Sitting around a table with people who are happier sitting
on the floor to eat always makes me feel a bit uncomfortable. I am aware they are in a world foreign to them
and part of me wishes I didn’t have – that they would know I would be happy to
eat with them on the floor too, and that I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable – just awkwardly
unknown like they feel now.
They are late for lunch.
We have already started. Who
knows when they might arrive, and we have other things to do. Must keep things moving.
He looks strangely nervous in our house. We have met a dozen times on his earth, and I
remember his confidence at killing the chicken and his laughing at my innocence
and squeamishness.
Now he is here at my table eating lasagna and wearing checkered
shirt over checkered shirt to keep away the damp Lima weather.
- I have never seen you
wear so many clothes! My husband realizes why he looks different. He laughs
shyly. - It has been many years since I was in Lima. Over 5 years.
In his eyes I glimpse sight of his son we know well, and I
see the joyful playful innocence there too and I guess he was not unlike his son
twenty years ago – impulsive, daring and determined, jumping head first into
murky piranha waters to cool off, or pushing out the dug out canoe to catch
fish.
- We are late for lunch.
It is a statement of fact, not regret.
- We have never worn watches.
Sometimes I regret that we are so time focused. That our schedules are so inflexible that we
cannot allow time to delay lunch until the special guests have arrived.
- I guess the Shipibo’s
tell the time by the sun? I ask trying to sound like I understand, when
really, how can I?
- No. We tell the time by the birds.
I listen, fascinated. He likes to tell stories.
- But it is not always
accurate. Two ladies in my village
agreed they would meet in the field before sunrise, at the first cry of the rooster,
about 4am. They both went to bed early and arose at the first cry, hurrying in
the cool to the field before the sun rose.
Together they waited and waited and the sun never rose. Finally, they decided to return to the
village, where talking to others they realized it was still the middle of the
night. The rooster had been confused by
the full moon and had crowed at 11pm!
He laughs and I feel the freedom in the fact that it doesn’t
matter that they were wrong. It doesn’t
matter if the rooster cries too early or too late – no one is going to get
annoyed or frustrated at being a moment or hour late or early – even if they realize!
Estimation is good enough. It leaves
time for life. And the variety just makes for a funny story!
Having spent time in his land, I realize that God designed rhythm,
he designed order, but it was never meant to be something that controlled us –
it was something that was meant to guide us.
And it makes me wonder, what things are there around me that
God designed that I miss? How much do I listen to the world around me? Where
have I made my life too structured or too routine that I miss out on God trying
to tell me something? It was the priest and the Levite, the ‘holy helpers’ who
passed the needy by, hurrying to their task.
Because the thing about the clock is that it always tick-tocks
the same. The bird’s call and the Lord’s
call is specific to the day. And I don’t
want my watch to dictate what I do – I want my actions to flow out of my
relationship with my Heavenly Father.
…the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by
name and leads them out…
– John 10:3
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