Jet Lag

Erik and I landed safely in Beijing today yesterday afternoon, and made it easily through customs and immigration. Chinese immigration, though slightly intimidating runs very smoothly due to their facial recognition system that is set up at each booth. Within two hours we were at our hotel.

We moved into our room, thankful to find a clean toilet and two comfortable beds, but forced ourselves to go downstairs and explore our new surroundings. We found the indoor pool, and the "authentic" Mongolian gher diner. We ended up settling down to a real authentic Chinese dinner that reminded me of the diner by the railroad tracks back home. Immediately I began to miss Elaine's Cafe and Tuesday night dinners with family, and Vicki telling me what to order.

After dinner we were exhausted but were determined to get on the local time schedule, and so we forced ourselves awake by ordering coffee at the hotel's lounge, Warp 8. They promised live music at 8:00 which turned out to be two women with laptops that played prerecorded drum beats and a man who played the key-tar. They sang well, but we had to laugh. Apparently they were fresh in from the Philippines, but sang American classics, like Abba's "Dancing Queen" and Michael Buble's "I Want to Go Home."

But now jet lag has me awake at 4:15. I've been up since 2:30am lying flat on my back staring at the dark ceiling above my head in loneliness. Now I'm sitting on the bathroom floor in our hotel room, waiting for the morning light, that even George Harrison, for all of his theological eccentricities, knew would come back and bring smiles to their faces.

But I have several friends that have challenged me to speak truth to power, to name struggles, and thus overcome them. These morning hours when I lie awake are the hardest, especially after the few hours I have spent in a culture and a language that I absolutely do not understand. I feel I have no power, no reason for being here. Even with Erik lying in the bed in the other room, I feel alone. And I'm still carrying lies that I tell myself and that others have told me.

I can't hear my own voice. I'm beginning to question why I am here, in China, on my way to Mongolia, working with Young Life in general. It's hard to believe that God has any plan to prosper me, any hope for me, any future.

And yet I try and rest in His truth. I still look for those quiet meadows with still water that He places along my way to restore my soul. I'm told His joy will come with the morning. The morning just can't come soon enough.