Thank goodness … thank God … that our value is not dependent on our own worth or competency.
Here, in a land far from ‘home’, I started the day reading about an ancient crippled man named Mephibosheth. King David, at the zenith of his power, specifically searched him out, determined to show him kindness for the sake of his father. The king gave Mephibosheth and his family a permanent home in the palace, as well as restoring his ancestral property. The BSF (Bible Study Fellowship) questions I was using for this study then took me to the New Testament, where I focused on how God does the same with us. The King lifts us out of obscurity though through no inherent value of our own, adopts us into his family, and gives us an inheritance.
Then I walked out the door, ready to take on the day.
In a rush
I slowly descended several flights of stairs and meandered down the street, stopping to admire a fluffy white dog leaving a vet’s surgery. Clothing shops displayed their colourful wares … or should that be ‘wears’? I didn’t walk quickly because the humidity level was high and I wanted to remain fresh and dry. Hardly anyone walks fast here for the same reason.
But then it struck me … I had to go back and quickly. Without going into details, let me state that I suffer from an irritable bowel. There is medication that helps but I had only taken it just before leaving. It hadn’t yet had time to work.
Hurry, hurry, hurry. No time to admire the brown and black dog leaving the vet’s with a cone around his head. Up one fight of stairs, one and a half, two, two and a half, three … finally in the door and … ah … blessed relief.
I call the IBS my ‘thorn in the flesh’. It keeps me humble. It’s something I’ve asked many times to have taken away. Although dietary changes have helped, at this point, it is still a challenge to be managed day to day.
Once again, I walk out the door, now dripping with sweat from my quick trip back.
At the post office
After wiping the perspiration from my face with a small yellow towel, I present a nicely wrapped birthday gift to the helpful post office lady. It is going to a friend in another part of this great country … but first it has to be inspected. I unwrap the gift, careful not to tear the pretty paper.
The post office clerk inspects the book, card and packets of seasonings I brought from Australia, There is no air flow in this stuffy room. All the forms in here feel damp.
She is satisfied that everything is in order. The young woman who came in after me, wanting to send a bottle of perfume to her mother in a far distant province, is not so fortunate. Liquids cannot be mailed.
I rewrap the present under the watch of the post office clerk. But it needs more tape. In the end, what had once been a tastefully wrapped gift is encircled with thick, wide, sturdy China Post tape. It’s not quite the look I was after.
Next comes the form. “Can you write in Chinese?” The kind lady looks at this dripping foreigner with some doubt. Of course I can. Well … I can copy an address, anyhow. Only it turns out that I don’t have the address … I had been so sure that it was in my phone.
I pay for the box in which my clunky gift is now securely nestled, and explain that I am disorganised and unable to mail it after all.
A bus
After buying a sports drink to replenish the electrolytes I have lost over the past hour, I jump on a bus which I expect will take me to the next place I want to visit today. Bus 59 – I used to take it quite regularly. At least in this simplest of tasks, I know what I am doing.
I make my way down the back and count my blessings as I find a seat next to an open window. (Many of the windows don’t open because of the bus having dubious air-conditioning.) I watch the world go by – bicycles, buses, three wheelers and more. Then, to my surprise, the bus turns a corner.
It turns out that the bus route has changed due to roadworks. Oh no. I wait until we have crossed a major road I know, then get off, a full kilometre or two from where I want to go. I start walking. The humidity has intensified. Rain is imminent. My little yellow sweat-towel is saturated.
Mephibosheth and me
As I walk and drip, I reflect on Mephibosheth again. Our lives are very different. I can walk. He couldn’t. I am an ordinary Australian woman. He was the grandson of a Middle-Eastern king, a monarch whose power and popularity was just a memory, but a king, nonetheless. Neither of us were terribly productive (not based on my morning’s efforts, anyhow). And yet through no virtue of our own, both of us were shown favour by a king and welcomed into his home.
In a world that craves control and capability, I act like a klutz and a cultural ignoramus. Yet in the kingdom of upside values, I am shown honour and worth.
And now, I sit in an air-conditioned cafe drafting this blog post. I have sought solace in my ‘comfort zone’ and an iced Americano. But it is time to head out again, into ‘the real world’.
Incompetent and klutzy … the kingdom of God is made up of people just like me. And that’s reassuring. Especially on days like today.
(PS: This post was drafted after one frustrating morning last week. The day got better, and overall, my trip went very well, despite my cultural klutziness.)