Finally Deliverance.

For the first time in my life, I can say that I have read through the entire Old Testament.  And also, for the first time, I can say that I understand what it meant for Christ to be born here on earth. 

Though Israel had continually turned away from God, He continually brought them back to Himself.  When I look back over the agonizing story of Israel, throughout the Old Testament, turning away over and over again and longing for deliverance, I start to long for the promised Savior along with them. 

I feel their joy when, in the book of Ezra, King Cyrus tells the people that they may build a temple in Jerusalem.  Once the foundation was laid, those who had seen the original temple actually wept aloud and shouted for joy.  Ezra 3:13 says that it could be heard from far away.  Finally, once again, a place for God to dwell on earth.  Yet what was to come was far greater.

When Zechariah prophesied, “Shout and be glad, Daughter Zion.  For I am coming, and I will live among you,” declares the Lord (2:10), I wonder if they thought He would come to live in a physical temple once again, one that matched the splendor of that King Solomon had built.  Yet his later words seem to say otherwise: “See, your king comes to you, righteous and victorious, lowly and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey,” (Zech.9:9). 

And I imagine that when Esther was appointed as queen, and she was able to save the Jews from annihilation because she held the love of the king – God was giving his people a taste of what salvation would be like, when he later sent His son, whom He dearly loved to do the very same thing.

After Nehemiah had led the people in rebuilding the wall around Jerusalem, they all came together and recounted their ancestors’ story.  “Because of your great compassion you did not abandon them in the wilderness,” (9:19) they prayed aloud to God.

I imagine that some realized in that moment, what Lamentations 3 says, “His compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness,” (v.22-23).  Over and over again, the only explanation for God’s goodness to his people was compassion, defined as “a consciousness of another’s distress and a desire to alleviate it.”

And just after Malachi reminds Israel that they have broken their covenant with God, he prophesies these words: “I will send my messenger, who will prepare the way before me.  Then suddenly the Lord you are seeking will come to his temple; the messenger of the covenant, whom you desire, will come,” says the Lord Almighty, (3:1).

This King, this Savior, has been sent to us because God’s compassions never fail.  He came to alleviate the distress of His people, to shower compassion on our sinful hearts, once and for all.  He did not build a physical temple, but He did come to dwell in us, in the temple of our human hearts.  He came in a way foretold by the prophet Isaiah (7:14), written in the history books, “and they will call him Immanuel”, which means ‘God with us’,” (Matt. 1:23). 

His name is Jesus.

The (un)familiar.

Goodbye.  That is the world that I hated saying the most.  It’s almost as if, the closer I was to the person, the harder it was to get out.  Then, a week before I left, we had a party so that people could say just that – “goodbye”. 

We all sat in a circle.  I whispered to Mai, my Ivorian sister, “Should I sing a song?”  “No, just wait and see what Lea will do,” she replied.  Sure enough, Lea, one of my closest friends, was wheeling my bicycle towards the gathering.  She yelled out, “Aahh!  I’m so tired!  I just biked all the way from town!  I was at Centre Providence ALL day,” and I quickly realized that Lea was pretending to be me!  Joy flooded out my embarrassment and discomfort.  My sisters, Lea and Mai, had seen my uneasiness with saying goodbye, and were doing their best to put me at ease.  As they acted out stories of the day we planted rice and the first time I told Lea about Chazz and I, I laughed and thought, “what a great family I have here.”

Fast-forward.  Over a month later, I find myself in Pennsylvania, far away from that world of dirt markets, multiple languages, and dancing with your butt in the air on Sunday mornings. 

“The familiar became the stuff of dreams – the jungle, thatched roofs, campfires, a strange unwritten tongue – and the stuff of former dreams became familiar.” – Elizabeth Elliot.

The familiar things are the thatched roofs, strange tongues, and the dusty market.  The unfamiliar things are my family’s wooden, insulated, heated house, the English language, and Walmart.  I tell people it’s like learning to ride a bike again.  The problem is, in Cote d’Ivoire, you just swerved around the potholes.  Here, in the US, you have to stay on your side of the road and obey traffic laws.  I forget how to do life in my own home country!

But little by little, it’s coming back.  And little by little, I’m more at peace, knowing that God has me right here for a reason.  It wasn’t a mistake that He made me leave Africa.  It’s not a mistake that I’m in unfamiliar territory once again, learning to trust in Him, once again.

On Saturday, I organized an African rice and sauce dinner at my church (Bethel), here in Pennsylvania.  Like riding a bike, the only way I know to organize an event is the African way – where everyone gets involved.  And to my surprise, it worked!  At 10 am, several people came to help me cut up vegetables, decorate, and set up tables.  I threw meat, veggies, and spices into a pot in a such a way that would have made my Ivorian big sister Sara proud. Others came at 4 pm to help make rice, set tables, and serve food.  EVERYONE helped clean up. 

And as I shared pictures and told them about that goodbye party in Cote d’Ivoire, I thought once again, “what a great family I have here”.

Because the truth is, God is blessing me more than I could ever deserve or imagine.  His blessings have chased away the uneasy discomfort that I felt in coming back to this unfamiliar place.  Not only do I have a supportive church, but I have a supportive family, friends AND a best friend and fiancé – Chazz. 

Yeah, sometimes, I’d really like to dance with my butt in the air at church, swerve around the potholes, or buy veggies in that dusty market (because Walmart lines are RIDICULOUS!).  And I hope I can do those things again someday, but for now, I’m where I am for a reason.

Now, this is how we do it in Cote d'Ivoire..

And this is how you do it in the US.  Photos from Saturday!

 Cheri Ponziani, carrying it like an African woman.