Naked Surrender... under the stars
It's funny what memories we become attached to when we return from foreign cultures. One of the fondest memories of my time in Haiti was bathing. Every morning Helyn and I awoke around 7 am and stumbled down the path for a splash/bath in the ravine. In the cool of the morning the water, running from the mountains a few miles away was cold and refreshing.
Life is very communal in Haiti and bathing is just another group activity. Women bathe and wash clothes together, chatting and socializing. Children splash and wash in groups, enjoying the simple pleasures and adventures of childhood.
I quickly took to bathing multiple times each day--usually a full "bath" in the morning, a splash of cool water in the heat of the afternoon, and another full "bath" in the evening to wash off the sweat and dirt of the day before crawling into bed. When it was too late to walk to the ravine, I took bucket baths behind a curtain next to the kitchen in our compound. Whether in the ravine or by bucket, evening baths nearly always took place by starlight.
There's something peaceful, humbling, even romantic about bathing by starlight; there's an overwhelming sense of being a tiny speck in the universe. One evening, as I stood in the ravine, stripped down, pouring cold water over my head (trying in vain to get all the shampoo out of my hair) I was overwhelmed with a sense of belonging mixed with deep vulnerability. I felt as if I had returned to my original place in nature--just another piece of the vast intricate workings of earth. As if I suddenly knew what it meant to exist, not as a creator but as the created. I no longer lived in a world manufactured by humans, but existed in and alongside the earth and nature. It sounds strange... even hippie, or "tree-hugger," or whatever you want to call it. I'm not ashamed to say that in that moment I felt close to God--the one who created me as a special creature in His own image, but still a part and participant of nature.
But at the same moment that I felt closer to God, I also felt deeply vulnerable. When I take showers in America, I'm surrounded by tile and porcelain and man-made walls. They shield me from being seen. I can hide. Don't get me wrong, bathrooms with doors and walls and tiles are great... please keep using them! But I never knew that it also meant I could hide from God. You see, somehow I let myself believe that God couldn't see what I look like under all my clothes--even though intuitively I know that isn't true. God sees and knows everything... what I look like, what's in my heart, what I'm thinking and feeling. Yet, somewhere along the line, I began to allow into my heart the false idea that if nobody else could see me, God couldn't either. And that thinking is dangerous and very false! I haven't really got any hidden, horrible sins... at least not any of the "big ones." But I do have heaps of sin and brokenness-- and I am guilty of letting myself believe that I can hide from God, just like Adam and Eve thought they could hide in the Garden.
Bathing under the stars that night in Haiti meant God could see me... He didn't have to look through the walls of tile and porcelain. There was nothing to hide behind. Suddenly I felt painfully aware of God's gaze at what I look like on the outside and in my heart. Part of me was suddenly at peace--relieved that I couldn't hide. The other part of me was horrified that He should see the dark reaches of my heart where I've stuffed so many shameful things. That whole "naked surrender" thing made more sense and I suddenly had a better understanding of God's radical love--He sees me for who I really am and loves me just the same. He cannot love me any more than He already does and He refuses to love me any less!
 |
| The ravine in which we often bathed. |
I quickly took to bathing multiple times each day--usually a full "bath" in the morning, a splash of cool water in the heat of the afternoon, and another full "bath" in the evening to wash off the sweat and dirt of the day before crawling into bed. When it was too late to walk to the ravine, I took bucket baths behind a curtain next to the kitchen in our compound. Whether in the ravine or by bucket, evening baths nearly always took place by starlight.
There's something peaceful, humbling, even romantic about bathing by starlight; there's an overwhelming sense of being a tiny speck in the universe. One evening, as I stood in the ravine, stripped down, pouring cold water over my head (trying in vain to get all the shampoo out of my hair) I was overwhelmed with a sense of belonging mixed with deep vulnerability. I felt as if I had returned to my original place in nature--just another piece of the vast intricate workings of earth. As if I suddenly knew what it meant to exist, not as a creator but as the created. I no longer lived in a world manufactured by humans, but existed in and alongside the earth and nature. It sounds strange... even hippie, or "tree-hugger," or whatever you want to call it. I'm not ashamed to say that in that moment I felt close to God--the one who created me as a special creature in His own image, but still a part and participant of nature.
But at the same moment that I felt closer to God, I also felt deeply vulnerable. When I take showers in America, I'm surrounded by tile and porcelain and man-made walls. They shield me from being seen. I can hide. Don't get me wrong, bathrooms with doors and walls and tiles are great... please keep using them! But I never knew that it also meant I could hide from God. You see, somehow I let myself believe that God couldn't see what I look like under all my clothes--even though intuitively I know that isn't true. God sees and knows everything... what I look like, what's in my heart, what I'm thinking and feeling. Yet, somewhere along the line, I began to allow into my heart the false idea that if nobody else could see me, God couldn't either. And that thinking is dangerous and very false! I haven't really got any hidden, horrible sins... at least not any of the "big ones." But I do have heaps of sin and brokenness-- and I am guilty of letting myself believe that I can hide from God, just like Adam and Eve thought they could hide in the Garden.
Bathing under the stars that night in Haiti meant God could see me... He didn't have to look through the walls of tile and porcelain. There was nothing to hide behind. Suddenly I felt painfully aware of God's gaze at what I look like on the outside and in my heart. Part of me was suddenly at peace--relieved that I couldn't hide. The other part of me was horrified that He should see the dark reaches of my heart where I've stuffed so many shameful things. That whole "naked surrender" thing made more sense and I suddenly had a better understanding of God's radical love--He sees me for who I really am and loves me just the same. He cannot love me any more than He already does and He refuses to love me any less!
Comments
Post a Comment