In Defense

Ok, I'm really trying not to defend myself, and I am not - well at least not out in public, but there were a few statements in a letter I received from my husband that needed a defense. I've spent years listening to them, but I am ready to stare them in the face and challenge them.

Let's start here:

I don't know if you really understand this but I was probably have been the only person in the whole wide world who tried to love you the way you are.

Really? What are you saying?

That my parents never loved me?
That none of my friends ever loved me?
That my children do not love me?
That my prayer partners and mentors and best friends never loved me?

Is that what you are saying?

Oh, I could begin to mention names here, a long list of people who have proven without a shadow of a doubt, without any return for themselves, without any need to be met that they really love me. They've proven it in their gentleness, in their tenacity, in their insistant refusal to believe less of me, in their determination to hold out hope in my life, and in their restoring my sense of value.

Let me say this very clearly - If what he has been offering is "real love", I want none of it!

I could go on, but I'll resist the temptation. I just want to say loud and clearly - There are people who love me!

I refuse to believe lies anymore. I refuse to be isolated and believe these lies.

There! I said it.

Pray for tomorrow. Today went ok, but tomorrow is a rougher crowd to face.

Dealing with People

Now comes step two. People.

My husband opened the door to people before I expected it, before we were able to sit together with a leader and come to an agreement about what was to be said to who and how it was to be said. He is still not in this country, so today I am dealing with people.

I'm not ready to deal with people.

Emotionally, I just hanging on. I'm physically exhausted, and yet sleep does not come. I'm not eating well, and have lost 15 lbs in two weeks... trust me, I do not mourn their loss! ... but this is not helping me be strong right now. I am aware that I am a physical barrier of protection between my children who do not know and the greater community who does.

I'm just not ready to deal with people.

What was that we used to yell when we finished counting when we played hide and seek? "Ready or not, here I come!"

Ready or not, here they come. Three last night, late at night. Then two more this morning, and now one more message on my machine. I'm going to be charitable and assume the best - that all these people care deeply about us, about our family, and the situation. But they are not helping. I need those police who stand by and say, "keep moving" and "back off, give the paramedics some room". Where is the police tape when you need it? This is not a situation for well-wishers and funeral criers. This is a situation for well-trained, focused helpers organized under one clear leadership.

I appreciate people. I do. I need their prayers. I just do not need their questions. I don't even need their sympathy. It is amazing how fast the sympathy of others can get you to feel sorry for yourself. I do not need their guilt. I have enough guilt of my own without hearing their snap decisions on the matter. I stand before God - let Him convict or clear me, and let Him speak to me through the godly people He has put in authority over me right now, but not through the thronging crowd.

Yet, each one of these people represent friends, coworkers, church family, family. They are all people I love. I am aware that my failings have hurt them. I have disappointed them. I have shaken their feeling of security. On our team, we were leaders, and we have failed publicly. I know that people I love are hurt and confused. That hurts me. I am a carer, a comforter. I want to make them better. I can't. I can't even listen to their pain.

Then, the shame is coming. Going from being leaders to being the fallen. The bump at the bottom is a pretty hard one. I was already bruised before the fall. It is not an easy place to be. Humiliating.

We had a death in our extended team today - a sudden, unexpected death - someone gunned down senselessly. As a group we are hurting. And this has to be the day that our news breaks, too. I feel sad; sad that we dump two things on people at once. That the sorrow of mourning a coworker has to be contaminated by our failings, too.

I have determined two things.

One - the leader who is dealing with the problem is going to be the person dealing with the problem. So conversation about what happens and who knows what will happen through him, not through the waiting crowd. This is not trial by jury.

Two - I will not speak bad of my husband in the public. There are places for the truth, spoken simply, but that place is likely not to people not involved in the solution. I want to be a woman of grace and honor. That can be difficult in this situation, but I chose to honor my husband through this by controlling how publicly he is shamed. I do not need to answer every public accusation. God has promised to be my shield and defender and the lifter of my head.

I spent another night awake with God last night, crying. Not the throw yourself on the bed and sob type of crying, but the quiet sniffles. I am not unaccustomed to pain. My life has not necessarily been an easy one, so pain and I have become familiar with each other. But last night, I begged God to take this one away, to give me another pain in exchange. Just not this one.

God sat silent last night.

He sat and looked at me, silent. Not the unlistening type of silent, but the looking through me silence. Waiting for me to sit quietly, too. To still my heart. To stop looking around for the escape door or for ways to manipulate the situation. To still my heart and be ready to walk with Him through my day.

I'm quieter today.

And in the midst of the crowd of spectators, there are those quiet, godly people who have stepped forward. There are some areas they have stepped into with practical help and godly advice and encouragement. I have seen God's hand in bringing these people into the positions they are in for such a time as this. I'm deeply grateful for them.

Two Weeks And Counting....

So today marks two weeks.

No, of nothing exciting... two weeks of enduring the silent treatment. Two weeks of watching water trickle, oh so slowly, under the bridge. Two weeks of an angry husband.

