over the past three weeks we have had rehearsals every, single. day. So The Boy Who Would Not Grow Up and his story have been on my mind. A lot. So this morning during church and the sermon (which was on "Facing the Storms of Life"), when the story of Jesus walking on water and calling out to his disciple Peter to come to him--on the water--was retold, I got such a better picture and understanding of what that encounter must have been like on the disciples part. Thanks to Peter Pan.

"Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowd. After he had dismissed them, he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray. Later that night, he was there alone, and the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it. Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. 'It’s a ghost,' they said, and cried out in fear. But Jesus immediately said to them: 'Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.'
'Lord, if it’s you,' Peter replied, 'tell me to come to you on the water.'
'Come,' he said.
Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, 'Lord, save me!'
Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. 'You of little faith,' he said, 'why did you doubt?'
And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, 'Truly you are the Son of God.'"
-Matthew 14:22-33

"When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. 'It's a ghost!' they said, and cried out in fear." Can you imagine? I think we sometimes overlook the other disciples in this story since Jesus and Peter's walk-on-water stunt kinda demands our attention. But just think how terrifying and supernatural that night was for all of them. Peter might have been the only one to actually walk on water, but he also was the only one who believed the impossible thing coming towards them in the dark of the night was their Teacher; unlike his fellow disciples who just thought they were being visited by a ghost who was about to inflict a massacre. People walking on water? There's no possible way! I think I would have almost have rather it of been a ghost then that. I'm already scared of the dark, but think what it would have been like to be in the middle of a vast lake at almost the darkest time of night, stuck in some boat with your comrades while this supernatural approached you and your buddy, Peter, stepped out of the vessel to greet him! I think I would have handled the situation a lot more like the beheaded chicken pirates in Peter Pan, screeching, "There's something in the water!" over and over like the others didn't already very well know that, instead of bold Peter. (And not Pan, the apostle.)
They were so...petrified of the unknown. Of not being in the safety of a tiny boat. Isn't that ridiculous? They preferred the stability of a man-made sailboat over the arms of their Creator's Son and ultimate Savior. When it's phrased like that, I can see the folly in it. However, even still I envy Peter's bravery and faith to step out because I know that I wouldn't have been able to step out with him. I would have trusted what I knew even over the assurance of the Teacher who was Love and Terror and always Faithful. I would have missed out.
Later on today while I was at We Will Go and during the worship service, with the little revelation I had about the disciples and "something in the water" on my mind, we sang the hymn I Have Decided to Follow Jesus. Have you ever had those days where it seems God is just very nice, and has something so important for you to realize that He smacks it in your face...twice? I love those days. That was today.


"I have decided to follow Jesus;
I have decided to follow Jesus;
I have decided to follow Jesus;
No turning back, no turning back.

Though I may wonder, I still will follow;
Though I may wonder, I still will follow;
Though I may wonder, I still will follow;
No turning back, no turning back.

The world behind me, the cross before me;
The world behind me, the cross before me;
The world behind me, the cross before me;
No turning back, no turning back.

Though none go with me, still I will follow;
Though none go with me, still I will follow;
Though none go with me, still I will follow;
No turning back, no turning back.

Will you decide now to follow Jesus?
Will you decide now to follow Jesus?
Will you decide now to follow Jesus?
No turning back, no turning back."


"But Jesus immediately said to them: 'Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.' 'Lord, if it’s you,' Peter replied, 'tell me to come to you on the water.' 'Come,' he said." I have decided to follow Jesus; no turning back, no turning back.
"Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, 'Lord, save me!'" Though I may wonder, I still will follow; No turning back, no turning back.
"Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him." Though none go with me, still I will follow; no turning back, no turning back.
"When the disciples saw him...they were terrified, [they] cried out in fear." Though none go with me, still I will follow; no turning back, no turning back.
"And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, 'Truly you are the Son of God.'" Will you decide now to follow Jesus? No turning back, no turning back.
I am in utter awe of Peter and his faith. The Lord called out to him, and so he challenged, "If You really are who You say You are, tell me to come to You. Tell me to do something crazy. Show me your glory." How many times have I said the same things to God, but ended it at that. Spoken words. Peter requested, and when he was answered he answered by stepping out alone to the unknown in faith. He wouldn't settle for the stability and normalcy of the boat, he wanted something more; he wanted it so badly that he was willing to do the impossible. He stepped out of reality and safety and gave himself up just so that he could reach his Lord. And yes, he faltered and had to be saved, but still: he stepped out. There was something unreal in the water, something unsafe and unfathomable, but he still trusted in it.
Like Mr. Beaver said in C. S. Lewis' The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, "Of course he's not safe. But he's good." While Peter's friends huddled in fear, and then most likely attempted to discourage him (and assuredly questioned his sanity), he had faith in his Teacher's goodness and risked the unsafe part.
I aspire to be more like Peter. I aspire to instead of spend the first half of any mission trip I go on crying out to God, "Why am I here?! Where are You?! This is scary!", but rather running straight towards the goal by not looking behind or to the side, just running straight ahead: to Jesus Christ.

