I see the moon…

This past Sunday, I got to teach the adult class at church. The pastor knew he was going to be away and asked me to prepare something – anything I liked – to share. I’m a procrastinator, so even though it was on my mind all week, Saturday came and I didn’t have any firm plans yet. I read three Psalms and ran some ideas by Katie, but nothing really struck me (even though I had a fist-pumping “Yes!” moment reading Psalm 82 and cross-referencing it with the end of John 10 in my head). I went to bed Saturday planning to get up at 7:00, decide on something and write out my notes.

While I slept, I received the phrase “He rewards those who diligently seek Him”. As I tossed in the heat, the words tossed in my mind. I was so sleepy, I wasn’t even sure they were scripture. “Even if they are”, I thought, “I don’t know the reference and my bible doesn’t have a concordance to look it up.” Still, the theme remained, and after what seemed like a few hours, I had an epiphany. “He exists!” It’s the verse from the 2007 IJM Global Prayer Gathering.

And without faith it is impossible to please him, for whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him.
– Hebrews 11:6 (ESV)

My Journaling Bible, English Standard Version, lacking the concordance, was also lacking the modifier diligently, but I checked Katie’s NKJV and it had it. I had attended the prior two Sundays, hearing the pastor teach on many different kinds of faith with supporting scripture. Weak faith: Matthew 8:23. Strong faith: Romans 4:19-21. Temporary faith: Luke 8:6-7, 13-14. Persevering faith: Hebrews 10:35-36. And now, as I slept, God gave me part of a verse from the “faith chapter” of the Bible.

I woke excited at 7:00. I took a shower – a good place to gather one’s thoughts. I called Katie at 7:30 and asked her to bring a prop. I sat down at my desk and pulled events and things I had heard from my discordant week into a coherent lesson. I added some additional scripture. I questioned whether I had the required 20-25 minutes of material. I added an opening prayer with time for requests.

Here’s the gist of what I said. Sorry for the length. I went for 45 minutes. :-)

We opened in prayer after receiving requests regarding “studies”. Several of the girls in the class mentioned this, as they are in or starting High School in a couple weeks. I went with the school theme and had a pop quiz – reviewing aloud the ten types of faith the pastor had taught in the prior two weeks. Without help, they got a 50%.

We then turned to the faith chapter and read verse one – a definition of faith. Verse five provides the context for verse six, our main text, so I read that verse and returned to Genesis for the full account of Enoch (no one knew who he was).

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. … By faith Enoch was taken up so that he should not see death, and he was not found, because God had taken him. Now before he was taken he was commended as having pleased God.
– Hebrews 11:1, 5

When Jared had lived 162 years, he fathered Enoch. Jared lived after he fathered Enoch 800 years and had other sons and daughters. Thus, all the days of Jared were 962 years.

When Enoch had lived 65 years, he fathered Methuselah. Enoch walked with God after he fathered Methuselah 300 years and had other sons and daughters. Thus all the days of Enoch were 365 years. Enoch walked with God, and he was not, for God took him.
– Genesis 5:16-24

I explained the uniqueness of Enoch, one of only two people on record in the bible as escaping death. I noted how his lifespan was so much shorter than his father or his son Methuselah (who holds the claim for longest lived, at 969 years). And I returned to Hebrews 11:6 to expound on the author’s point. Enoch must have had faith. Genesis says he walked with God and he pleased Him. He pleased Him so much that God spared Enoch from death. But, to walk with God, one must first have faith that He exists. How can you really seek to walk with something you don’t believe exists? You’d always have a notion in the back of your head, “This is lunacy.” This simple recognition – this internal surety of things hoped for – is the beginning of Enoch’s pleasing God. He had faith that God exists and he sought to walk with him. He sought Him diligently, and God rewarded that diligent seeking.

We, too, have to start there. We have to believe that God exists. Do we? How do we believe? How do we show it? What do we believe about God?

I had heard that week the old canard, “They’re all the same, just different names: Allah, Buddha, Jesus.” Yes, Arabic Christians call God Allah, but that’s not the substance of what we believe. That’s truly just a name. It’s the attributes of these different conceptions of God that show they aren’t all the same. We listed some of God’s attributes according to scripture. In stream of consciousness, I rambled the love story of the Gospels that sets our faith apart. I attempted to describe the trinity – a belief so distinct that other monotheists try to call us polytheists. I said that we believe in a God who loves justice – a shout out to the IJM workers present, but also to Psalm 82 from Saturday’s reading.