It saps my energy. I think about that statement and images of maple trees with their tin buckets and rubber trees with their half coconuts attached to spigots jammed deep in their insides fill my mind. The sap running out, dripping slowly from a wound. Their very energy slowly dripping. This is how I feel today. A slow drip of energy, constantly seeping out of me. I suddenly feel deep sympathy for the trees, and guilt for enjoying the sweetness of maple and the protection of rubber without a thought.

Psalms and Proverbs talk so much about our words... the power in them. Life and death is in the power of the tongue. (or in this case, the absence thereof.)

Only worse than the silence are the times he does speak. The power of words designed to hurt. I opened my Bible early this morning, and read Ps 109:28. "Let them curse, but do Thou bless."

Do Thou bless.

(I don't usually read that version with the "Thou's", but I liked this verse that way.)

Do Thou bless.

Bless me, God, two weeks in. My strength, my very energy is drained out of me like the sap out of a tree, and I tire easily. I struggle with watching someone act normal and happy in groups and silent and sullen at home. I feel rejected, hurt, unloved, not of value. Silent tears seep out of my eyes in quiet moments. Do Thou bless. I need Your blessing now. Do Thou bless.

You Are Not What I Wanted

Hard words to hear. There is nothing we can do to fix those. We can fix, "You're not doing what I want" or even "You're not acting how I want you to". But "You are not what I wanted" is unfixable.

Especially hard to hear them from a husband.

Because there is no way to say, "oops, sorry then, I guess this was not the place for me. I'll go back and start my life again."

It is not how I am behaving. It is not what I am doing. No. It is who I am. How do you change your very person? Your "who"? And then, the question that follows closely on its heels - if you do change who you are, are you still you? Or are you some sick puppet-like human being constantly saying, "tell me who you want me to be, and I'll be that person."

I'm not sure I'm willing to go there.

I've been there before. Trying to be the best puppet I can be. It is a soulless occupation. Difficult even to retain a relationship with God in an unreal reality. How does this puppet-like person relate to God? "Someone tell me how I should, and I will." But where is the reality in that?

No. I am not a puppet. I want to know God. I want to know people. I want to love people and know they love me. I may not be what he wanted, but this is me. I can learn things, I can change, and I can even grow. But I can not be someone else.

I may not be what he wanted, but this is who I am.

Words of a Friend

Have you ever had a friend who being with is like taking a deep breath and breathing out in a sigh of relief?

I have a few. They are the type of friends that you can not have many of. There is only so much room in a tight circle.

One of those stepped into my life today.

What a relief! Not just to be talked to by someone who will scold me, not just by someone who will say comforting words to me, but someone who speaks the truth to me plainly because they love me deeply.

Yes, some truth is not easy, but the love behind it makes it worthwhile. And when truth is spoken, the comfort, the encouragement that also comes means so much more. It is not simply words to make me feel better. It is real.

And only a friend will really know how much I am struggling, and how much the last few weeks have hurt me. And only a true friend will tell me they know that, but despite how I feel, I need to make the right choices.

It is good to have a friend.

It does not take away pain. It doesn't get me out of this struggle. But it helps me to get my perspective and gives me the encouragement to go on.

Ps 27:9 Oil and perfume make the heart glad, so a man's counsel is sweet to his friend.

When Your Own Side Shoots Arrows

What happens if we talk?

That was my last question. Because I'm struggling. Maybe I am the only one. I doubt it. I heard recently of things which happened to missionary families, broken marriages, lost faith, things we would not whisper of.

I'm struggling. I talked to two friends. Friends who listen, who hug, who pray for us are a blessing. Precious things.

But both said the same. "You need to talk to your leadership. You need help."

I did agree. I was not excited about it. This is the same leadership who has been too busy to respond as this situation slowly worsened. I was never sure if they really believed there was a problem. Or if our "job" or our "abilities" were of more importance than the fact that help is needed.

But I told them. There are struggles, and help is needed.

My field leader listened. He sounded so sympathetic, so kind. Of course, I am concerned, and will help.

Two days later, a phone call. Accusing me of making things up, of exaggerating things.

Where do we go when we hurt? I already knew this would be his response. I knew because he has responded this way many times over the last several years as this problem increased and grew worse. Ah, but it hurts all the same. Deep, scarring pain.

So where do we go when we hurt? Today, I don't know.

A verse came into my head today as I worked, alternating between anger and tears at the treatment I am facing. I don't want to dishonor God's name. I don't want to destroy people. I simply need help. My kids need help. But we are ignored, set aside. Your needs are not as important as your uses. Being accused of lying, of many things. It hurts.

The quiet voice which comes when I get to the end of my fussings and tears, and look up at God with quieted tears. "But You, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the One who lifts my head." Ps 3:3.

Oh God who sees, You, Yourself, are my shield. Shield me from the attacks of men who should be on my side, but who are today shooting arrows, lies, unseeing of our pain. My glory. You, Yourself, are my glory, my honor. The One who lifts my head. When people judge, when people accuse, when people cover their eyes and stop their ears and walk on and say "a real missionary would...", You don't. You stoop down and lift my head again. Give me grace to live, strength to act as Your child. God, who sees, my eyes are on You.

Some arrows hit hard and sink deep. Lord, catch my tears.