Water Under the Bridge

Did I already mention that I prefer to deal with conflict or anything else head on?

Not everyone is like that.

My husband prefers to do nothing. He waits until enough water has gone under the bridge for things to be ok again.

So, today... there hasn't been enough water under the bridge. It is at that awkward stage where some water has gone under, but not quite enough.

When is it really enough? Is it enough when the problem is slightly covered with water? Is it enough when the water flows over it, but if you look directly at it, you still see it lurking under the water? Or is it enough when so much water goes by that you forget what was buried down there?

Oh, for the simplicity of repentance and forgiveness! Aren't you glad that God forgives? We don't have to wait. We don't have to wonder. It is gone. Forgiveness takes the issues out of the stream, gone for good. Clear water again flows, and we don't have to be afraid of the view from the bridge.

With repentance, we have no shadows lurking in standing water, no surprises to appear in times of drought. No memories to surface again when we run dry of grace.

But he has not yet discovered this. What he misses knowing is that forgiveness is already waiting for him. It has been for a long time. For this, for many other things that he simply buried under the bridge. It is there waiting.

We simply need to be open to receive forgiveness. We can not have cleared away what we cover over and hide.

So, here I am today, watching water pass by and wishing for simple talk, for the freedom of repentance and forgiveness.

What Happened Next

I guess I wasn't really sure what I expected to happen next. I just stood up and told my life story. Not the highlights and good parts, just who I was.

I had been told by some that some things in my life I should never share with women in this area of the world. That they would have no respect for me it I did. I believed what I was told.

But while believing it, part of me wondered. How then do they deal with their hurts? Or is just not talking about it working for them?

And besides, these women were all mature believers, reaching out to others around them. Maybe they could handle it. Maybe we could begin to discuss how to reach women beyond the barrier of shame and silence.

I just wasn't sure what would happen next.

But slowly over the room, women began to cry.

I got nervous. I really am just beginning to be comfortable with tears, and a roomful of crying women still scares me!

But I had just heard these women's life stories. I was impressed with one fact. They talked about horrible things which happened before and sometimes after they became believers. Bad decisions they had made, abuse which had happened to them, but their stories never finished. It was as if becoming believers had suddenly made the history all better with a magic wand.

I've never found that wand. My past still affected my life, even as a believer. I had needed some healing. It hasn't been an easy path, but God has been walking me through this way.

But I had wondered when I listened to these women - had they ever dealt with their hurts, or have they only been good Christians? Oh, they are good Christians - much stronger than me, people who I admire and respect.

Yet now I was in a room surrounded by strong women crying. Help!

Over the next few days, we talked. I had minutes here and there with a few and they talked to me. One ministered to me in ways that few have been able to. Another took my hands and prayed for me.

And then, as I became vulnerable enough to let them pray for my hurts and comfort me, and as they saw my tears and my struggling with letting people pray for some of these areas in my life, things began to change.

They tried to talk; they tried to explain it, but words at times are difficult. It began with "I can't tell you why, but you got inside my heart." Finally, one or the other said to me, "you suffered like we suffered, and you gave us hope. You showed us a door to this hope."

Another older woman went to the room of one of our leaders, sat on the floor, and very gingerly asked for prayer for the hurts from twenty years ago. She had shared her story at times, but not her heart, and she wanted to talk and to be prayed for.

I stood back in stunned awe. I had really expected judgment; or perhaps, at the best, to be able to open doors to talk about how to reach other women who are hurting. I had not expected this. I had not expected that these women who have it all together would dissolve into tears and want to talk about things they had not yet been able to.

I stood quietly at times and looked up at God. Who would have known? Who would have believed? My brokenness and still unfinished healing could bring hope and healing to a small room full of other women.

I had grown up believing we had to be perfect to be good missionaries - or as close to it as we could be. We were examples, so we had to live right and show perfection.

And I had just shown weakness and pain.

And all I could do was hold my hands out to catch the blessings which filled the room.

I had grown up believing we minister to the local believer - after all, we are the missionaries.

And I just had one of these women come to me, hold my hands up, and tell me that I could take this one step that I needed to, and she would hold my hands until I was strong enough to do it myself. And she prayed for me, and ministered to me in something I had been begging God to do for a long time.

Another came and sat beside me one dinner and told me her story. Because I shared that I was struggling in this area in my life and had no answers there. She quietly told me her story, her struggles, and God's working in her life and her marriage, allowing me to question, to learn. And she gave me a door of hope to go through, and encouragement.

