At the Brink of Heading Out

I will be flying into Beijing tomorrow, and I'm hardly ready.

The past two weeks were supposed to be a sojourn and a period of rest, but I feel as though my confidence has withered away. To imagine that tomorrow I will be in the city, preparing for many months of research leaves me with a little bit of dread.

The realities of my weaknesses, granite monuments in the dizzying landscape of my life, stare at me gravely. There's no way I'll have confidence that I'll have a safe place to stay; things to eat; comfort... and there is even more doubt about my abilities as a researcher. Is my interview protocol finally complete? Is there any way to guarantee that I won't scare away my subjects? Having emailed countless contacts, compiled scores of references, written and rewritten interview protocols, I've somehow forgotten that my breath comes not from the work of my hands but rather the workings of my spirit. The traveler in a desert that doesn't bring water will soon tire.

My father likes to sit in his room opposite mine, equally engrossed as I am in my computer. Wearing an undershirt, he nonchalantly walks into my room and lies down on the bed (well, I'm not sure it counts since I've only been here two weeks). He declares that the air conditioning is more comfortable here. "Do you have anything you need?" he asks, "vitamins?"

"Yeah, I packed those."
"聖經呢？可以帶吧？"
"已經在我書包了。"
"Maybe you should bring some extra Bibles... 我到時候過去在帶給你。"
"我十月就回台灣了，到時候再說吧。"

My mom is getting ready for her first day of teaching tomorrow, pulling out that old microphone so that her voice doesn't get strained. She cooked a fantastic dinner tonight, one that I'll miss dearly. She passes my room and--now a little frustrated by the fact that I don't do it myself--shuts the door to not let the air conditioning run out.

It leaves my heart not a little sore to know that it's going to be goodbye yet again... and that it's time yet again to jump into that uncertain world. But I know full well that they'll still be around every time I return to welcome me wildly (boy, my mom is a little crazy at the airport).

But what's more, even when the day comes when they aren't able to, God has already revealed his promise to be that sanctuary. I've structured my mission for the past months to be a wonderful researcher, but I sense God calling me to forgo that mission to learn more about God in a completely new context. At first I thought it was to trust God to somehow magically take care of everything. But God isn't Santa Claus. I think He's gently urging me to understand that everything can go to pieces, but he'll continue to be--like my parents--an eternal sanctuary amid it all, even in death.

I will be flying into Beijing tomorrow, and I'm hardly ready. But does that matter?