Shhh....just go...

We all remember that part right? Where Lloyd Christmas presses his fingers against the lips of Mary Samsonsite or Mary Something with an 's' (Swanson) at the airport. For some reason I just thought about that, but I think it puts a funny picture to what I want to describe.

I can't really understand what's going on most of the time around here so most days I just hear the words, 'Ryan...vamos,' and I just follow. This morning I woke up, heard those magical words, and got dressed. I followed my Columbian roomates out of the house, into a taxi, and we ended up at some building. Inside there was a group of people sitting around a table having a discussion. We sat down and I was handed a piece of paper that was split into two languages: Hebrew and spanish...neither helped me. Regardless, because of the Hebrew and the fact that the guy talking with wearing a yamacah I figured it was something Jewish. I quickly gathered that we were at some kind of an ecumenical gathering with people of all denominations and religions. There were Catholics, Protestants, Jews, and even a man who was Incan, the indigenous people of Ecuador. It was this point that I started to feel something that I feel on a regular basis. It's one where I really really want to know what's going on or being said and I can't. To best describe this feeling I need to backtrack a little bit.

There are times where I wonder if life would be better had I never come; times when I feel the discomfort mentioned above. However, I remain firm to the reasons of why I did come. In Kansas City I didn't feel the 'i don't know what's going on,' but rather, 'is this it? really? this is where I'm at right now in my life.' It was one more of boredom. To escape this boredom I would try to do a million things or think about really deep things. This morning I realized something; something that I think the Lord has been trying to tell me for a long time: "Ryan...shut up and listen."

It's funny because the way the Lord is doing this is by putting me in situations where I literally can't communicate. I am forced to listen, but I don't listen to the words (though I am desperately trying to translate), but more to the expressions of the people. To listen more to people's hearts which is communicated non-verbally. This morning I could clearly understand the sincerity of a comment, or the genuine questioning, or the desperate longing, or the snide remark.

I think in general I am listening more. In a way the Lord is pressing his fingers upon my lips, similar to Lloyd Christmas, and saying, 'Shhhh....'