When people ask how long I’ll be in the States and I tell
them I’m here till Christmas, they are floored by my response, “Oh, how lovely!”
“How wonderful!” “Good for you!” “I bet your Mom and Dad love having you this
long.” “What a nice long break!”
Another comment I got recently was, “I wish I could have a three-month long
vacation!”
Or “Are you on furlough? That must be nice!”
But I am not on a three-month long vacation. Furlough for
me is not nice, lovely, and wonderful. It’s hard, frustrating, and painful. Staying
till Christmas is to stretch myself and allow God the time to fix what’s broken
in me. So I’m not exactly ‘on a break’, but I am acknowledging I am broken and
need time and space for renewal. Staying for 3 months was not my idea, plan, or
dream vacation. But it’s what God had been pressing upon my heart for the time
needed, not what I wanted. If I wanted vacation, I’d be hitting up Cape Town
cruises or skipping over to Madagascar or finding some beach time and watching
the whales. (Way cheaper to vacation that side than in America.) Not sitting alone
in my parents’ house watching Hulu because I have no energy for anything else.
I know I’m sounding grumpy and this post might come off
full of complaints (heads up, sorry), but I just need to get it off my chest. This first month
has been already really, really, really, really, really, really hard. And I
have 2 more to go.
Most missionaries I know go on furlough with someone. Because most missionaries
I know are married. And have children. Or have children(adopted) even if not
married. Their furlough may involve some vacation time which is needed, but who
wants to take a vacation alone? Most travel with families, spouses, or
children. Me? I travel alone. I leave my family behind – both places. Every
time. Both ways. The single passenger on 30+ hour flights to and from, over and
over for the past 6 years.
But I’m staying with my family when I’m Stateside and I’ve
got incredible communities of support, so what’s the problem, right? The
problem is I just don’t feel like I belong. I have no ‘place’ here anymore. I’ve
been traveling a lot the first month and doing a lot of Hosea’s Heart work with
the goal that I will be off and resting the remaining of my time. While I’ve
been traveling, it’s a few days here, a few days there. Hard to stay in one
place for too long for fear of being a bother to those hosting me. I mean, let’s
be honest. It’s hard to host someone in the middle of your own work week,
schedules, kids, marriages, etc. Even when I host people Swazi-side, it’s such
a joy to have visitors but it is also a bit stressful to fit them into my
schedule and constantly changing work days that side. For example, when may
parents visit, I give up my bedroom and sleep in the extra bed in Ben and Lu’s
room. Of course, I wish more people would come because I would take the
blessing of visitors anytime over the stress of hosting, but what I’m saying is
I understand what it’s like to have the pressure of hosting a visitor or a
missionary all the way Africa. The normal schedule of staying a few days here, a
few days there is okay and manageable for my last trips because I’ve only stayed
a month. But doing this for 3 months is just not gonna work.
So my parents’ house is the rest place. But what happens
when even that doesn’t feel like rest? Even that doesn’t feel like I belong?
Not that my parents make me feel unwanted, but they’ve been empty nesters for I
don’t even know how many years, and now their 33-year-old daughter is crashing
back in her old bedroom and looking like a bump on a log. Or a bump on the
couch. They don’t mean to send me the wrong messages, because what they say is
beautiful and wonderful: “We’re so happy to have you home!” But I can’t help
noticing the other things, the small comments that make me feel like I’m still
a visitor depending on someone else’s generosity:
“You running up my electric bill?” a comment not meant to
make me feel bad, but it does. Because I can’t help it. I need to turn the
small heater on and sit by it throughout the day because I’m so cold. My feet
and fingers icy cold. I’ll even put a winter hat on while I’m sitting in the
living room. I just can’t help needing to be warmer than others here.
“Do you realize you walk so heavy, loud?” No, I didn’t realize
it. But now I feel like I need to walk softly in a place I’m supposed to be
relaxed.
“Oh, good, once you clean that desk off, you can work in
your room instead of the kitchen table.” It wasn’t a comment to kick me out of
the kitchen intentionally, but again just another feeling that I’m interrupting
someone else’s schedule, system, life, while I’m floating on air through mine.
“He’s spending so much money on those cars!” True, my dad
is a natural provider, and one thing I can always count on him for is the
condition of my car – making sure it’s in working condition, fixing it, paying
for new wiper blades, new light bulbs, and sometimes even filling the tank! But
what’s meant to be a blessing, again, makes me feel like a burden when I’m
reminded of their difficult financial status and see how hard my parents work
every week. And I wonder, should I even stay here very long? Am I using up all
their money? Eating all their food? Seeming ungrateful? Putting unnecessary burdens
on them? They will never be the ones to say so, in fact they ask me to stay
longer than I usually do. But still, I can’t help but still feel like I am just an ‘extra’ anywhere
I go/stay.
