The Price of Purity?

Posting about controversial issues is not something that I intend to do. At least not on a regular basis. But ever since reading a news article last night, there is a question that keeps coursing wildly through my mind and compels me to write: 

"What is the price of purity?"

According to news forums around the world, on October 24th, a twenty year Brazilian student sold her virginity through an online auction. After a fierce competition, the winning bid went to a Japanese man for the sum of $780,000. 

The seller will be "delivered" to the buyer somewhere in flight between the U.S. and Australia to evade charges of prostitution. According to multiple sources, the young woman who has voluntarily chosen to auction off her virginity under claims to raise money for charity, also does not believe that what she is doing is prostitution. To quote: "For me, it's not prostitution. When someone does something once in his or her life, this is not considered a profession. If you take a picture and it comes out good, you are not a photographer because of it." 

With that logic, I suppose robbing a bank just once in your life does not make you a thief, nor does shooting just one person to death make you a murderer. After all, it's not a profession.

As disturbing as I find this young woman's outrageous choice, I also feel compassion for her. To think that she would take the most sacred gift God gave her as a woman and auction it off for the pleasure of a complete stranger. The irony of it all is the price tag that is attached. 

$780,000. Over three-quarters of a million dollars. That is quite a tidy sum. 

While we gasp at an astronomical bundle of cash like that, there are young girls in the karaoke bars of Cambodia being sold to customers to be used at their disposal, but with a small price. An hour with the girl and a couple of drinks? According to the receipt, the beer is the most expensive purchase of the night. 

$780,000 or $5. 

Which one is a truer indicator of the price of purity? Who or what decides 

what that price should be?

This Brazilian young lady chose to sell her virginity. What of the millions of young girls who have no choice? What of those who have had their innocence stolen from them by those whom they trusted most? What of those women suffering in silent shame because they thought he really loved them and believed that keeping his love required giving of the most precious, intimate part of themselves, only to be left broken and alone? What of those women, young and old alike, who are barraged with psychological and visual messages from our sex-crazed society that your only worth is your sexuality? 

$780,000.  $5. Or free for the taking. 

Who determines the price of purity, the price of sexuality, the price of intimacy? 

 I know that the subject of sexuality is one that we as conservative Christians tend to avoid. It feels awkward, so we become hush-hush about it. But in our chosen ignorance, we blind ourselves to the countless women who are silently screaming because someone placed a price tag on them. Probably none of them were priced at the sum of $780,000 like the Brazilian woman who headlined the news. Most of them had a price tag slapped on them that said "free for the taking." Yet whether by choice or by force, each one of these women have experienced a marring of a very holy part of who they were created to be. 

No man, no online bidder, no sensational news story, no customer in a red-light district, no boyfriend offering elusive promises of love, no predatory uncle, no media advertisement can ever come close to placing a 

price tag on virginity or sexuality.

That is because God is the Giver of purity. He is the Author of sexuality, the Designer of intimacy. What He creates, He calls good. He never intended for purity to have a price tag placed on it because He created it

 to be price-less. 

The treasure is too sacred to be purchased. It can only be given. 

The beauty in realizing that God is both the Creator as well as the Giver of purity and intimacy is that even when the Enemy steals what was never his to have, there is hope. God can restore that marred treasure. He can bind up what was broken, recover what was lost, and bring healing to what was wounded. There is no tainted beauty, no second-hand sacredness, and no cheapening of priceless worth in a purity that has been restored by the Creator Himself. This is the glory and grace of redemption.

Purity goes so much deeper than our physical virginity. It is purity of our heart, of our mind, of our spirit, of our actions, and of our lifestyle. Purity is an essence of God Himself, divinely imparted to each one of us as a holy gift. Purity is a pearl of great worth, not a commodity to be purchased by any earthly monetary sum. 

Dare to go against the onslaught of mockery and lies that our society bombards us with on every hand ~ 

Cherish Purity for the Priceless Gift that it is. 

Longing for Home ...

In the past nine months, I have moved four times. And before coming back to America in December, I will be moving at least once more. You would think by now that packing, unpacking, and settling into a new place would as routine for me as changing my contacts every 6 weeks. To be honest, I detest packing. Unpacking is even worse.

Of late, my thoughts have been wandering towards home more than usual. Home. Even the word itself stirs up feelings of longing. But longing for what? Longing for where?

Longing for what is most familiar to me; where I can understand everything that anyone says; where I don't have to always unlock a padlocked gate and a front door to get inside; where the flavor of the green bag of Lays chips is always sour cream and onion instead of seaweed; where multitudes of dogs are not allowed to roam the neighborhood freely, howling at the top of their lungs; where winding roads though blazing autumn woods are reality instead of pictures on facebook; where the air is turning crisp and the comforting aromas of pumpkin pies, pumpkin granola, and pumpkin lattes fill the kitchens; and that place where this handsome little man is learning new words every day and points to my picture when asked "where is Aunt K-K?"

Caleb William

But missionaries-in-training aren't supposed to have feelings like this though, right? I mean, confessing that I might be missing the comforts of home and family is bordering on breaking one of the "10 Commandments of Foreign Missionaries" that we tend to impose upon ourselves. That sounds so un-spiritual. Not the kind of stuff that you want to send back to everyone on your email update list.

Yet the fact still remained that the past week or so, I was wrestling with these feelings of just wanting to go back home, even as I sometimes wonder where home really is. It was only when I remembered the stages of culture shock that we had learned about it our Cultural Anthropology class, the light clicked on. I realized that what I was feeling was very typical for those who have been in a different country for an extended period of time. After the novelty and the new experiences of the first six months, you typically come out of the "honeymoon stage" and it's "Hello, Reality."

