For the Ones Who Have Been Licked By the Flames

Me, attempting to jump at just the right moment

While in New Caledonia, we spent most of our days on campus at the University of New Caledonia.  Our hope was to continue efforts to establish a long-term ministry as there are no Christian organizations there and many students are not familiar with Jesus.  Or, if they are, they have a very vague idea of who he is.  We would walk around, engaging individuals or groups of students, asking them their thoughts on God, what it means to be a Christian, etc.  It was amazing their openness and genuine curiosity to learn more about Jesus. In total, by the end of the trip, 17 students had made decisions to accept Christ. 

The very first day we went to campus, I encountered a girl named Alice.  I was actually having a separate conversation with a girl, Kinsley, at one picnic table, with Alice sitting alone at another picnic table just behind us.  I had noticed Alice walk up and sit down behind us, but I didn't think much more about it. 

As I was talking to Kinsley about Jesus and the Bible, Alice piped up and called across the area, saying, "Yes, this is all true, what you are saying, it's all true."  I turned around to look at her because I wasn't expecting to hear this soft-spoken voice behind me.   She turned around and didn't say anything after that, seeming very shy, like she surprised even herself by speaking up.  We asked her to join us at our table, but she opted not to. 

Kinsley eventually had to leave, leaving just Shannon and Mike, two other members of our team, and I sitting at the table.  We invited Alice again to come sit at our table and this time she elected to join us.

She was a tall, slender girl, bundled up in a few layers, as it was a slightly windy and cool day.  She had a few straggling strands of hair hanging down over her right eye.  When she slid over on the bench next to me, it was then that I noticed her scars.

They covered most of her face, slightly skewing the shape of her eyes. Her hands were scarred also, her fingers just as slender as the rest of her body.

As we began chatting with her, we eventually made it around to her scars.  She shared that as a young child, she had escaped a home fire, but just barely.  Her body had been badly burned and her mother had spent hours over her hospital bed, praying for her, begging God to let her child survive. 

Alice plainly and boldly shared her confidence in God, that there's no way she would have survived that fire apart from Him and His sovereignty.  As she grew older, she continued to rely on that faith she had discovered as a three-year-old. 

I walked away from that conversation humbled and grateful to have crossed paths with this soft-spoken woman.  I was reflecting later and I just kept having this recurring thought run through my mind, "This is who the gospel is for."

Looking out over the student union area

The gospel - the saving grace of Jesus Christ and him crucified - is for the ones who have been scarred and burned by the flames.  It's for the ones who have watched their homes and their lives turn to ash around them.  It's for the ones who have breathed in the smoke of this life and gasped for clean air.  It's for the ones who have been fighting back the fire-breathing dragons of their past and the madness of their present.  It's for the ones whose lungs burn from lack of oxygen, whose legs threaten to give away beneath the heat.  It's for the ones whose hearts have been licked by the flames.

That's who the gospel is for. 

That's who Jesus is for. 

“It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick."  (Matthew 9:12)

The gospel is for the sick and the ones walking around with wounded hearts and scarred minds. 

Alice might have been the bearer of physical scars, but those scars reminded me that we all walk around with our own set of scars.  Most of us just don't wear them on the surface for the world to see.

And as grace would have it - the gospel is for you and all your scars, whether physical or figurative.  It's for your lungs that are screaming for air and your heart that been seared from the heat. It's for the ones who are desperate to find water to douse the flames of this world. 

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;  I have summoned you by name; you are mine.  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.  When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.  For I am the Lord your God."  (Isaiah 43:1-3)

When we walk through the fire.  When.  We will walk through it.  We will have scars.  No one will escape this world without them.

Jesus is for the ones who have been singed and burned and licked by the flames.  He has walked through them himself.  He's not afraid of them. 

And for that I'm grateful. 

I'll Leave the Swimming to the Fish

Snorkeling has never been high on my list of things to do before I die.

I now know why.

While in New Caledonia, we took a free day to go off the coast to snorkel. I was looking forward to the adventure as I hadn't ever done it before. I don't have a great affinity for water or swimming, but I don't find it particularly dreadful either. I thought, "This will be great - no problem. Can't be all that bad."