Song of Solomon 2:10-13

"My Beloved speaks and says to me: 'Arise, my love, my beautiful one,
and come away,
for behold, the winter is past;
the rain is over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth,
the time of singing has come,
and the voice of the turtledove
is heard in our land.
The fig tree ripens its figs,
and the vines are in blossom;
they give forth fragrance.
Arise, my love, my beautiful one,
and come away.'"
-Song of Solomon 2:10-13

Justin Bieber and Jesus

When I was thirteen, I had my first love.
Just kidding. I'm going to stop right there before the rapping starts. (If you're cool enough to be a Belieber, that first line would be funny to you.) But seriously, when I was thirteen, I was given my first purity ring. It's kind of a big deal in our house, to be given a purity ring. The gift is withheld until us girls' thirteenth birthday. My dad gives it to us, but only after we solemnly swear--with our hand on our chest and the other on a Bible and everything--that we will take the ring as a symbol of committing to stay pure until marriage. It's legit. My older sister had been given one two years before, but had lost it after only a few months during a shower. (She set it on the bathroom counter and our younger brother threw it away.) Me being a second born, I always disliked being second and getting things second and and and, so I was really ready for my purity ring and determined that I wouldn't lose it. At the time, the ring itself was more important to me than the symbolism of the gesture; I was thirteen for goodness sakes. I still slapped boys when I was "crushing" on them (which, by the way, is a young, teenage girl term only), it wasn't like the question of "to be pure, or not to be pure?" was on my mind. I couldn't have been "impure" even if I wanted to--not because I was good, but just I didn't know how to be.
I'm fifteen now. I still wear my ring, and have never taken it off, not even during showering for fear that I would lose it. I feel a secret pride in showing it off; not many girls wear purity rings anymore, that was kinda an early 2000's/Barlow Girl thing. Even when my gestures or words are not necessarily that pure (I grew out of slapping boys I liked almost immediately after I turned thirteen), the silver band on my right hand proclaims in bold writing: TRUE LOVE WAITS. I'm ashamed to admit that my purity ring has, at times, defended my character better than my actions have. And that's all the ring has been to me since I was given it, a symbol of a commitment to purity.
Is that all it is, though? Is patient, true love demonstrated by black words around a silver band? Not...really... And how many times have those words been demonstrated in my own life? Not...that...many... What does true, pure love look like anyways? I believe I glimpsed it a few days ago.
There are only thirty-nine days left until I leave for Thailand. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. That's three hands and nine fingers worth of time. Yikes. During these past few months, I've had to do a lot of fundraising in preparation for my mission trip; but during the first months after the Lord called me to Thailand, I spent all my time asking Him, "Why me? Why Thailand? Why now? Hey, why Thailand?" I told myself, It's not like Thailand needs you. Thailand will be Thailand today, tomorrow, yesterday, the day after tomorrow, etc. etc. Sure, it will change, but it was already going to change anyways and nothing you can do could possibly be significant enough to affect a country. So why Thailand? Why me? Why now? I'm sure a lot of people would say here that it's not about affecting an entire country, just "one person"; but I was doubting my ability to affect even one person. My whole thought process was all wrong, though. I kept on thinking of how I could benefit Thailand, how I might fulfill its needs when really, I'm the one that is going to be benefited, and I need Thailand.
Asia has never been on my radar before, and yet God knew that a year ago I would run away from Him by choices I made, and then come back to Him devastated and hurt. And He knew that a year later, in March 2011, I would need to simply...get away with Him. "In their hearts humans plan their course, but the LORD establishes their steps." (Proverbs 16:9) He knew all along, before last year, before I was even born, before anything, and He cared enough to notice and then orchestrate everything so that it was used for my good. I can't believe it's taken me this long to recognize His goodness; but as I did, I saw that those three words on my silver band could be taken in many different ways, some having nothing to do with purity. "True love waits" and God is love, and He has waited for me my entire life, and now He has called me away from everything here because He wants my attention! How crazy is that? Patient, true love is not demonstrated by three words printed on a ring, but through His death so that I might just know Him.
When I was thirteen, my purity symbolized purity to me--for obvious reasons. Now that I'm fifteen, it symbolizes not a commitment I have made, but one that God has made to always love me.

