Crowd control?

A few days ago, we went with some friends to one of our city's "touristy" attractions - a nice lake in the middle of town. It actually was a really beautiful place, with nice trees and plants and such. We, however, went against our better judgement and violated one of our cardinal rules of life in asia: never go anywhere remotely touristy on a major holiday (a rule that applies well in America, too).

We were actually joining a group of asian friends that we had never met before, so that also contributed to the confusion. As we walked around the lake, we couldn't seem to differentiate who was in our party, and who was just following us, wishing they were in our party. We finally concluded that we were the party. The persistent onlookers armed with cameras made it feel like were Brad and Angelina filming in India, rather than a family out for a nice evening. That image helped me visualize with great clarity a scene our fellowship group studied on Sunday morning.

The passage we studied was in Mark 6, where He eventually fed lots and lots of people. The background leading up to this event was that He and his disciples were headed to a "quiet place" for some rest. But huge crowds prevented Him from doing so - in fact, "running there on foot...getting there ahead of them." Yet His approach to the crowds was so convicting to me - compassion.

He felt such compassion for them. Not so much for their physical needs, but because they were sheep without a shepherd. As we finsihed our study, we began discussing our application and accountability points from the passage. (Why study the Word if your life isn't going to change as a result of your reading?) Nearly all of us settled in some way on the Compassion Issue that He so divinely illustrated for us. Life here seems to sap your compassion. A constant wearing of cultural demands gives you so few opportunities to just naturally be compassionate. But, obviously, we weren't the only ones who were bombarded with crowds, and His response shows us the right way to respond. I fumbled around during my turn because I wasn't quite sure how to verbalize my response. "Being a person of compassion" just doesn't give many concrete action steps.

Well, as it turns out, I had a chance to live out my application point the very next evening.

Samantha and I had run down to the store to buy something, and we were returning to our apartment. As the elevator doors were just about to close (with only me inside! yay - I didn't have to make small talk!) an asian family rushes up, frantically calling for me to hold the elevator. A mom, dad, a young boy and two other girls (who I'm unsure how they fit in the group) scrambled inside. I pushed my floor "10", and they pushed "9". The usual elevator banter started - wow, look at your baby, she's so cute, how old is she, what are you doing in this country, yadee yadee yadee - and I apathetically obliged.

After a brief moment of silence, the father cut in with the very obvious, "Oh, so you live on the 10th floor?"

"Mmmm," I said, mumbling the typical local response of affirmation.

"Oh," he says. "Tenth floor, which number?"

My mind started working double-time. Images of children begging for free english lessons, ladies coming by at all hours of the day with random gifts of food and other various delicacies flooded my mind. In an effort to protect my time and the secrecy of my whereabouts, I sheepishly pretended to not understand. "Yeah," I replied. "I live on the tenth floor."

Satisfied - but thinking I am one dumb foreigner - the man and his family got off the elevator, one floor below my house. As the elevator doors came together, my heart sank. The conviction was immediate.

I had done a great job of crowd control. That man and his family would never have known I was intentionally avoiding his question. He would never have thought I was rude. This crowd had been controlled.

But it came at the cost of my compassion.

Who says my time is my own? Where did I get the idea that my house should be bolted down with lock-and-key, unavailable to the many out there who truly are sheep without a shepherd. So what if I have to give a few free english lessons to build a bridge to a shepherd? so what if I have a stockpile cabinet of random gifts from asian friends? Will they not know whose I am by my love?

I walked in the door to my house and unloaded my burden to my husband, who kindly handed my keys back to me. "Go find them," he instructed.

"But I don't know which apartment in theirs! What will I say?" I protested. But I knew he was right.

I gathered up my keys and my courage, put on my shoes and walked out the door, prepared to eat the words I had so thoughtlessly offered on the elevator.

As I walked in the darkened hallway of the ninth floor, I saw that Apartments A and D were offices and were closed (as is the case with much of our building - we actually have very few neighbors because all the apartments are being used as office space). That left B and C. I crept up to apartment C and heard a TV, but none of the loud chatter that usually comes from homes with young children. I quietly walked down to apartment B. It was obvious from the decibel factor I had found the right place. I silently offered my repentant heart to the Lord and knocked on the door, swallowing every iota of pride that had ever been in my body.

"Who is it?" came a gruff yell from inside the house.

"Ummm," I stammered. "I'm the foreigner you met on the elevator a few minutes ago."

"Huh?" came back the startled reply.

"Uh, I'm a, uh, I'm a foreigner," I tried again.

The door swung open to reveal a bustling asian home. The TV was on at a level that a near-deaf man could hear, while two younger girls sat on chairs trying to carry on their conversation over the noise of the TV. The 9-year-old boy ran around the house as if chasing an imaginary rodent or something. Steam billowed from the kitchen, signaling that the leftovers were still hot if I was interested in staying for dinner.

They insistently urged me to come in, so I did and then offered my apologies. I told them that as they got off the elevator, I realized that he had asked me which apartment I lived in, not which floor I lived on. I told them that I didn't understand at first what he said (not quite true) but that now I did understand. I told them my asianese isn't very good (VERY true) so that's what caused the mix-up. I told them I was very embarrassed for not understanding, and since our building doesn't have very many residents, they were some of my only neighbors and I wanted to become friends (also true).

We spent the next few minutes chatting, telling them about my family, listening to them tell me about theirs, and just starting the road to a friendship. The conversation ended happily, with both of us offering the other a warm invitation to come visit sometime.

I left their home, feeling happy that I was able to make the situation right, but also a bit grieved that I didn't learn the lesson the first time. Thankfully, I am the recipient of a divine patience! So now after my public and private confession, I can carry on with a greater clarity on how not to do crowd control.