December 21st
Antalya, Turkey
I love Coke. I always have. I don’t think I really had another choice. One of my favorite people, my uncle Frank worked for Coca-Cola for many years and I have grown up drinking it. All soda drinks are referred to as coke, no matter the flavor. To me, there isn’t another option. And so, it brings me great comfort to see coke all over the world. I guess I always knew that it was all over the world. I mean I have been to the Coke museum, that clearly shows that it is. But to experience it is quite a different story. The red label almost sings a lullaby of home to me.
This month has been a hard month. And I think that I have had more coke to drink this month than in all my years growing up combined. Maybe a bit extreme, but it proved to be more than just a drink. In the letting go of baggage (see previous blog, adventure = muddy, gross, and soaked feet), I found much comfort in the coke that Jesus drank.
It was the one thing that made my feel like home, in a very foreign land. A land that should have felt more at home because it was the land Jesus walked. And I love Jesus and He loves me, so the disconnect didn’t make sense. But what did make sense was the memories of my uncle. I began to miss him greatly. It has been over a year since he passed away but I miss him.
I didn’t think it would bother me that much in such a far away place, but I was wrong. I suspect it was his hugs. There were many times that I felt like crumbling in a pile on the floor and simply wanting someone to hug me and tell me it would be okay. And the strongest arms that have ever embraced me, were his. One embrace and I felt like things would be okay. And I wanted that, I needed that.
And so coke was the only thing that made sense. It was a reminder of a man who loved me and was proud of me. Yes, my uncle. But then, that God in fact loves me and is proud of me. I have never felt more weak than during my time in Israel and the times that have followed, but God’s love for me hasn’t changed. It is in fact these weaknesses, that make me strong. It is for Christ’s sake, that I should delight in my weaknesses. And it is in the fact that Christ’s power rests on me, that I am strong (2 Corinthians 12:9-10). And in the very place where that power was displayed through the resurrection, I still found it hard to walk in that power. The power that beat death. But even in that weakness, with the power staring me straight in the face, literally at his tomb, I found my struggles and thoughts to be more powerful than His power.
During a worship session, these words were written to me: Is the stuff in your head as important to dwell on than being the amazing woman of God that I am? Nicely put. Easier said than done, when you just want a hug and someone to tell you it will be alright. But those words, those are fighting words. And fighting words are TRUTH. And it is the truth that gives you strength and courage and power to win the fight. Sometimes hugs are good. And I am thankful for them and thankful for the reminders of people who love you well. But sometimes, fighting is what we need to do. And it is perhaps the very moment we feel LEAST like we want to fight, that we need to pick up our swords and swing away.