In Dedication Of Candace Jeffcoat And St. Francis

The man was dead. Definitely dead, Francis could see as he descended the decrepit stairs and drew closer to the body. He was ancient, and his yellow skin stretched inhumanely across his sharp bones, that seemed to be going in all the wrong directions. Francis forced his eyes to peel away from the motionless figure, and focus on his surroundings. Other sickly, yellow-skinned men were staring at him with curiosity that was dulled with apathy and exhaust. Once they recognized him as the rich merchant's son whom had returned from war completely mad, they dismissed his presence and continued with their work; throwing rubble and scraps on the trash pile, which the old dead man just happened to also be lying on, so discarded.
Francis continued on, unable to now walk away from this discovered horror that he never knew existed. He walked slowly past bunks, which doubled as whole living apartments, stacked on top of each other. The passage was cramped with low ceiling, muddy floors, and a mass of human bodies just as decrepit as the stairway, and exhausted and apathetic as the first men he had encountered. The atmosphere was dank, and water seemed to drip from the walls, eventually accumulating into dirty puddles that seemed to inconveniently be everywhere you stepped.
After the passage lined with hollow eyes and darkness, he found himself in an open room filled with bent workers, dipping strips of cloth in and out of boiling pools of dye. They did this all day. He took in the burns on their aching stained hands, aching stained body. He saw the fabric drying, that would eventually end up in his own father's shop, and oh yeah, on his own body. Through his hallucinations and cloudy thoughts, Francis could finally think clearly again, feel clearly again. And he felt self-conscious...for his own clothes had been manufactured in this place. Wasn't hell supposed to be blindingly bright with consuming flames? After today, he would always think of it as a dark hole under our very homes. With the self-consciousness, came the shame, and then the thought, "This is wrong."
The very next day Francis attended church with his parents along with the entire village of Assisi. Everyone went to church, everyone was a Christian. But not everyone looked the same... The rich, the middle class, Francis and his parents stood close to where the bishop performed Mass. This part of the congregation was heavily adorned with weighty, vibrant robes and caps and gaudy 1500s "bling". There was the rest of the congregation to note, though. They stood in the back, no chairs provided for them, just a cold floor. Their frail bodies wore literal rags, so threadbare that might as well have been transparent. The men clenched their caps in their hands to show respect, so grateful to be clenching their own clothes instead of the fabric that would becomes someone else's fine outfit. "Someone else" being all their brothers and sisters in Christ standing a few yards ahead of them. Even the Jesus on the crucifix in the church was adorned with gaudy, rich robes and a ruby crown. He hung their with his eyes closed, just like the people of his church. Eyes closed to the injustice and pain all around them, the injustice and pain they created.
Francis' eyes were opened, and among all his crazy wanderings, he finally had a purpose, and his mind was finally clear. He threw out all his father's fabric into the streets while he was away one day, and then before the entire village shed everything that had been created unfairly, which happened to be everything he was currently wearing. Absolutely nude and radical before the crowd that had formed, he was no longer just "Francis" in the beggars eyes, he was a Saint.