We set out for the day around 8:00 a.m., with plans to go out to another small island off the mainland, drop anchor and then snorkel.

I shimmied into my wet suit, plopped on my goggles and then listened carefully during the tutorial on how to properly use your snorkel and flippers. The guide so graciously conveyed that swimming in the ocean was easy with your flippers, there's no need to use your arms to swim, just float along and then kick with your legs.

Bernard, our very French snorkeling guide

This is a lie.

As we get closer to jumping in, I'm getting slightly apprehensive as I'm realizing that I may have overestimated my tolerance for water.  I muster up the courage and take the plunge.  The water wasn't too terribly cold, thanks to the wet suit and hood I had on.

We slowly start making our way out from the boat, which is anchored quite a bit from shore.  I occasionally stick my face under the water, catching a glimpse of the world below.  Fish galore and coral everywhere.  I caught a glimpse of a white-tipped reef shark out of the corner of my eye.  The other group mentioned later that they also saw a stingray and a sea turtle.  The ocean was teeming with life and vibrancy.

The water was maybe 30-40 feet deep (but maybe I made that up? I'm not a good judge of distance underwater) and the guide would occasionally dive under, point something out, come back and then explain what he was pointing at.  I was doing okay at this stage, attempting to enjoy the view.

But after awhile, I realize that this whole flipper thing was not working so well and that I was doing the exact opposite of what the guide said. I was doing nothing BUT swimming with my arms.  I was like an anxiety-ridden cat flapping my way around in the deep end of the pool while everybody else was over there looking like Flipper the dolphin, graceful as can be, making it all look like they had lived their whole lives in the water.  Turns out I was not Ariel the mermaid in my former life.  

And the farther we went from the boat, the more stressed I got.  I could feel my body getting tighter and tighter, my breaths getting shorter and shorter.  Every time I would go to stick my head in the water, I would take this huge gulp of air, even though I had a snorkel on allowing me to breath.  I just kept anticipating getting a mouthful of ocean water.  After awhile, I no longer cared what was below the surface.  I just wanted to get back to the boat.  I was slowly losing the mental battle, getting more and more panicked.  I finally waved down our guide, Bernard, a very nice French guy.  I told him I'm going back to the boat and he said with his little French accent, "Yes, sometimes this happens with beginners, they get very exhausted their first time out."  And I was like, "Yeah, yeah, whatever, dude.  I'm over it.  Just get me back to the freaking boat."

So, I tread/paddle/float/drift/attempt to swim my way back to the boat, desperate to get back sooner but finding my legs were worthless and moving even slower because I couldn't use my flippers properly so I was burning energy like crazy.  I was ready to shed them and leave them in the reef for the fish to make a home out of.            

I finally made it back to the boat.  I stripped the flippers, ripped off the goggles and snorkel, heaved myself onto the boat deck, my uncoordinated body nearly collapsing right then and there. Nobody else had made it back yet as they were all still out snorkeling and have a grand ol' time.

This is me, post-snorkeling debacle

Meanwhile, I made a beeline for the bathroom.

And proceed to throw up everything I ate for breakfast that morning, including an amazing chocolate croissant.

I think I had myself so stressed and so anxious that I made myself sick.  The good news was, though, I felt ten times better after that.

The rest of the group finally came back shortly after my stomach had made peace with the rest of my body.  I told them I came back early due to motion sickness and that I just wasn't feeling all that great.  I didn't want to admit that I was an anxiety-ridden, stressed-out, I-don't-care-if-I-ever-snorkel-again-in-my-life-type person.

We pulled up anchor and set off for another location to snorkel.  I stayed on the boat that time and enjoyed the sun, salty air and ocean breezes.

Despite the downside to it all, I'm still glad I did it.  I'll just let National Geographic and the descendants of Jacques Cousteau get all of the underwater photographs next time and leave the swimming in the ocean to the fish, sharks and sea turtles.  I can now successfully cross out "Go snorkeling" off my bucket list.

I just wish I would have remembered that it was never on the bucket list to begin with.