As I write and “complain” I suppose it sounds like I’m
being so ungrateful. But I don’t mean to be; it’s just that I feel I don’t fit
in. I don’t belong. During others’ work hours, I’m sitting at home watching
episodes of The Voice or So You Think You Can Dance. It’s not that I’m lazy, it’s
that on the two days I’m home in-between my travel or in-between events, I’m so
emotionally exhausted, I don’t have energy to do anything but sit and watch.
Also because it distracts me from the aching feeling of missing my kids.
And when I do work, it doesn’t look like work to others.
Because telling our story, inviting others into the opportunity to be
world-changers is something I live for! It is something I love doing. So my
traveling and giving speeches and presentations certainly don’t look like work
because while I’m doing it, the Holy Spirit sweeps over me every.single.time.
It lights me up. But the before and after are the hard parts. I still get
nervous every time I speak, no matter where or what event. The physical stress
of my nerves before hand is one thing, but then after wards is a whole other
element. Because after the presentation, it all catches up with me. The
adrenaline is gone, the Holy Spirit high is over, and I’m left emotionally
exhausted. The emotional toll it takes on me and my body to tell the story over
and over, while I cry and embarrass myself because I can never tell it without
tearing up or straight out crying for the good and the bad…it takes every ounce
of strength in my bones to stop the dam from breaking completely… and then to
tell one story that after 11 years still doesn’t have the happy ending, but
tell it in a way that convinces the audience there’s still hope (in an effort
to convince my own heart), that it’s not over yet.
But as a writer who lives on plot maps and resolutions,
to tell a story without one, to skip the parts that are tearing at me right
this moment… (the one where she is almost killed, being choked with a belt by
her abuser who also tried drowning her in the river, and being thousands of miles
away, desperately wanting to just hear her voice after that and tell her ‘I
love you,’ but for all my efforts to be in vain because she’s now refusing to
hear from me or communicate with me because suddenly I am an enemy… I mean…talk
about turning the knife blade that’s already in my heart. Ugh. To forgive her
without ever hearing an apology. To wonder if I am ever going to see her again,
to beg God not to let her die without me seeing her one more time, and hoping
the dream He gave me with her wasn’t the ‘one more time’)… to skip those parts
and smile in front of others, with my friends, even with my own parents because
admitting I am in pain is also sometimes too hard to face. To video chat my boy
Benji and see him cry on the phone saying, “I just want you, Mom!” and not
being able to comfort him or tell him, “I’ll see you soon!” Instead counting the
days and saying still 7 weeks to go. SEVEN WEEKS… I’ve never been away for more
than 6 weeks at a time in the last 6 years, but this time I’m away for 14
weeks. To hear Lucia ask, “Why do you have to miss my birthday?” Or hear my other
big kids say, “Mom, I just need your hug.” It hurts a mother’s heart. x19
So, this time is certainly no vacation. It’s necessary
time for me to sit between the rock and the hard place. And do only that – sit.
And boy, is that a problem in itself for me to do! To do nothing. Sit in the
Rock and the hard place. The hard place being my old dreams, the life I once
left behind. My dreams are way different than Hosea’s Heart’s dreams or God’s dreams.
Sometimes being so close here to the dream I left behind is unbearable. To be
immersed in the lives of my best friends and sister’s families, while I still
remain the single lady, is hard. Don’t get me wrong, I love them – all of them –
their spouses, their kids, their lives. But it’s hard not to want that for me,
too. It’s hard to know I’ll be going back to a continue a ministry and raising
kids as a single mom. It’s hard sometimes to trust that God has my best in
store for me. Especially when I wish it would look different.
And then I reread a letter one of my girls wrote me. In
one phrase she said, “You are a glass that cannot be broken.” And I just stare
at it. Because it is so wise, so powerful, beyond what she could’ve known when
she wrote those words a couple weeks ago. A reminder that it’s okay to be
delicate, fragile, breakable. To be glass. A reminder to know that it’s okay
that I’m in a season where I’m highly sensitive and get my feelings hurt. To be
glass. But to know the Potter holds me – fragile, weak, cracks, and all – and refuses
to let me break. It reminds me of the 2 Corinthians 4:8-10 verse says:
8We are pressed on all sides, but not crushed; perplexed, but
not in despair; 9persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed. 10We
always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus
may also be revealed in our body.…
And then another reminder sweeps over. One my mom gave me:
“The earth’s thy ship, and not thy home.”
No wonder I struggle so much to “belong” and to feel “at
home.” This is not our ultimate home. No matter where I go/stay/am… (as St.
Augustine says) I will be restless until I rest in Him.
And so my true travels will never be alone, since my aim
is to bring as many souls to heaven with me as possible. So, I need to find
ways to enjoy the ship, wherever it takes me. And so, although I’ve just spent
a whole post basically complaining and venting, I’m also looking forward to
making the most of the 2 remaining months.
Because, me? I will not travel Home alone. J
And you? Thank YOU for journeying with me. <3 p="">
