"Do You Care?"

Do You Care?

What does a kitchen and a boat have in common? What does a single Jewish woman have in common with a bunch of Galilean fishermen? That begs the question.  It really is the question: Y’Shua do you care? That was the question on the lips of the Jewish single female named Martha and the same question was echoed by the disciples, those Galilean fisherman. Did Y’Shua really care that she bore an unfair load in the work department or that those very sturdy fisherman were drowning? Does He care for you and me?

Can I be frank? I have been drowning, not literally, but spiritually, physically, and emotionally. Attempting to unload 2000 square feet of furniture, books, and sundries with little help has taxed me physically and emotionally. So, I so get Martha’s burning question. Then, add to that the fatiguing schedule of teaching six classes, selling a car, home, and a time-share, allowing people to know about the opportunity to seed into a ministry that seems to change every day, saying goodbye to family, colleagues and friends,  and I know I have only remained sane through grace.

 The rule seems to be if anything can change, it will.  For someone who enjoys order, the constant change of potential customers for home, property, and car and ministry locations has taxed me to excruciating lengths. Add two weddings and a retirement party, with ministry outreaches, and countless interviews, Skype talks, and forms, and I find myself drowning in the sea of ministry preparation. I am supposing that at some point, it was every disciple for himself on the boat. Each one called out for his own life. As people are facing their own storms of emotional healing, sick spouses, and aging parents, I have found myself on the deck, crying out alone, “Y’Shua don’t you care that I perish?” The painting above has hung my wall for over ten years because I see myself as the African-American woman in the picture; the younger boy I envision as my brother, James.

I am one of those orderly, obedient types who follow the script, so I totally understand Martha. What I don’t get is when Y’Shua appears to be asleep in my boat; maybe you can identify?  Lest you think that I am impatient. This process of finding a ministry location began last June 2011. Yet, I have been waiting to return to the mission field since 1999. Now, God would finally use all that training, all those lessons, for whatever purpose they were intended. I believed that I finally accepted that God worked all things for good, that He wasted nothing. This test shows I have more maturing in terms of patience to gain.

All those preparatory years of sitting on a doctorate, training in cultural studies, African Studies work, travel all over the world, language acquisition, laying down my aspirations as a writer and performer, yielding all of His gifts back into His hands for His purpose was finally, after almost twenty-five years, was going to yield harvest to bless the nations. I think my heart cries out, “Redeem; Save me.” My heart feels that it cannot take another disappointment.

At some point, I believed that I had paid my dues and learned my lessons.   Now my light would break forth like the dawn; now I would be launched. Instead, I found many a storm; perhaps the devil asked to sift me.  I must give the disciples credit for not jumping out of the boat or tossing the sleeping Y’Shua into the sea when their storm arose. I don’t believe that we aren’t tempted to toss Y’Shua overboard like too much cargo during our storms, especially if we do not sense His loving Presence.

Sometimes, it feels as if the waves are pummeling and beating us with its fists, and we are tempted to launch ourselves overboard like Jonah and escape this un-understandable will of God.  Yet, we  really long for Y’Shua to quiet the storm in our lives and our hearts. The questions that ravage our thoughts of why and how: A friend, while celebrating his retirement with family experience, saw his 85-year old father rushed from the celebration with a stroke that hospitalized him.

The fact the disciples asked Y’Shua to quiet the storm showed that they had faith in Him, but their fear spoke louder than their faith. I understand. As I attend my second wedding in two weeks, I bless Lord that these two marriages are cemented in Him and destined for great ministry, but I am acutely aware that I am 44 years old heading to Africa to build schools for girls. I choose not to reflect on what that reality means for me as I fulfill the commission. 

 I think the struggle comes when we feel overwhelmed, that drowning image again. See, if I go as a true pioneer, I guess my circumstances look little different from the first missionaries –  single,  financially walking by faith,  not knowing when or how I will return, leaving family and home,  except I go as a single  woman like Amy Carmichael.

You might ask,” Why would you expose yourself in such a way?” The truth is simple: if my honesty can help you escape the doldrums and the ravages, even some of them, it will give meaning and redemptive value to my pain. Y’Shua is in your boat, and may He calm the storm in your heart just as He is calming my own.

Like Martha,  I have come to know the resurrection power of Y’Shua. Like Martha, I know that God can resurrect my dreams and give them life. He takes off the grave clothes of doubt, dead and confining beliefs so that I can walk out of the tomb into new life. I bless God for Dawn and Sheryl who have helped remove the grave clothes from me.

Reclining on Y'Shua's Chest,

MJ