“Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock” says the clock in the classroom that we, the only American men on this street, call our bedroom. A half-empty Coca-Cola bottle rests beside a man who is Caucasian, has brown hair and is about 6 foot and a half an inch tall. This man is an interesting fellow. You see… You see…(Okay, the man is me. I was trying to suck people in who love a good fiction novel). The man…well…I watch the soda bubbles rising out of the darkness. They press against their plastic prison, staring back at me as they are determined to climb to the top (This is starting to sound like a bubble rights ad. “Please help us free these helpless bubbles.”). Emerging to the surface, they breathe and hold their final pose before they explode, becoming one with the blackness again. Beside the half-empty bottle, a tiny box has a wire leading to my ear. Through the wire, Christina Perri tells me that she has loved me for 1,000 years and then she wants to love me for 1,000 years more.
Small rant: First of all, Miss Perri, do I know you? Have we met before? Seems like a pretty strong feeling of love for someone you don’t know. And the most important question, are you a vampire? I mean, 1,000 years and you’re planning on another millennium. How old are you? You know I’m 28, right? I have a strict rule that I can’t date anyone that is more than 100 years older than me. Back to poetic stuff…
I lay on a bright green mat filled with my hot breath and some foam they claim astronauts use (At least, I think they claimed that. That could be me trying to justify spending $75 for a thin ballon with styrofoam shoved inside). In the morning, I’ll have to pack the sleeping pad up, rolling it up like an American burrito that my taste buds so desperately miss. (Whatchu know about Moe Monday?) The sleeping pad, burrito-rolling routine is a daily occurrence, much like burristas rolling their products all across the USA. (Except when I roll this pad, I don’t “accidentally” put a strips of lettuce in it, when I clearly asked for a scoop of sour cream, Darren! It ruins the burrito, when I get to that bite! It’s okay though. I have to start enjoying lettuce eventually. It’s what being an adult is all about.)
My thoughts are everywhere in this moment of contemplation, much like the scene in the movie “Tangled” where Rapunzel is questioning her decision to leave home:
What am I doing here in Indonesia? Am I making any sort of difference?
I love being on the Race, I’ve finally hit my groove!
Why do I keep thinking about my acting career? I left all of that behind to be here now, proclaiming the Gospel to the nations. 11 months is not as long as I think. Focus, Taylor! Focus!
God, You are so good to me. I love my team and You have taught me so much in this first month.
I sure wish I had a lady friend at home missing me right now. I mean, I’m 28 and a half. If I don’t get married soon, people will start questioning my heterosexuality.
Oh no! The next class starts soon. I am not ready to teach songs and games to children who don’t speak English. Lord, hide me!
I sit up on my green pad. I give Christina a break from singing sweet nothings to my ear drum. I end the Coke bubbles cruel existence by guzzling them down my throat hole (I can sense your thoughts, “Did he just say ‘throat hole?!’ This guy is deep. I mean, who has the courage to say throat hole in this day and age?” Very few is the answer. Very few.).
Silence.
Motorcycles whiz by on the street below. I hear the faint laughter of children as they celebrate February birthdays with their friends downstairs. Rats are having what sounds like WrestleMania (or I guess in this case: RatsleMania) within the left wall.
But silent is my heart. Peace and love only from Christ start to pour out with each beat, filling the rest of my being with its lifeblood.
I am content. I am known and loved by the God of Indonesia, America, and the entire universe. I am strong because Christ lives through me. I am exactly where I’m supposed to be. I may not be comfortable all the time, but I am not called to a life of comfort. No one is. I am called to a life of abandonment. A life of love. A life of giving more than receiving. A life devoted to God and His Kingdom.
I stand up and leave our make-shift bedroom behind. With each step down the narrow stairwell, the sweet sound of children grows louder and my changing heart grows fuller.
Whether I end up on a New York stage or a Nepali slum, I have decided to follow Jesus. And He has decided to love me forever, which is a lot longer than 1,000 years.
