I can't seem to look at photos or listen to music without crying today. I'm working on uploading pictures to my new computer. While I'm doing that I'm listening to my Ipod with speakers blaring. The song that made me cry: In the Sun by Joseph Arthur. It's the sort of cry you need. Really need.
You see, I got another email today asking that pesky question: Why was France so hard?
I can't answer that publicly. But this song sums it all up for me. It had been the hardest first year on the field for so many reasons, many of which I can't share. We lost our house to a con man, spiraling us into foreclosure (long, terrible story; please don't ask). We endured some team issues that were so painful and excruciating, we were diagnosed with PTSD after it was all said and done. And my children were crying after school, navigating mean teachers, difficult language issues. I was lonely, without a close friend. But as that summer came, we had hope.
We made it through one of the most harrowing years of our lives. We still loved each other. I did not have to take meds to be okay. (Not to say that's bad, but it was a measurement to me as to how I made it through). We had new team members. We were reaching folks.
With that hope as a backdrop, Patrick put together a power point, the background music being the Joseph Arthur song. It didn't paint a rosy picture, but it showed our struggle, yet triumph in small ways. We shared that video at our staff conference. The entire congregation of fellow missionaries rose, then surrounded us. They laid hands on us and prayed. Infused more hope into us.
But the next year proved to be just as difficult. And, as these stories go, we ended up in a place where we had to make a choice for the sake of our family. We needed to leave that environment, come home, and recuperate. It's excruciating to admit, but I was part of that problem. After all the trauma, I had shut down. Lost myself. I needed to heal in a place where folks loved me.
So when I hear that song, I think about my husband's loss. The grief of a shattered dream, once hopeful, now gone. And I think about myself, how, for one of the first times in my life, I couldn't fix myself. Sometimes life comes at you with such force you can't get back up. I can't bear to hear the platitudes anymore. It's simply not true that God won't put you through more you can bear. That's an American view of Christianity--that God exists to make all our plans succeed, that it's all about victory and never suffering too much.
I suffered too much. I couldn't get beyond it. I'm on the other side, healthier now, and deeper in love with Jesus, thankfully. But that depth of love didn't come from manageable circumstances. It came from circumstances way beyond me. Way over my head and heart and mind.
France broke me.
God broke me.
I am broken.
And I'm not sure whether the pieces need to come back together again. Maybe it's okay to be scattered. Because then maybe God can renew and remake me His way.
I ended my crying time by looking at a picture of an acquaintance who is battling cancer right now. He looks so alive, so happy in his picture. But right now, he's broken in every possible way. Yet he shines Jesus in an uncanny, holy way. Because he has hope.
Hope I've embraced like a fragile package, only to see it disintegrate on the wind. Funny thing, though. It didn't truly leave. It's always been there. Even when dreams unbuckle themselves from me. Because my hope is deeper than it was before I stepped one tentative toe on French soil. It's wider than the brokenness. It's higher than my circumstance. It's fixed on Jesus, the Author and Finisher of my faith, and on His Dwelling, Heaven. Those things don't change. And they become startlingly real the more I suffer on this earth.
9 Comments:
Amen, Mary. We rob others when we tell them that brokenness and suffering somehow indicate a falling out of God's favor. The longer I live, the more I believe the opposite is true. God loves us too much to leave us in the selfish shallows. He doesn't wound to destroy. He takes the broken pieces and creates beauty.
Peace of Christ to you, my dear.
Love, Jeanne
Mary,
What a wonderful and open post.
God will bless you for your faithfulness in being so honest.
I agree with Jeanne above we try to hide our trials and I feel that sometimes the only way we can heal is by forgiving ourselves and then others.
Mary I don't know all the details with what happen in France but I know that 2 years ago I had a trial come into my life that I didn't think I would get through. I found out God was much stronger than me:) I truely didn't want to be here to go through what I went through. God and God alone no medicine, no counciling (although that might have been a good idea at the time)God pulled me up and gave me the strength that He can only give during that time.
Right now in my life I see that God does give and He does take away. But He is always there! It has been now three years since my break down of sorts and I am not sure were God is leading us, but I know where ever it is it will be Good!
I am in Love with my Savior. I live to only please Him. I still have problems and trials do come my way but I know that My Savior will never leave me.
I will be praying that you feel Gods arms tightly around you.
Love to you!
Renee
Mary, what a profoundly genuine post. When we were emailing between France and Singapore, back in 2006 and you sent me a couple of your books - the journey was really only just beginning. The breaking of self reducing us to 'dead man walking' has certainly unfolded in earnest. And you are absolutely correct, there is no squishy sentiment attached to suffering. And there is no such thing as God giving us no more than we can handle. Can we still worship? Can we say "You alone are God and I am yours"? Can we ever believe that He could do something - anything - with the mess of brokeness left behind? My own heart is a smashed wreck. Shut-down has been my middle name. I am nothing but I can still hope and cling to the One who makes me weep. I have been thinking alot about the breaking process. It's a little like the legs of our hearts are fractured so we cannot stand alone. We have to sit; be carried; heal. And in the process we become freshly intimate with the gift of mercy, the reality of fragility and the sacrifice of soulish independance. I loved your post. Thank you Mary.
Breaking is hard. And I know God breaks us beyond our ability to hold up. I've wondered if that was even His purpose and decided it was. Because there's nothing quiet as wonderful as being broken before Him. That's when I have nothing and He is everything. Frightening. But a place of dependance and joy.
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Thank you for your willingness to share this. I can't explain why(perhaps it has to do with being broken in France) but I needed to read it.Yes, a bit of what you typed does resonate with me. Prayed just now for God to continue to redeem your pain. How right you are, Hope never left.
Beautiful post, Mary! That hope is the only thing that has gotten me through some of the hardest times in my life and marriage. Sometimes it seems pain is around every corner, but that hope, that Jesus-centered hope, is always there. The second I let that go... well, I don't know what I'd do. Love your willingness to share...
My previous pastor once said, "In order to help someone out of the fire you first have to go through it yourself." I've held onto that. Sometimes the best way to help others is to just be transparent about our own sufferings... which you do, and I'm sure your writing touches many.
In Him,
Ashley
Hi Mary -
The scriptures tell us, "in this world you shall have trouble." We live in a fallen world where evil exists and people make wrong choices.
Even when we do the right thing, others don't always respond in a favorable manner. Thank God, He loves us and wraps His arms around us.
I'm glad He's brought people around you and your family to love and support you. He will take what was meant to destroy you and turn it around for your benefit.
Blessings,
Susan :)
Amen.
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