More Than Gold

Here’s the truth:  Leaving the mission field has crushed me. 

I didn’t want anyone to know.  I wanted to be strong, and to protect my family from the collateral damage of my grief and anger.  I continued attending church, kept the Bible on my nightstand, and tried to smile at all the right times so as not to raise any alarms—waiting for moments alone to fall apart.  God was near to me in every breakdown.  He whispered of His love in my ears and gave me visions of battling beside me when I cried out to Him.  Yet in all of it, I held him at arms’ length.

He could not be trusted with my heart, I reasoned.  He had not rescued me from the depression and anxiety that plagued my years in Guatemala and eventually caused me to give up.  He was God, and therefore worthy of my obedience... but my broken heart raged against Him for making me so weak.  I begged him for more strength, more ability, but instead He chose to embrace my weakness.  To wrap me in gentle compassion when I wanted to be treated harshly.  I wanted Him to send me back to Guatemala immediately—as penance, as discipline against the weakness in my spirit.  

He waited for me.  Ever-loving.  Ever-good, as I tried to make life work without Him.  As I fought to take care of myself without anyone’s help.  We worked hard and saved lots of money.  We would go to Bible school and return to the mission field.  I would be the "perfect missionary".  I would prove what a good help-mate I am to my husband, and I would never admit how scared I was.  If God would not punish me for my mistakes, I would do it for Him. 

And then, on Monday, I became the victim of a terrifying scam and ended losing our entire savings.  In the five most terrifying, isolating, and traumatic hours of my life, I lost every penny we had.  Literally. 

When I realized what had happened, I did what I should have done when the entire episode started:  I sought help.  And help came.  Without judgment at my gullibility.  Without anger for the money lost.  Grace proved stronger than terror.     

     

The very next day, as my family was still reeling from what was happening, my dad was in a potentially deadly disaster at work and had to be carried off the work site.  Although he was physically uninjured, he spent the rest of the day with a medic and a trauma counselor. When he came home he described the event as the most terrifying, isolating, traumatic event of his life.  The same words I had used only the day before. 

In the still-unfolding aftermath of these traumatic events, I am in awe of God’s grace.  My dad was not injured and neither was I.  My family rallied around Dave and I and it looks like we will still be able to go to Bible school, albeit not with the ease or flexibility we had planned.  And most importantly, our family has experienced a deepening of our trust in God.  I received grace in such a real way from Dave, and my parents, that I am assured of the words the Lord has been speaking over me all this time.  He doesn’t need me to be stronger, or more independent—He wants me to have faith in His strength, His love, His grace. 

There are those who, if in the same situation as I, would be homeless right now.  So, as I prepared oatmeal for my son’s breakfast this morning, I shed a tear of thankfulness for God’s provision.  He accepts me even though I am weak.  He surrounds me with loving people who want to care for me.     

As Dave and I sat together to pray yesterday, I told Dave again how sorry I am for what happened.  He stopped me with a hug and said, “Don’t apologize.  You’re praying again.  That’s more important than the money.”

“In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials.  These have come so that your faith—which is of more worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”

- 1 Peter 1:6-7, NIV.

It's Not Over Yet

         I have been hiding. 

         In a moment of weariness, ministry burn-out, and fear of the unknown, we made a hasty decision and fled from Guatemala.  The final crisis was built up of a thousand mistakes along the way:  never taking time to rest, unresolved infertility grief, and being completely unprepared for the intense struggle of parenting six traumatised teenagers.  We went in with arms open, hearts trusting that love would be enough.  That we’d figure it out along the way.  But in the end, we caused our boys additional pain. 

        We wanted to be the perfect parents.  To create a perfect home where the boys would desire to be, and to love the hurt out of them in the blanket of our parental affection.  We were overconfident, trying too much too soon and becoming too easily frustrated by the setbacks in bonding with the boys.  We were stretched thin emotionally before we’d even begun this extreme parenting, unable to see that we were on a collision course.  We expected too much—of ourselves, the boys, and the situation—and finally, when it exploded, we took the last remaining lifeboat and abandoned ship. 

         We came back to Canada in early November, 2017.  At first we were too numb to feel anything, and when we did think about the boys, or about Guatemala, we could only cry.  The life we’d spent four years building in Guatemala was suddenly over, and we’d lost everything that mattered most to us.  Worst of all, it was by our own choice.  Our own fault. 

         It took Dave three months to find work.  We lived with family, struggling with simple things like how to order coffee or be part of a church service.  Nothing felt good anymore.  We tried to press forward, to find a way to forget the six boys we’d left behind.  If we could get far enough away from the memories, Guatemala would fade in our hearts.  We’d find a new dream.  A new passion.

        

       But that hasn’t happened.  The longer we are here, the more comfortable and normal our life becomes, the stronger the desire to go back to Guatemala becomes.  Those boys were our sons, and working with them was our passion.  It was our life’s calling cut short.

          On our final day with the boys, there was a football tournament for Zane and Wisly’s football team.  Our whole family spent the morning at the football arena, and then we took all the boys to Pollo Campero for lunch.  Sitting around the table felt surreal, knowing that we’d never be this family again.  The boys messed around in the car on the way back to the orphanage, teasing Zane until he was  upset and crying.  I was frustrated, feeling a sickening blend of anger at their behaviour, and heartbroken that my role as their mom was about to be over.  I didn’t need to discipline them for being obnoxious in the car—that wasn’t my job anymore.

           We want our job back. 

           The longer we are in Canada, and the more options career options we look into for the future, we know that we have already found the work we are intended to do.  We want to return to Guatemala and work with children at risk, most likely with the same organisation we worked with before.  We can’t get our sons back, and be the family we were before, but we can live near those boys and be a part of their lives again.  We can make good on our promises to love them for life. 

           The road back will not be quick, we know that much.  We left Guatemala when and how we did because we were in crisis—and we want to return healthy, with hope for a long career working with children at risk.  We feel the first step is to become better educated, and so we have begun looking into Bible school and counselling programs.  We are also looking for courses on working with traumatised children.  Schooling is only the first of many steps we will have to take before we are boarding a plane to Guatemala, but we feel peace in our hearts that God is with us and guiding our journey. 

          When we arrived in Canada it felt like our life was ruined.  We couldn’t hear God’s voice and we felt afraid, and alone, and ashamed.  Only now are we beginning to feel hope for the future.  It hasn’t been easy to keep trusting Him, but as always, God is proving His faithfulness. 

          Our story isn’t over yet.