Instead of feeling guilty for feeling this way, it was reassuring to know that this is actually pretty normal. While it is okay to acknowledge and accept these feelings, I cannot stay there forever. And as only God can do, He has been using that aching for home to teach me more life lessons...

Even the very inner ache of the soul that we call longing is from Him. He created me with that longing for perfection, for reunion with my loved ones, for a place of total security and acceptance, for no pain and suffering and confusion -- that longing which will never be fully satisfied until I am truly Home. If I allow it to, this aching for home can loosen my clinging ties to this earth and turn my eyes toward Him. At this moment, He is preparing a place in Heaven for me, because His longing is to have me with Himself for eternity. In the meantime, He promises to be the fulfillment of all my longings.

On this side of heaven, I miss my home in America, but knowing full well that I already have a flight bound for the U.S.A. booked and prepared for my departure in two months. When I look at the people living in the garbage dump community or walk past the slum homes of the Muslim quarters of the city, I realize that these individuals do not have that privilege.

They are also in a foreign land, having fled from their own country of Myanmar to escape the vicious cycle of running from their homes or face the threat of death. They are strangers here, displaced and unwanted except for cheap labor in garment factories. Families have been torn apart, not seeing each other for years, sometimes not even knowing if family members are still alive. Then I remember, they have no ticket to go home. 

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Speaking of home... I have to introduce to you Bob & Charmaine, the lovely couple who opened up their house to Melanie & I for the first two weeks of our time in Mae Sot. Their British accent is simply delightful and their hospitality was as warm and comforting as the "cuppa tea" that they served us. 

For the first time in five months, I had my own room. Ah... the bliss of four walls, a double bed all to myself, and a door that closed. :)

Last Monday, Melanie and I moved into a guesthouse. We had been hoping to rent a small, furnished house during our time in Mae Sot, but after all the house hunting the past two weeks with no success in finding one within our budget or time limits, we are happy God provided us this room. We have a spacious bedroom with a small bath and kitchenette area that has a refrigerator. 

Unpacking in our new room

We even have a hot water shower!

To celebrate our move, we shared a bag of Combos from a package I had gotten from friends back home. I had been saving them for such a time as this. :) 

This final picture is of me with some of the street kids we met and fed during my "coffee fast" week. Their home is in a slum community of dilapidated shacks. 

Home. Someday, I will be Home for good. And that is something worth longing for... 

"Created for a place I've never known... 

This is home. Now I'm finally where I belong, where I belong. 

yeah, this is home. 

I've been searching for a place of my own

Now I've found it...

And I won't go back, back to how it was. 

This is home. " 

Compassion and a Cup of Iced Coffee

I stood there, clutching my bag of sticky rice and steaming hot chicken-on-a-stick. Sipping my iced coffee, I debated whether or not to pretend I did not see the half dozen street kids that had come running at the sight of a "farang" (foreigner). 

To these kids, White Skin = Money/Handouts. Tonight at the local festival was no exception. 

I turned around and faced the kids clamoring for our attention. Dressed in tattered, faded, ill-fitting clothes. Faces smeared and dirty, grimy little hands reaching out towards me, motioning to their mouths. Noting their filled out cheeks, I reasoned to myself, "Well, they certainly don't look like they are starving." 

Street Kids (photo compliments of Flickr) 

They implored me with their dark brown eyes. My conscience pricked me. "Look, I've already given money tonight towards food for another street kid. If I try to buy food for them all, I'll go broke before this internship is over!" 

But my conscience would not be silent. Almost begrudgingly, I wandered over to another stand to find pork-on-a-stick for them (It's cheaper, you know, than chicken). By the time I was ready to make my selection, one of my friends  had beat me to it with her never-ending generosity, and those kids were running off, shoving chicken into their mouths. 

I was half-relieved. Yet I felt like such a miser. In a further attempt to recompense for my selfishness, when I passed those same kids later on, I handed them my two leftover pieces of chicken and the ice from my now-empty cup to use for the soda they had begged off another passerby. 

The whole way home and later in my room that night, I kept replaying that scene in my mind...

For the most part, I would have considered myself a compassionate person. I mean, showing mercy even rated high on my spiritual gifts test, so that counts for something doesn't it?? But shame and remorse washed over me as I realized how far short I had fallen of true compassion. The kind of compassion that was modeled by my Savior to a world of people destitute in body and soul. 

What was at the core of my lack of compassion? What made me hesitate for those moments to go and buy these beggar kids something to fill their bellies? Nothing else but my own selfishness. I cared more about myself and making sure I was first fed and cared for than I did for these little ones. 

Iced coffee -- Case in point. I felt justified buying myself that iced coffee. After all, I had volunteered all day- for free!- at the local hospital, and at just 20 Baht a cup, that coffee cost me about 66 cents.

66 cents that if I was more concerned about others, I could have used to buy two bags of sticky rice for a gang of street kids.

Smitten, I asked God to forgive this selfish heart of mine. To mold my heart more into His image. To teach me to see individuals as He sees them. To break my heart with what breaks His. To put another's needs before my own wants. What do I really know of sacrifice, of giving until it hurts? I confess, only very, very little. 

In response, I felt like God was asking me to give up those little extras (like iced coffee and fruit smoothies) no matter how cheap they might be, and to be intentional about using that money instead towards feeding the hungry. Lest you think I am making some saintly sacrifice, I am starting out on this "coffee fast" for one week. After that, we'll see what God asks. :)

Genuine, Christ-like, agape-rooted Compassion is what I long for. Poured out as wine, broken as bread to feed the hungry: Those hungry for something more, something greater than sticky rice and chicken, something to fill the insatiable void of their soul. 

"Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter into the broken places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish... Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human." - Henri Nouwen

Perhaps it starts with walking by the street vendor selling Thai iced coffee.