Transparency. Taking that plunge. It led to healing. For me. For others.

And it led me to stand back in a quiet amazement of how God works. I guess He meant it when He said when we are weak, then He is strong.

Taking the Plunge

A cold summer morning at the edge of the pool somewhere up north. Swimming lessons at 8:15. The pool filled with glacier run off, and hasn't yet had enough hot summer days to warm up.

Do you ease in slowly, only enduring a small amount of pain at a time, but drag it out? Or do you take the plunge?

Remember the friend I was not completely sure about? Insecure. Not knowing what she meant. Do I really risk being open with her when I don't know how she will react?

Another risk faced me recently. A room full of women I had not met before. We met to learn from each other how to best minister to women. All of us from different places, different countries.

How much do I risk? Do I watch carefully, testing slowly to see if I can trust? Or do I just take the plunge?

I used to leap wildly into the water when I was a skinny ten year old kid. Now, I am much more of an "easer-slowly-in". My kids watch this process laughing. "Mom, just jump in and get it over with! It is not that cold once you're all wet."

I know they are right, but brrr!

I took the risk with my friend. Decided to just tell myself to assume the best, and go ahead and trust her.

I faced the room full of women. I was asked to share my life. What do I share? My carefully constructed nice life? Or who I am with all my failures, history that is definitely not beautiful, and my current struggles? Really the shape I am in now, some will argue that I ought to be kicked off the field, not reaching out more. What do I share?

But over the last few years, my attention has been caught by something. Someone has shown this to me and it is beautiful. It attracts more than light does to mosquitoes. Transparency. The ability to be open with others. As I have watched and learn to walk this way little by little, it has changed me. The beautifully constructed nice lives do not appeal to me anymore. They are a shallow beauty, much like a painting, compared to the real.

Yes, realness means there are shadows in life, but shadows do not take away the beauty. They add depth.

So I stood on the edge of my cold pool, and jumped. This is who I am.

Something else about transparency - it is refreshing, much like that cold swimming pool at 8:15.

What happened? That is a different story. But a good one.

In Search of a Uniform

Today, I put on a uniform. I was a kid's group leader, yes complete with a wacky costume. I woke up grouchy and tired after a late evening shift, poured coffee down my throat, and put on this uniform. Then I smiled, bounced, encouraged, cheered, and laughed.

I took it off before I came home...ah...

Then I slept.

Last night, I wore a different uniform. I went to care for the old and sick. I was again tired, preoccupied with a major task coming up in my life. I grabbed a quick lunch, and put on my uniform. Then I smiled, talked so gently, comforted, rubbed heads, cared for feet, got swore at and spoke gently back, and cared.

I took it off when I came home...ah...

Then I slept.

This afternoon, I have no uniform. No one is watching me. No uniform on my shoulders tells me how I am to act. Just at home, with only my kids watching.

So who am I? How will I act?

I can be smiling and cheering as I lead the kids through our needed chores. I can be gentle and comforting as I prepare them for some big changes ahead. Or I put on my drill sergeant uniform and begin to issue orders to the troops. I am wearing no uniform this afternoon that tells me how to act. Nothing to hide behind and put on and take off at will.

So who will I be?

I wonder if at church we put on our "church uniform". If it goes on with my church clothes and the make up which I may only dig out on this one day a week. That is the day that I smile sweetly at my kids while they wiggle and ask them nicely to "sit still, please, and listen". Any other day, I'd likely bop them on the head and say, "hey, hush now!" When my kids beg me for "another cookie, please, please", I smile so kindly and say, "oh, why not?". The "stop asking when you know the answer already" answer is hidden carefully under my church uniform.

Who am I with God? Do I search for a uniform with Him, too? Or do I take off my uniforms and just face God the way I am? Do I really know who I am under all my uniforms?

He does.

Where do we go when....?

There is one thing I rarely hear talked about in missionary circles, yet I know it exists. I see it. Real struggles. But we whisper if we do talk about it.

Where do we go when we hurt? When we need help? How do we deal with our struggles honestly?

I am not talking about the "acceptable list". There are some struggles that we are allowed to have. Everyone expects them. Struggles with homesickness, struggles with loneliness, with adapting, with impatience, with feelings of inadequacies, doubts, etc. Struggles after trauma. These are acceptable struggles. We are allowed them.

But what about the other ones? Where do we go when we are in real pain? When our lives are falling down around our ears? When we struggle with things we fear that if we talk about our struggles, people will yank us off the field in shame and disgrace? What then? Do we talk or do we try to ignore it and struggle on on our own trying to "get better" so we can "do"?