But, I still needed to get to the payoff in my sermonette. It was the reason I was so excited when I woke. It was the reason I asked Katie to bring a prop. It was a sermon illustration straight out of my week! I had an example of seeking diligently and being rewarded, and it all began because I believed something existed.

I explained the Western custom of Valentine’s Day, asking if anyone knew when it was. One girl did, and I asked if that was because she had a boyfriend. That produced a quick “No!” and some giggles. She explained that her birthday was February 14^th. I went on to say that we give cards and candy to the ones we love on the day, and sometimes we give gifts. And Katie’s parents observed the custom this year by mailing her a package. It had cards. It had candy. Unbeknownst to her, it had a precious gift. Her parents didn’t tell her it was coming. They sent it on February 7^th, but Valentine’s Day came and went without any package. That’s understandable, because the post can be pretty slow. My package sent on February 2^nd arrived near the end of the month.

But March also came and went. Katie’s parents asked “Have you received our package?” The tension in their voice could have likely been heard if Katie had been expecting it. Instead, she calmly said “Nope.” I was aware of the missing package, as well as the valuable contents. I shared their dread. When April came and went, they asked again regarding the package, with increased trepidation. “Nope. I think it’s gone,” Katie said nonchalantly.

Then, in May, I came. I became comfortable in traversing the city. I became confident in dealing with the people. One night at a coffee shop, Katie opened some cards from other family members and a package she had received… with cards from me. I asked about the other package, confirming its missing status.

Last week, tired of reading in a coffee shop, and waiting for Katie to get off work, I took a walk down one of the streets near her office. I happened upon a post office. I texted her to ask her office PO Box number, but she didn’t reply. After a few minutes of doubt, I wrote all the details I could remember on a Post-It note and walked into the office. There were some men crowded around a counter, talking to a young postal worker. The sign on the rail said “Speed Post”. Beside it was a sign for “Enquiry/Complaint”. Although no one was at that spot, I thought the Speed Post worker might be able to help, so I took my spot in line. It seemed better than asking the “Stamp” lady.

Not ten seconds later, an old man entered the office and stood between me and the men at the counter – a line-breaker. Apparently lines here form left to right instead of front to back. I resigned myself to losing one spot in line but I scooted closer to the invader to indicate to anyone in their right mind that I’m after him. A minute later, two men – an old man and a middle aged man – approach the crowd, survey the scene, and tap the line-breaker on the shoulder. I couldn’t understand what he said, but I gathered it was “Are you the back of the line?” by the way the line-breaker nodded and the old man started to stand between us.

I was perturbed. I said “Na”, which means no, and patted myself on the chest as if to say “I’m the back, not him”. The old man acknowledged the error and moved behind me with the middle aged man in tow. However, the old man sat down, and the middle aged man slowly moved to my right and hugged the counter. Then he gradually moved to his left, in front of me, while he watched the young postal worker fill the order of the original crowd of men. He moved slowly, not looking at me, always looking over the counter, but he got so close to the line-breaker as to be overlapping shoulders. Less than six inches separated them, and my non-confrontational personality was tested. I resolved to not allow another person to break in front of me, but since the line hadn’t technically advanced since I arrived, I decided to wait until the original men were finished.

When the Speed Post worker gave the men their long chain of mailing labels and recorded the transaction in his ledger, he looked to the line-breaker. The middle aged man made a sudden movement to solidify his place as next, but I put my hand between their shoulders and again did my “Na”/chest pat combo, which did the trick. However, from the left, people were also entering the post office, approaching the Speed Post worker, sticking their hand across the rail with their letter and asking their question – with zero regard for those already in the line. It was then that I remembered – there are no “lines” here. You have to be assertive. In a crowd, you have to force your request to the front or you will wait until the last.

