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.