Vietnam’s been quite the trip thus far and I haven’t even been here for a week. We’ve been all over the place and in many ways I think that’s a good thing because I’ve found that it’s easier to take life in with one deep breath. It gives you more time to actually think about and taste all of the smells… although the air is thick with exhaust from all of the traffic and you end up coughing on it all… it’s not so bad. It’s better than hyper-ventilating on life and then having to choke it down.
Yesterday morning we spent a good deal of time walking the streets and praying. I don’t know what district we were in or anything too specific. I just know we were in a tourist-y area because there were a lot of fancy hotels that I absolutely longed to stay in (merely for the purpose of turning my laundry in at the front desk) and there was also a plethora of expensive restaurants. Areas like these in this part of the world are uniquely reserved for tourists.
I’m currently commiting myself to not choke down Vietnam…
Yesterday morning we spent a good deal of time walking the streets and praying. I don’t know what district we were in or anything too specific. I just know we were in a tourist-y area because there were a lot of fancy hotels that I absolutely longed to stay in (merely for the purpose of turning my laundry in at the front desk) and there was also a plethora of expensive restaurants. Areas like these in this part of the world are uniquely reserved for tourists.I’m no tourist.
So we were walking the streets and, for once, were being shepherded across the street by “tourist police.” It was nice crossing traffic for once without fearing for my life or for the lives of those around me. We decided to begin our prayer-journey at an old Catholic Church. I know, I know! A Catholic Church in Vietnam? I thought it odd myself, but the French built it when they dominated the area back in the day. Now it’s vacant and used mainly for white people coming through to make themselves feel at home. It’s got a real hallow feel to it and I’m honestly not sure why it is there. It’s a great symbol though, a great anchor in a country fettered by the spirit of fear and control. It’s strong evidence that God’s presence has definitely not left this country. He’s here… and He’s about to do something big and fierce. War is raging in the spiritual realm. You can believe or not…
But I decided to sit on the steps and listen to see what the Lord wanted me to pray over the city and the streets as I walked… and then I saw them. I couldn’t believe it. This is a country where Buddhism and Confuscianism are such commonplace, you’d swear faith like this didn’t even exist. But they were there all right. I blinked many times, trying to look away and then not look as these people grasped desperately to the fringes of the hope they still had. Hopefully this picture speaks enough volumes.
I’m reminded of the man in Acts 3 who was at the gate called Beautiful, who sat out there for many years of his life clinging most eagerly to the hope that one day someone would walk by and pull him to his feet. Eventually Peter and the gang had enough balls to actually do it. Between me and this man stood a single gate, called anything but “beautiful”, and a slab of solid ground, ground that I’m sure this man longed to walk upon once again. He has crutches that I’m sure he uses when he’s not in the wheelchair he operates by moving the steering-wheel back and forth.
I admired the fact that he actually clung to the gate nearly the entire time, illustrating what I believe was the cry of his heart to the hope of Christ’s healing power.
And so obviously I sit there and in me stirs the question to God, “do you want me to go over there and pull that guy out of his chair, to legs restored with strength that comes only from You?” I always think it’s important to pray and ask God before actually acting on an impulse. My impulse was to jump up immediately and speak life into this man! Instead, God said, “no.”
Simply stated; tragically complicated in understanding.
I still don’t understand it and I wonder oftentimes why God places people like this in front of sons and daughters who actually want to do something about it? But then again I’m not capable of seeing this larger picture that God sees. Maybe all that God wanted was for me to ask. I have no idea.
I do know, however, that there was another man at the other end of the gate who was curled in a ball, tortured and plagued by something we could only see the physical effects of. I saw him coming into the church and prayed for someone to go over there, minutes later seeing one of the July racers totally heed the call. Apparently after we left, the man got up and walked away, yet that’s another story.
I guess life’s just full of questions, huh? I never fully understand what the Lord’s doing with places like Vietnam or with situations like the one I found myself in yesterday.
My friend, Brenna, wrote this poem. I hope she doesn’t mind if I use it… again It just reminds me of that guy yesterday… and myself:
Lame is at the gate of beautiful
and pocket change could suffice.
You have my attention but understand
reflection is a little different on foot,
with feet being the unfamiliarity of my conception.
So you could hold onto me
although I’d rather hold onto you
for whatever movement reflects dancing
is my desire.
Please pardon this paradoxical change of personality
but this hope is sudden
and your light delightful.
Renditions to what would be miracles can be reduced to word play
because I cannot deny my misery
while guarding this gate called Beautiful.
I do believe you.
So can we dance?
Please?
Acts 3:10