My best friend and I are kinda weird, so instead of doing normal things to celebrate her sixteenth birthday, we watched Brother Sun Sister Moon, which is a movie all about St. Francis of Assisi. I didn't know much about the dude (now I do, though!), but I know a lot about Shane Claiborne, and I knew Mr. Claiborne thought pretty highly of this saint, so I wanted to give him a chance. The movie soundtrack was a little hippie--and depressing--and the haircuts were weird, but St. Francis had a lot to teach me.
Through his eyes, I saw an ancient sweatshop, which gave me a chance to understand better what our modern-day sweatshops must look like. Oh yeah, because they still exist. In abundance. I'm not going to get into a whole fair-trade vs. non fair-trade speel, that'd just be obnoxious, and I'm not trying to guilt anyone, either. But...I couldn't shake the disturbance that settled, completely uninvited, into my soul after watching it. To see those horrors, those hollow eyes, those hellish conditions--that are absolutely a million times more horrific and hellish now--, and then to immediately see the "Christians" seated in church in all their finery that had been birthed in those sweatshops with just as many cries of pain and much blood and sweat as an actually babe being born. Will those workers always be stuck in the back of our minds? Will our eyes always be closed to them? Will they always suffer just so that we can look nice when we assemble each week to worship together before our God?
Personally, I don't think that I as an individual can anymore. Mother Teresa once said "If I look at the masses, I will never act. If I look at the one, I will." My obsession with clothes has always won out over my conscience and convictions (I mean, let's just be honest here!), but I dreaded the day that I purchased something Made In Thailand. Because I knew when that happened I would not be able to ignore the tags and statistics anymore, I knew it would be personal. Because what...what if while I was in Thailand, being a missionary, an ambassador of God, I met the child that had sweated and bled over the creation of my $20 sweater, which he only ever saw a few cents of.
Well.
I found something Made In Thailand the other day. Now it's personal. And now I know things will never quite be the same again, because nothing quite can be when you open up your eyes and clearly see what was always there to begin with.

"Behold the wages of the laborers who mowed your fields, which you kept back by fraud, are crying out against you, and the cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord of hosts." -James 5:4

How About a Simon And Peter Encounter?

I've always really liked the individual callings of Jesus' disciples callings to join him, and Jesus has always really liked to these exchanges to inspire, convict, and motivate me. Most likely they knew of Jesus when they were called, surely news had spread of the radical man stirring up trouble and preaching ridiculous parables. But each story gives the impression that they did not by any means know him personally. Yet they would drop everything--their means of living, family, friends, and...everything to follow this man who promised a different life? a different way to live life, more accurately.
I am soundly ashamed after reading the callings of the first disciples, every single time. Perhaps we all should. While I was in Romania, I poured over anything about the apostles, trying to learn more about their journeys. It wasn't like I was anywhere near being a disciple myself while I was in Europe this summer, but as the Lord refined me, and called me away from many things I was attached to, I was motivated by the obedience of the twelve disciples in their immediate response. I didn't want to gnash my teeth and wail--which I was--, I wanted to be more like them, and taste a bit of the radical living that accompanies us when we're walking in the Lord's set path for our life.
Today, however, as I read over the same passages, I got something so different out of it.

Let me set the scene: Not many people moved around in those days ("those days" meaning before A.D.), and usually the village you lived in had also been home to a huge chunk of your families lineage. But not just you lived in this village. So did your entire family (extended a lot of times, too), and friends. And acquaintances. And oh yes, the pesky neighbors who there was no chance of leaving since they had been there for a hundred more years than your own family. Darn. They didn't switch jobs like we do now, they learned a skill at a young age and stuck with it. They didn't get divorced, either; so unless your spouse randomly died, that arrangement wouldn't change either.
Can't you just imagine what it would have been like to be Simon or Andrew? They went to school together every morning, which was at the synagogue. Then they graduated once they were like, what? fifteen? sixteen? They were then apprenticed in catching fish (if you can even be an apprentice in that skill), and soon enough had their own small boat and crew. They lived in the same village their entire life, and probably from their childhood days had learned all the shortcuts and alleyways during games with the other village boys. Their routines probably stayed the same everyday, from their house to the docks, and back. Maybe a stop here and there to talk to an old friend of the family, or off to the markets to sell their days' catch. A lot of people would know them, if not by name, by sight. But everyone knew everyone back in "those days" in those small villages (you can thank the bored, gossipy wives and those pesky neighbors whom will never move for that). Things probably never changed in a drastic way for either brother, and if life had went on in that way, it never would.
It didn't go on that way, though. On one day, just like all the others, while walking the very same streets they did nearly everyday (except the Sabbath), Jesus literally got in the way. They had an encounter...with God's Son made flesh. (Wait, wait, it gets crazier.) And oh yeah, he wanted to talk to them.
As I saw all of this for the first time, this, this unpredictability of Christ and the way he moved, I became so...excited. Maybe that's too understated... Invigorated is closer to it. Yes, invigorated. Here were these two men, just going through the motions of a day that would be exactly like the one before and the one to come. Just walking down the same streets they always did, and then they encountered the Son of God, or the Son of Man as he preferred.
If Simon and Andrew could have such an encounter with Jesus on their way to do what? Catch FISH? How else might God show Himself to us when we least expect it? I can't wipe the smile off my face as I now realize that whenever I step out the door, maybe to go babysit or drive with my dad ("drive" = nearly head-on hit a Jeep and then tree simultaneously; it's not pretty), or go shopping, or play practice, or something just as day-to-day...I could experience God in the flesh. It's kinda radical.

