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Holy Pursuit
by Stephanie Voiland
October 4, 2007
I never understood the beauty of pursuit—and the pain of its absence—until I met Gun. I first saw her in the red-light district in Bangkok, Thailand. Along with a few other people from my church on a short-term missions trip, I was walking down a neon-lit stretch of road called Soi Cowboy, where the commodity of choice is bodies. Most of the girls standing outside the bars are heartbreakingly young—teenagers who should be worrying about soccer or driver's ed, not about what their middle-aged Western "clients" expect of them.
For the couple of weeks we were there, our group walked the street each evening trying to build relationships with these young women and connect them with an organization called The Well. The only ministry of its kind in Bangkok, The Well offers women like Gun an education, job and life skills, a place to live, and a tangible expression of God's grace—the hope of a different life.
When I met Gun she was standing outside a bar called Five Star, waiting for her next customer. She held her side in obvious pain, but it didn't diminish the broad smile that lit up her tiny frame. As Gun and I began talking through a translator, I discovered she'd been battling stomach ulcers for several months. She couldn't afford a doctor; and besides, if she missed a night of work, she still was responsible to foot her "bar fee"—the money from her client, which she handed over to the bar each evening.
Over the course of my time in Bangkok, Gun and I had many conversations, some about the different worlds we inhabit—her tropical weather versus my Midwestern seasons; the areas where Buddha and Jesus might not have seen eye to eye; the health care systems in both countries. But despite the 8,000 miles separating our worlds, Gun and I had more in common than I'd originally anticipated. We're both fiercely protective of our little sisters, we both have a penchant for fresh mango, and, not least of all, we're both hardwired to be pursued.
A few days into my friendship with Gun, after our group had helped her pay for a doctor's visit, I asked Gun if we could pray for her. Surprised and delighted, she accepted the offer. As our group was leaving the red-light district for the evening, Gun tugged on my arm. Shyly she asked, "Can you pray for something else for me? For a husband—an American one? And a white baby?" Her face was raw, her saucer-like eyes desperate. This look required no translation.
Here was a woman whom men had "pursued" in the most degrading sense of the word—sought after her only as Girl #45—and yet she still yearned to be rescued, to be chosen, to be pursued as she was intended to be pursued. As a whole person, not a body; as a woman, not an object; as Gun, not Girl #45.
I looked into her eyes, her mask of bravado momentarily lifted, and I realized how similar her soul longings are to mine. How many times have I hoped and prayed for the same requests myself? Yet as I heard her say the words, I realized a husband and a baby won't be enough—for either of us.
The past several guys I dated inspired me to reflect on Gun and this idea of pursuit. These men were nice enough, but I sensed they take a low-risk approach to relationships. The dates never progressed beyond the "meet you for coffee" variety: split the distance halfway, split the bill halfway, go our separate ways. I'm not trying to indict them—after all, being a man can't be easy these days, with the ambiguity of gender roles, the unclear expectations of women, the risk of appearing too chivalrous or not chivalrous enough. But, when a man I've known casually for a while asked me to dinner last week, the contrast was striking. I'm certainly not looking for someone to throw around money or pamper me. Yet it was so refreshing, so honoring to realize this person is willing to put thought into what I might like, to spend some of his hard-earned money taking me to dinner—in short, to pursue me.
Still, as wonderful and God-given as the longing to be pursued is, it's only a shadow of a deeper desire—the desire to be pursued by a divine love. I did promise Gun I'd pray for her. But since that evening, the focus of my prayers for both of us has shifted. Because even if a man—American or otherwise—loves her and gets her a green card and a white baby, he still won't satisfy the part of her that's created to respond to an even deeper love, a more profound pursuit.
This idea of a pursuing God is understandably a new one for Gun, but it shouldn't be for me. Somewhere along the way, though, I've become over-focused on the reverse—my pursuit of God. No doubt that's a part of my relationship with God, and the idea of chasing headlong after God is a significant theme in Scripture: "Seek first his kingdom," "You will find him if you look for him with all your heart," "If you seek him, he will be found by you." But in the midst of my striving and straining, I've lost sight of the other side of this wonderful mystery: He pursues me. Not because I'm beautiful or smart or worthy of his affections—or even because I'm looking for him—but simply because his love is too consuming to do anything less.
Psalm 23:6 describes God's holy pursuit this way: "Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life."
This is no meet-you-halfway kind of interest. It's a pursuing love … the kind that would chase me to the other side of the world, to the neon-lit awning of a shady bar, to the dark places within my own soul.
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