Through

I lowered the front sun visors of both my driver and passenger sides, sinking uncomfortably in my seat. Waze had failed me again. Now, I was going up and into the red zone "hill" of Cartagena. The road narrows so that only one car can fit comfortably. One car and about 30 motos (motorcycles of varying degrees of quality) weaving in and out of the way like ants on their way to and from their colony.

"Make us invisible, Lord," was my prayer over and over as we made our way through what I knew was a very dangerous place. The narrow streets made it impossible to turn around. The only way was to go through.

When talking with family, friends, and churches in the US, we always have to reassure them. Where we live is safe. Safe. What does that mean? A few months ago, my daughter Reagan was asked by my cousin, "Do you ever feel scared when you go (to Cartagena)? Are you safe?" Reagan, demonstrating wisdom beyond her 16 years, replied, "Safe? When does anyone really ever know they are safe?"

The truth is not so simple as we would like to believe it. One imagines they are "safe" among the carefully constructed security measures of their neighborhood. An earthquake knows no security guard shack or closed community. One imagines they are safe because they have citizenship or nationality with certain rights and privileges, until one finds themselves in a red-zone country that doesn't care about what passport one holds.

As a foreigner, I am invited to hold these illusions of "safety" up to the light and expose them for what they are: figments. When going through a red zone, I realize just how vulnerable I am/we are. We stick out. We don't belong. And when we go through these dangers, we cling to the only firm foundation we have: Jesus.

Lately, I have never felt the squalls of the storm more acutely. Our tiny raft rocks and kicks back. I am seasick. We are seasick. We have never longed for solid ground more. It feels as though everything has been either taken away or displaced. I run to Jesus to wake him as he sleeps soundly through the storm and am desperate for the storm to subside.

That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.” Mark 4:35.

This all started with Jesus telling his disciples to get in and to go through. The magnitude of this resonates with me just now. Jesus told us to get in the boat. He knew what lay ahead. He was not shaken by the storm. He slept. I must come to a place where I can accept that I am in a storm and Jesus knew I would be after obeying Him.

Jesus knew we would have everything taken away.

Jesus knew we would be without water for 3 months in our apartment.

Jesus knew that we would not be able to get our visas and would have to completely stop all ministry and events to attend to our legal status of being in this country.

Jesus even knew that we would start to question if he made a mistake in telling us to get into the boat to get to the other side.

Jesus knew that we would be stripped of any assurances or financial stability.

Jesus knew that we would be shaken to the core of our faith: Is Jesus really who He says he is? And can I trust Him even as He allows these difficult things to happen.

Jesus says: “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” v.40

As I go through, I am comforted to know that I am not alone in the boat. The very ground beneath our feet shakes (as we experienced a very rare earthquake in Colombia this morning). I am reminded that no matter where I go, or what we do, there is an illusion of safety... but that I am not truly safe anywhere but with Jesus with me.

And since I have this promise... the greatest promise and most important declaration throughout the entire Bible: I am with you, I can feel the peace of Christ as he sat on a pillow in the middle of the squall. This is a sort of bonus gift of being where we are. The illusion is nowhere to be seen. We are in a fallen world with sin and darkness. Everywhere we go, there is sadness, death, violence, and heartbreak. BUT. Jesus is with me, and I will not be afraid.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Psalm 23:4

Faith is what He is building in me. Faith that he is who he says he is. Faith in Him and not in my nationality, my identity, my home, my circumstances, or my location. Our tiny boat drifts through the other side, and I realize that I have all that I need. I am seasick, but I am not alone.