I felt so loved in that moment, sitting there reading through what I thought would be a boring book. I had just finished struggling through all 52 chapters of Jeremiah and I was not looking forward to 48 chapters of Ezekiel. I’m thankful my reservations were for nothing. Three chapters in and I was already floored. My curiosity was peaked and I had to smile about the all too relevant topic.
“And he said to me, ‘Son of man, go to the house of Israel and speak with my words to them. For you are not sent to a people of foreign speech and a hard language, but to the house of Israel - not to many peoples of foreign speech and a hard language, whose words you cannot understand....” -Ezekiel 3:4-6
My ears popped up when I heard the words “foreign speech and hard language, whose words you cannot understand.” I understand this topic all too well. Hard language? Yes. Whose words I can’t understand. Double yes.
But God hadn’t sent Ezekiel to a foreign speech and hard language that he wouldn’t be able to understand. He was sent to his own people, to speak in his first language. “Lucky Ezekiel,” I thought but I continued reading.
“Surely, if I sent you to such [people with a hard language], they would listen to you. But the house of Israel will not be willing to listen to you, for they are not willing to listen to me: because all the house of Israel have a hard forehead and a stubborn heart. - And go to the exiles, to your people, and speak to them and say to them, ‘Thus says the Lord God,’ whether they hear or refuse to hear.’” -Ezekiel 3:6-7, 11
Ezekiel got to go to people like him and speak in his first language with them. Seems lucky until I read on that his task was promised to essentially be fruitless. God told him to go tell them things but they won’t listen. How frustrating!
“Why Lord,” I thought, “why go waste his time saying a bunch of things to people who have their ears stopped up?” It seems wasteful. It seems inefficient. Why was this his task? Why does it feel like my task at times?
“Because I love them,” came the still small voice. “I love them fiercely and relentlessly. I am LONG-SUFFERINGLY PATIENT. It is my nature. I don’t want to see them perish. I don’t want them to continue in the ways of death. I long for their obedience and restoration. I’m willing to wait long and hard and talk until I’m blue in the face in case just one person wakes from their stupor and repents. I do this with you too. You have sin areas that you still stubbornly adhere too. You, too, have idols that you run to instead of to me. My holiness gives me every right to destroy you but my desire is to see you completely made whole, completely free of sin and fear. It’s why I tarry in the lives of others as well."
I wept right there at my kitchen table. What love is this? What glory. Deep soul gratitude captured my heart that my God is not a vengeful, scheming, immediately squashing God, but one who is long-suffering with me and others like me. He sees potential where I see inefficiency. He hunkers down for the long haul when I’m ready to abandon ship at the first sign of fruitlessness. I felt like the curtains were pulled back just a tad, and I could see his pulsating heart for the whole world, including me.
Later, my friend and I went out to the university to talk to a few of my teachers about how I’m not getting what I need from the classes they are offering. I was hoping that one or two of them might be able to give some private lessons. I think the conclusion we came to was that they are all too busy to privately tutor me. Mr. O had already offered to teach myself and my two friends for an hour or two each week. He reiterated it multiple times that he was still willing to do this. We asked if I could pay him and he said that it’s what humans do. They help each other out without expecting something in return. Oh how my American mindset gets challenged by this communal based culture. I’m so engrained to think that time is money and everything has a dollar value.
He and Mr. E then offered that any time I wanted to come and ask questions, I was free to come to either of them or any available teacher and they would gladly help me. They gave extra recommendations of how I could improve things on my own. They said I could come to any of my current level classes for free and could retake the level as many times as I want. Again, my American mindset was blown. Come to class for free? Come as often as you want? Feel free to pester the snot out of the teachers? How few American professors would do so much for an international student.
Again, I felt so loved. The Father shows me His depth of love for me, almost daily, through these people I live among. I wish that I could sit down and tell you the many, many stories of overwhelming kindness I have felt from these people. And underneath it all, I hear the Father saying, I love you. I love you so much that I’m getting your neighbors and friends and strangers to love you and serve you so you will know I am mindful of you. Four big brothers at the university saying they will bend over backwards to help me as much as they can. Free classes, free private grammar, open doors for questions, them encouraging me that I’m doing great for how long I have been here and admonishing me to really push myself in some areas.
I returned home and wept again at my table. Tears of joy that underneath it all, the Father is saying, “I love you. I am for you. I have provisions for you. Even when you’re stubborn, I keep pouring love on you, you silly girl. I won’t relent until I get all of you.”
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