I was thinking recently about when my parents came to visit me in Lebanon last November. We decided to visit the Quedesha Valley, since it had many points of interest, such as the poet's house, Gibran Khalil Gibran. We got up the mountain towards Becharre a bit late, it was getting to be dusk. We began to see snow and a deep cloud enveloped us, causing us to see less through the dark of what was ahead. I knew the path. I had been there that August. My parents got nervous. Their questions started out from a place of impatience: When will we arrive to the hotel? ...and turned into a more concerned plea to turn around: Are you sure there is a hotel? We don't believe you. Do you really know where we are? I kept insisting I knew where we were and there would be a hotel appearing soon. Even in the dark and smog, I was certain of where we were. I wasn't going to let them give up, because I knew we were so close. Suddenly, after trying to ignore their constant pleas and questions, we turned a corner and the road began to straighten and we could see buildings approaching soon. I pointed to the hotel that would provide a sense of comfort in an unknown place. They began to relax and they understood I was right.
I began to think about how much I do this with God. There are multiple times in which I doubt if He's leading me in the right direction, but He knows where I am and where I want to go. He's telling me, "It's coming! Just trust me! I know it doesn't seem like it now, but it's there, just wait."

What I’ve been learning (October, 2014)

 

1.     Humility in my identity. When I first arrived to Lebanon, I was stripped of everything that defined me.  I was someone who took “pride “in knowing three languages fluently (almost four): English, Spanish, Italian and French. In fact, I was treated as if I were invaluable when I applied for jobs, because of the growing need for Spanish speakers in my field. My field of “expertise”, which I began to do well and with ease, was Marriage and Family Therapy. It was there that I was exposed to a variety of people with situations in which I could help guide them through. Now, in Lebanon, I taught English (yes, a language much desired), and my knowledge of other languages did not seem to matter anymore. I would be forever labeled as “foreign”, even if I perfected Arabic, in which I was a long way away from accomplishing.

Through this experience, I learned my status or identity is not in what I do or what I’ve done, or even what I am good at or not good at. I was able to stop comparing myself to others and be myself. After all, God says He loves me no matter what. He created me, and wants to be with me. I am His child and He loves me. This is enough.

2.     How to honor myself without being selfish. My mom used to tell me, “You treat yourself like you are a rag on the floor”. I always disagreed. How could she possibly say that? I thought. I saw myself as “helping” and “serving”, yet I could not figure out why I was constantly busy. Yes, serving others at my expense made me “feel good” or at least “needed”, but the price was very high to pay. Then, I went to Lebanon, where I needed to be a “missionary” and report on ministries I am “doing”, which should sound “important” on paper. I soon found nothing I did seemed important enough until I took a step back to just dwell with Jesus. To dwell in reading the Bible and worship Him.

What happened to help me learn these things? Well, I crashed. I went to the darkest place and came out of it, experiencing a new light. I read in a devotional: “God blesses us to draw us closer to Him”…

I am not a missionary

I have decided I am not a real missionary. A real missionary goes to a jungle in an unreached part of the world, learns the language by speaking to the locals, has limited contact with friends and family back home, serves 24/7 without thinking of oneself.

I don't do that. I enjoy a glass of wine, go dancing, watch sports, wander through the city, go home to visit often, travel around nationally and in the surrounding countries, pay for language classes and rest often, thinking of myself in order to be able to give out.

I think I was partly disappointed. This explains why (on 14/07/14), out of nowhere, my emotions went everywhere, and I couldn’t contain the overwhelming sense of loss and a seemingly bleak and boring future! A sense of loss of what I left behind. I came to Beirut because God told me to and I partly wanted to. So, I willingly ‘stepped out in faith’, overcoming many fears and unknowns. I know in the Bible it says, ‘faith is being assured of what we do not see, through hope’…and many people written about in the Bible ‘did not see what they hoped for in their lifetime’. It came later, after they could see it. Such as God’s promise that Abraham’s descendants would be as numerous as the stars; or like Moses leading his people to the promised land that he never entered. I thought I was different. I thought I would see it. I thought things would be clear after a year of living in Beirut. I was willing to be patient- for a time. And I had fun in the waiting. However, I look at time, and I get anxious. I look at my age and what I hoped to accomplish and the possibility of how much more time could be left over, not wanting to waste a single moment! I know more now: more Arabic, more people, more about the culture; but nothing about my life seems to make sense anymore. Why am I really here and what is the purpose? Shouldn’t it be more clear now, the direction I am supposed to be going? If God does not reveal the way, how can I know what steps to take?

So, as I tearfully grieved that I do not know, I knew God was listening not to my words, but to my tears; for my tears were directly linked to my heart. I just don’t know, my heart cried. But I want to trust and for this heaviness to go away. As I lay there, my heart grew at rest, like dust settling back onto the earth after agitating it. Although I did not have an answer, I knew God had heard me, and that was enough. Time will tell, and God is in control of time. In fact, he is not limited to time. 

