“The men here are bad”, she’d told me a few minutes earlier during my first ever Thai massage. Leaving sons and Thailand looking for work must have been hard, ending up in a dark room in a town known for sexual exploitation must now be almost intolerable.

“The men here are bad.”

How those words cut me. Men who take. Men who oppress. Men who demand.

The extra 200 UAH cash may have been part of it, but perhaps it was the timing and intent. At the end in order to bless rather than at the beginning in order to take.

I got the feeling the room had seen more than mere massage and I felt sick.

She was a beautiful lady. Smiling, a long way from home, almost trapped and working for family far away. Who goes to Ukraine to earn money to send to Thailand?

I bet most days she felt more like a shower after a massage, but today, it was a hug. Really strong. Heartbreaking.

I pray she has more days like this, but we know it’s not likely.

“Dear God, help me to live for you today.”

I can’t pray this anymore.

My life has been spent largely, ignorantly, trying to impress Father, trying to win that uncertain approval.  Yep, I related to my Father in heaven like I attempt to even now, sadly, relate to my idea of my late father on earth. Superior to me. Needing to live up to his standard.  Need to. Got to. Must.

Saturday: My usual habit was interrupted by an unusual thought, ‘Stop’.

Really?  What better prayer can I possibly offer in a world of endless preaching on how we are to do this very thing!?

Maybe…

“Dear God, help me to live with you.”

WITH? Argh.  That’s so hard.  So scary.  So..

 

 
Intimate

 

 
Yet, try as I might, I can now no longer simply live for God.  I want to live with him.  It’s a hard thought for me in many ways.  If I do stuff for him.  Obey him. It’s cool.  We’re square and I’ll get a pat on the back with validation on arrival in heaven and maybe a few perks along the way here on earth.

But to live with God? Side by side? In the trenches? In the kitchen?  Back yard? Dinner? Work? Home? In? Out?  It’s a rather serious raising of the bar.  That requires emotional commitment too.

Well, who is it I am going to have to live with? I see in the book of Mark a man, Jesus, who I have a sneaking suspicion was a lot of fun to be around. Invited to parties, cried when bad things happened, his friends and family cared about him. He made wine for people.  He invented laughter, painted sunsets, gave me my friends, and blessed me so.

I guess I could live with that person.

 
Will You hold my hand?