So
much of my life has been spent learning to choose my will over my emotions. To
choose to believe the truth of God’s Word, choose to act despite what I feel.
And for me, this is very hard. But I know it’s right. It’s counter-intuitive to
surrender, to free fall in God’s grace when you have no control. Since we moved
from Texas to France this year, this has especially been true. And this past
summer in particular.
Moving,
language school, family, paperwork, daily life- everything was exhausting. When
we arrived for a week of outreach in southern France I was already completely
empty. I had nothing to give. Every day was a struggle to choose to act with
grace, kindness, humility, flexibility, and energy I didn’t have. When I
desperately wanted to run away and be alone, I couldn’t. Instead, I had to be
painfully present with 100 other people, lead worship, serve.
But
I felt God’s grace, given just enough for that day, no more. I felt so raw and
sensitive, but instead of freaking out, yelling, crying, hiding, I stayed. I
served. I read books to my youngest, I washed dishes, handed out literature on
the streets, talked with people, prayed. I did everything I could.
I
was pulled in so many different directions. And then the kids started getting
sick, one by one. Caring for them on a mattress on the floor of a church,
without any privacy was less than ideal. I thought I would break open
completely. But as I’ve often found, when I’m completely empty, God somehow
still uses me. With me out of the
way, he gets 100% of the glory. I’m happy to be part of that equation.
I
didn’t know that I’d be leading worship, had no chance to practice with people
who showed up last minute. Sometimes not even knowing if I was supposed to lead
until just before I had to do it. In French. Sometimes I couldn’t make copies,
had the wrong translations, the microphones went missing, and we just had to
wing it.
It
sounds trite. But I love to plan and be prepared, especially when I’m in charge
of something. I feel like it’s good stewardship. I take it seriously. And then
there was the language barrier. So frustrating, embarrassing, painful even. I
was so limited.
But
God was so faithful. He used my tiny widow’s mite, he blessed and broke my
humble loaves and fishes and used it to feed the hungry people. People were
blessed and worshipped. I was able to really connect with people, listen to
them, pray for them. Praise God.
After
the outreach, we decided to stay on a few extra days to spend some time with my
sister’s family. The plan was to rent an apartment, spend time at the beach,
cook meals together, play games, catch up after spending two years apart.
But
the place we rented didn’t end up working out. Some friends rearranged things
for us last minute, and we ended up staying at an even better apartment owned
by a local church. It was beautiful, spacious, with a veranda upstairs, a
little yard, ivy and flowers covering the walls, even air conditioning
downstairs! I felt so incredibly blessed at this unexpected gift, like God was
rewarding me for making it through the previous week.
Just
as we’d hoped, we hung out at the beach most of the day, made dinners together,
let the kids watch movies on our laptops, played games, and after the kids were
asleep the adults talked for hours on the veranda. It was wonderful.
Until
the day we came back to the apartment and discovered that we had been robbed.
They took our laptops, cell phones, expensive cameras. They threw our things
everywhere. We were trying to figure out what had been taken, trying to talk to
the neighbors (in broken French). It was chaos.
My
eight-year-old was crying so hard, clinging to me, afraid the robbers were
around the corner and would come back. So I knelt down, looked into his eyes and
tried to tell him the truth. It’s ok.
It’s ok. We’re all safe and together. It’s just stuff. We’re ok. I’m here with
you. Then I repeated the process with my inconsolable daughter. And then
with my oldest son. It’s going to be ok.
We’re safe. They’re just things. Everything was completely out of my
control, but God gave me peace in that moment, and helped me be calm for
everyone else.
The
boys all slept closer to us that night. We’ve been robbed before. It makes you
feel sick to see that strangers, bad guys as my youngest calls them, touched
your things and took your favorite items. So violated to know that they were
watching you, waiting for you to leave. So unsafe to know that they broke
through strong wooden doors to get inside. Angry to know that they took your
children’s things and to realize that they will carelessly wipe away all the
information. All the beautiful photos of the family, all the stories you
collected, all the memories gone.
I
couldn’t sleep that night. As usual for me, when the crisis is actually over,
then I finally feel it. I woke up feeling so heavy and sad. I thought this
place was a gift from God for working so hard, for my struggling through the
outreach the previous week. But now I couldn’t wait to leave.
Despite
calling the police several times that day and the next, they never came. Ted
finally went to the police station and tried to file a report, no easy feat in
another language. The rest of us just stayed at the apartment and waited,
trying to distract the kids and not worry. We were able to go to the beach one
more time, trying to leave on a more positive note. But I couldn’t wait to get
home after two weeks of solid struggle.
Looking
back, I realize that I was in an intense training period of trust. I was
surrounded by situations I had no control over. But God was faithful. He gave
me grace and strength for each day. And I can choose to praise him and love him
and find joy in spite of the mess. We are safe. It’s just stuff. We are
together. God is good.
My
prayer then is the same I pray now- that God would help me see with his eyes,
give me his perspective. I never stop needing him like I did those two weeks in
southern France. Just because I’m not surrounded by chaos right now doesn’t
mean that I depend on Jesus any less. I pray for humble courage to walk in God’s
truth, despite how I feel. When it feels like life is out of control, he
whispers, You are safe. You’re not alone.
I’ve got this. I don’t know what I’ll face tomorrow, but I know my God is
with me, holding my hand, walking beside me through it all.
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