I waited through the line-breaker’s mailing, and passed my Post-It to the worker. I tried to explain that I was expecting a package from Michigan, but he thought I wanted to send something via Speed Post. I explained that it was send US Priority Mail and he, not understanding, sent me to the Stamp lady. J

She also didn’t understand, so she called manager who spoke a little English. I had a hard time getting him to understand that I was not trying to mail something but to receive something sent long ago. I would settle for information. What would happen to a package that was undeliverable or not picked up? How long would it sit? Would it ever be sent back? Would it be burned?

And I did get information. He pointed me to another Post Office, just a 10 minute walk, where I could deliver a parcel (that’s what they call them, and part of the confusion). I confirmed that he meant I could pick up parcels at that location, and he said yes. So, I moved on in search of the delivery post office. After passing where I thought it should have been, but distracted by a virtual tunnel created by a string of tarp-covered shops, I asked a gatekeeper. He said to continue going and cross the street. When I got to the corner, and to an area that didn’t look promising, I asked a traffic policeman. During the day, they’re at nearly every intersection. He said to go back the way I came for two minutes and it would be on my left. Doing so sent me back by the gatekeeper, who questioned why I wasn’t following his directions. I repeated the policeman’s directions and that the policeman told me so. He shrugged and motioned me on.

Very soon, I saw the Post Office on the left. I walked up the steps and into a room with a long counter. The sign listed their services and corresponding hours of operation. “Enquiry – 10:00 to 18:00”. It was only 5:10 pm, so I was still alright. A man stood at lane four of the counter, speaking to several workers at a desk in the back of the room. Behind the far end of the counter sat three workers, talking amongst themselves. I approached and said I had an inquiry about a parcel (flaunting my new lingo).

“We’re closed. 4:00.” I pointed to the sign that had the hours and replied “No, it’s not 18:00 yet.” She repeated her excuse and I said “It’s not even 5:15! 18:00 is 6:00. I have an inquiry about a parcel. Can you please help?” She chattered with her friends and said “Go to counter four.” I thanked them and walked to where the man was standing. A young woman approached the counter from the desk and I passed her my Post-It note. I explained that the parcel was sent in February from America, and that I was told to check this Post Office.

The man spoke English. He also seemed to be a manager or at least very friendly with the staff. He said that he would take me to where the parcel would be, and that if I had any trouble to contact the old woman at the desk. He pointed and people smiled. “She’s in charge around here.” I gathered his sarcasm was playful and appreciated his help. He led me up another flight of stairs and into a back room – past the PO Boxes – where several workers sat with ledger books. I again explained that I was looking for a parcel sent to an IJM PO Box in February. I had the name of the sender and the recipient, but not the PO Box number. They tried to tell me that parcels aren’t allowed to be sent to PO Boxes, but I said that we have received parcels before, and we were just doing what we were told.

The man pulled down a book and started flipping through it. I saw “Katherine” at the top of one of the pages and shouted “That’s her!” pointing at the page. He reviewed the ledger entry and confirmed that the package was received and notification that it was available for pickup was delivered on March 10^th. Someone at IJM had dropped the ball, but that didn’t matter now. I just wanted to know the location of the package. The worker opened a cabinet behind him and pulled out a blue canvas bag. He untied the string and my friend from downstairs said “It’s illegal to show you, since you aren’t the recipient, but he’s doing it, not me.” Inside the bag was a white, USPS Priority Mail bag/envelope. String crisscrossed around it, holding its roughly rectangular shape, and a corner was broken open. I saw a Starburst two-pack sticking out. This was it!

I felt for the package for the squishy contents, and was sufficiently convinced the precious cargo was intact. I congratulated and thanked the postal workers for a job well done. They said that Katie could pick up the parcel if she brought her passport. I left the Post Office so proud and happy. I called Katie’s dad to tell him the good news. He didn’t sound near as happy as I did, but it was early in the morning for him.

The next day, I led Katie to the parcel. She presented her passport and, after the manager demanded an explanation as to why it was delivered so late, we were allowed to take it with us. We opened it in the park. Katie was excited by all the candy and the cards. Then, she pulled out the special contents, wrapped in gift wrap. Confused, she tore the paper to reveal Digger, her favorite stuffed animal. He was safe. He was home again in Katie’s arms. The look on her face was priceless.

All because I had faith that he still existed, and diligently sought for him.