the big questions

 I confess to being a little naïve. It’s like, there was this strange movie back in the day about a boy who lived in a bubble of sorts. He was really sick or something, so the bubble protected him from the world around him.  But in the end I think he was really lonely because he could not fully experience life.

I often walk around assuming I have this protective bubble around me.  It’s not a secret that living in Honduras is dangerous.  The stories I hear from Hondurans still shock me, though, and knock me out of my bubble.  Like last night. A bunch of us went to dinner and I got to talk a lot a Honduran woman. Conversation ebbed and flowed and then somehow moved to her telling us how she had her new car stolen once. Driving by herself, she was stopped by the “police,” who asked all the regular questions, then forced her out of her car, put a gun to her, took the car, told her not to move, left, came back, stole her phone (think about how much personal information and pictures are on phones these days), and left again.  She hired an investigator, but called the investigation off after receiving threatening calls asking if she valued her life or her car more. So she stopped it all, left the country for a while, and then came back hoping to start over. This is one of the more detailed stories I have heard, but I have heard about other people, families of kids at school, up and moving in a day, leaving their houses and everything behind, based on similar circumstances.

Here’s the crazy thing: A few nights ago, about 4 of us North American women were driving home after a movie.  This police truck started flashing lights at us and waving us down. We finally stopped but only when we were at the entrance of our school, which has a guard station (who knows if the guard was there or wandering around the school somewhere).  The guys in the truck never got out, but they asked the driver if she was alone and then made her put down her windows so they could see all of us.  They asked some more questions but then said “no problem” and let us on our way.  We were a little creeped out, but now I realize just how dangerous that situation was. God protected us. He did not have to, but in that moment He did. We didn’t deserve it, just like the Honduran woman didn’t deserve to have all those horrible things happen to her.  It’s this weird see-saw between God’s protection, our own freedom, and the freedom of others.

I read this quote by Elisabeth Eliot this week:

“Most of the time we like the idea of our own freedom.  There are times when we do not like at all the freedom of others.  If we suffer because of their freedom, let us remember that they suffer because of ours.  There is something else also: Christ, who willed our freedom, suffered for all of us.”

The point is that having my bubble popped is good for me.  It opens me up to the realities that so many people in the world deal with all the time. It magnifies the beauty of what Christ did for me. It challenges me to live more fully and appreciate things without feeling entitling to them.  I don’t think I ever would have heard these kind of stories if I had not come here and brushed shoulders with people who faced near death and then just continue their job and their life, who share their meal next to me, and sing to the same God as me.  How do the words faith and trust reside in their hearts differently than in mine?  Why is it so hard for me to trust God when He has protected me so much, given me so much, none of which I deserve or should expect tomorrow?