Is this a position unique to missionaries? I know that all people struggle with things, with talking openly about issues, with transparency. But how about us? If we talk, we risk so much. If we don't, we also risk. And who do we talk to? Our coworkers who we have to see every day? Our field leaders who have so much to do and may not see the situation the way we see it? Our church who think we are better than we are and also are our source of financial support that we worked so hard to raise? Who do you talk to? What has worked? What hasn't?

It is hard when you live a life with eyes always on you to deal with your struggles honestly. Today, I hurt. But today, I have to.... So do I go on stuffing the pain and the struggles under my shirt, put my smile on, and go on doing? Or do I say, "I hurt here"? And what are the consequences of that?

I'm leaning towards the "it's time to talk" side. But to who? And what will be the result? I don't know. I'm leaving that in God's hands - or I'm trying to. I keep coming back to Him, grabbing it out of His hands and saying, "hey, have You thought about this? What if....?" Then I have to realize again that I can not live my life by the "what ifs". I have to leave those to God.

Funny how we can trust Him to move us across the world, care for details, open doors, reach out to the lost through us (that takes some faith at times!), protect us from harm, but we have a hard time trusting Him to deal with our own hearts.

I'm struggling today. Hurt by some things. And I wonder... how do we talk? Are we honest with each other?

I began to talk to two people, sharing what is going on. I half expected scoldings. But I got tears. One is struggling with that, too. Perhaps further ahead than I am, but still hurting. We can at least hug each other now, pray for each other. The other one struggled with it years ago, but not so many years that the tears did not come for them too. They know it hurts. But they have walked through it and out the other side. They could give me hope.

It does not fix my situation. But today I have someone who I can talk to. I still do not know what God will do in this situation. But I am not alone. I still feel alone at times, but I am not. Working with, fellowshipping with, being with the same people can at times be too close for comfort, too close to share all problems, but I have two people who can look me in the eyes when they pass me in the halls, and I know they are praying.... not just that we will be safe, effective, used, blessed, but for this, for my struggles today.

I still have to decide what is the next step. I haven't done that yet. But I am beginning. I'm hoping, like sky-diving, that it is the first step that is the hardest, and the rest just sort of happens after that. I doubt it, but it would sure be nice!

Where are you from? When we can not say...

Ah.. the question we hate as MKs. There is no "good answer". I sat down tonight after I got home way too late already and read blogs from other missionary women. I had to confess that I was jealous.

Jealous? Why?

Because I would love to write a blog, to share my life, to post cute pictures of my great kids, to chat and get responses back. But as I read through the blogs, I noticed that there are a large percentage from South America, some from Africa, and a few from Europe. (That is as far as I got reading tonight.) I loved your blogs! I am not jealous of your life... well, maybe a bit. I spent a few years in South America, and it is a special place to me. I'm jealous of your ability to write publically about what you do.

Where are you from? Where do you live?

How many of us missionaries can not answer that question? Some of us work in countries that we may not talk about. How much we would love to share our lives, let you laugh with us at our children, cry with us in our struggles, and just be a part of our lives. We can't. So we read your blogs and stay in the shadows. Slightly jealous, yes, of your ability to talk freely.

I can not tell you what is happening in my life. I can not post a photo of my children. I can not tell you what I struggle with right now. I can not even tell you what exactly I do. Nor where I am. It makes blogging difficult.

There are probably many of us silent readers, unable to share our lives. Yet, thank-you for posting yours. We may be slightly jealous of your ability, but we love to look into your lives and laugh with you.

Right now, I am currently in a "safe country". But still, I can not talk about my life. It leaves only my thoughts to talk about, my kids, generic things. I may try a generic blog. I don't know if it will work. But, I wonder, are there others of us who dare not answer those questions, "where are you, and what do you do" in public? Can we talk without talking? Tonight, I am praying for all of you who read in the shadows quietly, unable to share your world, unable to even post your name on a blog. It is a lonely position at times.

Today, I am struggling with things in my life. Tomorrow looks pretty dark to me. And yet, I am still in a position where I am very limited in who I can talk to about it. So my tears fall quietly in the dark, and I am listening for the quiet voice. I know God sees me. I don't always feel it, but I know it. And I am sitting here reading blogs way too late at night to remind me that God sees His children, and He is in the habit of coming through for them.

So hi to all you other missionary wives and moms out there! I may be slightly jealous about your ability to speak, but it is still special to be a part of your lives, even sitting in the shadows reading your blogs.