Non Nobis Domine

"And we confess our blame,                                                            
How all too high we hold
That noise which men call fame,
That dross which men call gold...
But grant us yet to see
In all our piteous ways,
Non nobis Domine,
Not unto us the praise."

-Non Nobis Domine, David Williams

     I woke up today at 8 AM, prepared and eager to go to church and see friends I have not seen in a month. I got dressed in my Sunday best (a new shirt I bought while in India), packed my name-brand purse with my Bible and some gum, and put on my heels. On my laptop, I checked my e-mail and Facebook, then listened to some music I bought yesterday on iTunes. Looking in the mirror before I left my room, I adjusted my pink scarf and buttoned my relatively new coat. I walked through the heated halls of my dorm building, passing the community kitchen (2 ovens, 2 microwaves, and an industrial-size freezer all at our disposal), and stopped to talk to my friend in the lounge. As I braved the cold outside, I fished in the bottom of my purse for my car keys, then unlocked the door and sat in the front seat. I placed the key in the ignition and turned.

Nothing.

Not a sound.

Not even an attempt.

Suddenly my perfect day, my perfect outfit, my perfect morning, were all ruined. I sat in my car for 10 minutes, trying pointlessly to get the thing to start. I called the pastor to let him know I wouldn't make it, called my parents to express my frustration at my car that is more hormonal than a thirteen year old girl, and called my friend to ask her to come help me jump it. She was at church.

So I waited.

And I waited.

And then waited.

As I waited, I was able to come back to my room. I walked in, and, after explaining to my roommate that I was not, in fact, going to church, climbed back in bed. And I rested. Since coming back from India, I have been experiencing severe jet lag, waking up at 5:30 AM, and as a result having to take 3 hour naps in the middle of the afternoon. I have also been sick since returning from India, feeling nauseous every time I eat. So this morning, when my car wouldn't start, I came back to my room, and I rested. I can plan, prepare, arrange, organize, and strategize all I want, but there are still things beyond my control, and therefore beyond my ability to take credit for. When I finally got out of bed to go to lunch, I felt wonderful, and not at all nauseous as I downed a plateful of mashed potatoes and roast beef.  So I learn, for the thousandth time, that things are not always going to go as I want, nor as I plan. And that's OK. It may even be better for me that things don't go my way. God knows that. And, more importantly, He knows that I don't know that. So He teaches me. Time and again, I learn -- Non nobis Domine.


Also, my friend eventually helped me jump my car, and it now starts just fine. :)

Mother India

Father God, You have shed Your tears for Mother India
They have fallen to water ancient seeds
That will grow into hands to touch the untouchable
How blessed are the poor, the sick, the weak

-Mother India, Caedmon's Call 


     Recently, I was presented with the opportunity to travel to India. I went with a group of about 10 people from my school. During our time there, we visited a local village and met some of the families who lived there. I commented to my friend, "I feel like every picture I take could be on the cover of National Geographic."  Everywhere I turned, I was faced with scenes I had only ever seen in documentaries or magazines. It was as though I had stepped into one of the pictures, and was able to interact with it, to examine every detail for myself. A previously surreal reality became tangible, and suddenly I was able to call the children by name, to smell the smoke coming from the fire laden with dried cow dung, to watch the mother hen, baby chicks in tow, run across the path ahead of me. One of the girls was proud to show me how she could climb onto the roof of her house (or hut,rather) to cut down a squash from the vine that had grown over the thatched-together palm leaves. Two of the girls took it upon themselves to braid my hair, adding flowers to the loose tendrils that fell out. A young boy watched me curiously as I took a picture of him eating his dahl and rice. 

     These children each had their story, each had their tale to tell. And now they have become a part of my story, an element of my life's anthology of anecdotes. And as I relay the story of my time with them, I will always reflect on the mystery of their joy. The children did not have princess comforters or remote-control cars. I did not encounter any video games or barbie dolls. There was not a McDonalds within 100 miles of the place, and the kids had never before watched a Disney movie -- and yet, they were joyful. The smiles I saw on their faces far outshone any I have seen before, and the genuineness of their joy took me by surprise. They have next to nothing, and yet they have the one thing we most desperately seek in our culture -- contentment. How blessed are the poor, the sick, the weak