For some reason, God wanted me to be reminded over and over of Luke 11: the culture and context behind it, the meaning and message. Basically, to ask God. It takes boldness to ask. And Jesus wants this. He wants us to be confident in what we want because what we want will nourish us. And he will it give it because he knows how to give good gifts. However, the tricky thing is, it may not be in the package we expect. So, instead of asking for things, it’s wise to ask for qualities and ideas so God can work out the details through us.  The man knew in Luke 11 that he wanted bread for his guests. It was not wrong to want bread, but the neighbour made it seem like it was. I want to go home and see my family for a visit. I felt God say, ‘there’s nothing wrong with that’. He agreed with my need in this particular situation and gave me favour with it. Thank you, my father, giver of good gifts!

God told me this morning (15/07/14) he is ‘changing my perspectives’, and I remember the dream I had a little over a year ago when He first told me that. Now I see why. In fact, now I see parts of the bigger picture that even just yesterday I could not see. God answered my prayers when I asked him to show me the purpose of all of this. He showed me that my time spent with my students (especially the Egyptian girls) was not an error. He is using that to show me how to encourage and disciple and support in this culture with ‘safe’ people that I could make mistakes with. I sense God leading me to disciple a Syrian mother of 4 who is a new Christian and stays at home a lot. If I do not do it formally, I will visit her and bring an excuse to read the Bible and pray with her. I wonder who else I can do this with! I find is more appealing than evangelizing. Working with Muslims is hard work, because it takes a lot of patience. So, my perspectives of wanting to see fruit right away, know my purpose, and of what a missionary looks like is all being challenged at the moment. I have decided I don’t like that title. I am simply a worker for Christ. In fact, I don’t want a title.

Priscila G.Podesta

March 2009

Conversation with God:

Who am I? What has God sent me here to do?

What do I carry with me? Do I even matter?

“Much”…

How do I know my identity? I am in need of your touch. Show me who I am…

“Child”…

And what I am worth…?

“Eternal”…

I cry, I feel small, yet you gave me life to be…With you. A vine. A branch. My longings filled. Temptations distilled. Time long and still.

Eternal.

To be with me. Eternally.

So why all this? Why such a fuss and throw of fists? Why when it all fades and goes away?

“Love”…

Love to draw away fear. Love to listen with an open ear; love to practice, love not to allow evil tactics.

Love to cover wrongs, love to make a song.

I AM- I AM LOVE.

And that’s all you need and that’s all you need to hear…I AM is near…

Outside. Always on the outside. Watching out, from within.

I’m used to it by now. I grew up in a country not my own, I went back to visit a country “supposed to be my own”, and I never lived in the place I am accepted as “one of them”. Notice these are pseudo places that need quotations in order to be real. Good thing I am not really from this world. I know my citizenship exists elsewhere. It’s a heavenly citizenship. But that doesn’t mean life is easy.

From the moment I started going to school, I was marked as “dark” and “foreign”. I went back to the place where my parents have their families, and I was considered “the one from abroad”, in other words: not one of them. So I’d keep quiet…and watch. Now it’s part of who I am. I want to listen, I want to watch. I am watching and listening.

I tend to seek out opportunities that make me different from everyone else. It thrills me to see differences in people- and those differences interacting with one another! If it’s not the difference of my appearance, then it’s my funny accent. I can’t help it: I live in a new country. I am a stranger, I do things differently. I walk differently, dress differently, think differently.  Now I am being watched. I am outside. I want to participate with them: I am learning the language, I am studying the culture. And as I do, I wonder what is in store for me then. How can these experiences help me to serve the One who holds my heart and truly values my life? He knows me and lives inside of me. I want to show that on the outside.

Hoy pensé en las caminatas por Buenos Aires mientras caminaba por Beirut. Las calles no se parecen pero el sentimiento de familiaridad cuelga como la luna en la media noche. El sol también regala su brillo de atardecer en la manera que las calles se convierten en oro y se glorifica el espejo de la ventana que da su reflejo para que brilla la calle; para olvidar de la suicidad y las problemas del ser humano…

Empiezo a pensar interioramente, haciendo un respiro de la gente.

Por las calles angostas no me siento encerrada.

Camino libremente en un país mitad musulmán con bombas en todo rincones que no comparten el tiempo o motivo de su explosión. Explosión de generosidad o gentileza, cuando vendrás? Porque tanto odio y violencia? Se necesita el reflejo de la ventana para mostrar el destruyo y que pueden ver, ellos de la oscuridad, que hay una vida para vivir. Vale la pena esta vida. O vale la pena esta vida? Somos tan frágiles; como dependemos en el amor de nuestros padres, en la cultivación de la tierra, y en el caliento del sol.