It Has A Face

98 days. Only 98 days now. Some days, it feels impossibly far away. And then at other times, I don't know if 198 days, let alone just 98 are enough, are a big enough amount of time for me to be...ready for this.

Two nights ago, I Skyped (don't you just love technology?) with the lady, Mrs. Chrissy, whom I will be living with while in Thailand. And for two hours, she painted a brief glimpse of what I will see, experience, hear, and feel in Chiang Rai, Thailand. She told me about the weather (it will be, on average, 110 degrees during the day while I'm there, not a big deal), products that are very essential for living that they apparently don't sell in Thailand (they don't sell shaving cream?! Wha-aaa?), and the many sub-ministries N.T.I.M. supports that I will be involved with while there. Since I'm most excited about working at the two Children's Homes they run, I asked a lot of questions about them and discovered a few things.

One of them, Baan Oon Raak (<--they like to double their vowels), only currently houses fourteen children: one boy, and thirteen girls. I also discovered that a few of the thirteen girls had actually been rescued from the sex trade and brothels. None of the children are any older than twelve or fourteen. Twelve...or fourteen? When I was twelve, the most important thing on my mind were boys...and, well, not much else. I also played softball and clogged. When I was fourteen, well, that was only five months ago. When I was fourteen, I babysat, went on mission trips, and thought about...boys. (Ah, so ashamed.) Mostly everything I do was so...shallow, and exterior. And pointless. These girls, however, spent their twelfth and fourteenth year losing something so precious underneath the brute, crushing weight of demanding complete strangers. Their dignity, their self-respect, their homes, their families, their life.

Me and my naivety believed that we would be deep enough into the sheltered mountains to miss the very worst Thailand had to offer. In the big cities sex was sold like candy, but surely in the smaller villages and towns, even if it existed, it was a very hush-hush business. In smaller villages and towns where everyone knows each other, surely people would be too ashamed to participate in such a shaming act. So I thought I might go for two whole months living there without once having to face the hideous, rearing heads of Sex Slavery and Child Prostitution. I thought I might be luck enough to avoid witnessing those monsters firsthand. Not that I want to try to ignore something just because it's heartbreaking and ugly, but my heart is already broken for the women and children enslaved by the chains of inhumane lust...and I couldn't possibly be spiritually mature or mature PERIOD enough to see that yet, I'm sure. I'm not presumptuous or arrogant in my abilities.

Obviously, I was wrong to assume so much. I will witness the aftermath of the sex trade. I will see its victims. I'll hang out with them, and maybe, if I'm lucky, eventually call them my friends. The "hideous, and rearing heads of Sex Slavery and Child Prostitution" will take on the sorrowful, beautiful faces of girls with names, with personalities and likes and dislikes. Girls not much younger than myself. Girls, that I will soon meet face-to-face.

P.S. Please be praying for these precious girls, and if you feel called to help them (because they do need help, all of Baan Oon Raak does), please contact me.

“If I look at the mass, I will never act. If I look at the one, I will.” -Mother Teresa