Missionary Rehab

I sat alone in our new-to-us car and I banged my hands on the steering wheel and yelled at God that I was angry that this was happening. That I didn’t want this car or these plans or these good-byes.  I let Him know straight up that it was unfair because we had planned our life there in the Amazon. We sold all of our stuff four years ago, REMEMBER?! That was because the jungle was supposed to be our new forever home. Tears flowed to the point that my heart physically ached in my chest and my breath caught in my throat.

It was an ugly cry, y’all. I’m glad no one else was there because you can’t unsee that.

And I want to tell you that after that I was better. I really want to say that one good cry and BAM! the Holy Spirit washed me with a renewed confidence in His goodness and sovereignty and that I was suddenly a well-adapted protégé of our missionary forefathers, full of faith and trust in an all knowing, all sufficient God. {Insert Sunday morning fake smile here.}

Instead I’m in counseling because some days I. just. can’t.

It’s missionary rehab, if you will.

I sat in the parking lot before my first session and almost had a straight up panic attack. I was sniffing essential oils like an addict and texting Richard so that I didn’t talk myself out of it. “What kind of missionary needs counseling?” Right?

My first session was an hour and a half long. About an hour in, I paused after spilling the overview of our life for the last four years all over her in addition to filling a few tissues with snot and tears. I just sort of stared at her.

She calmly listened, handing me a new kleenex as needed. Bless her soul. She’s a good one.

Her words: “I think if I got down one of my books on traumatic life events from my shelf, you would be able to check nearly all of them off the list and then some. It’s a miracle of God that you and your family survived many of those situations independently, much less all of them. Rest in that truth that it’s ok to be in this place of fear, anxiety, and confusion. It’s not the end.”

My instinct was, “Don’t patronize me. You don’t know my life.”

Defensive.

But then I realized she wasn’t. (And I had in fact just shared with her much of my life... soooo she kinda did know my life...) The reason I was sitting in her office was because we’d gone through some legitimately traumatizing things and that was ok. There was healing and hope still.  Breath of fresh air.

I went back the following week and then the following three weeks and it’s been both painful and healing. Because something happens when we are honest about our pain and we talk through the trauma in light of Hope.

After the difficulties of our adoption and the isolation we experienced those first two years among other things, I developed an anxiety disorder that’s only increased in intensity since being Stateside. After all, you don’t get to leave the country for four years and maintain relationships the way they used to be, especially in a region with internet access comprable to that of 1999. Even more so relationships that were severed due to others’ lack of understanding of life there and differences in preference. Now I find myself in the city where I was born and raised with no close friendships.

It’s a very strange place to be.

The abrupt (to us) ending of our time overseas makes me feel much like Moses on the mountain staring at the Promised Land but not actually getting to enter it. We walked some deep, dark valleys and only in the last six months of our time there did we finally begin to see buds of fruit. A community of Believers uniting for the cause of Christ. Incredible, unexplicable things happening. Beautiful.

And then God said, “Move. You can’t stay here.”

And my heart feels the heaviness of leaving all that we have known and loved and pursued and sacrificed for, only to return to a wilderness of reverse culture shock and loneliness and not knowing even where to begin to share the incredible things that God has done and is doing there.

I went a solid two months without makeup because why? Tears are no respecters of mascara.

But there in that small room with the counselor who is an MK (missionary kid) herself, I can work through these emotions and she gives me perspective and hope.

My day to day is still very much a roller coaster of fear and anxiety. A simple decision at the grocery store can send me straight to the Cliff of Internal Meltdown (WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OPTIONS OF KETCHUP?!). Running into someone I knew in what feels like a previous life can make my heart pound so loud I can hear it louder than our conversation (WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO TALK ABOUT?!).

This is all new to me. But turns out that actually, it’s pretty standard if we read—truly read—through Scripture and even biographies of modern missions. Life is a series of planning our ways in faith and then holding them loosely. It’s a story of being human with all its inconsistencies and fears and doubts and short-sightedness and yet still trusting through it. And slowly but surely through each season that ultimately leads to surrender to Him in His perfect ways, we find ourselves more and more in His image. Our faith grows. Our trust in Him grows. We lose more of ourselves.

Elisabeth Elliot put it this way:

“There is no ongoing spiritual life without this process of letting go. At the precise point where we refuse, growth stops. If we hold tightly to anything given to us, unwilling to let it go when the time comes to let it go or unwilling to allow it to be used as the Giver means it to be used, we stunt the growth of the soul. It is easy to make a mistake here, “If God gave it to me,” we say, “its mine. I can do what I want with it.” No. The truth is that it is ours to thank Him for and ours to offer back to Him, ours to relinquish, ours to lose, ours to let go of – if we want to find our true selves, if we want real life, if our hearts are set on glory.”

So I figure if Elisabeth Elliot can say that, and she walked through some high flames, I can buckle down and trust that He really is that good and He is sovereign and I can throw to the wind like chaff from the wheat what others think and what fears may linger in my heart and I can lean hard into Him and trust that He’s never let us down and He sure isn’t going to start now. That His ways are truly higher than ours and I can not only rest in that but rejoice in that wholeheartedly as I look over the last four years and how it’s been proven true time and time again.

This process of letting go is so hard, but it’s also so. incredibly. beautiful.

The Futility of Busyness {and the richness of waiting}

a reflection of three years living and loving overseas

When I close my eyes and {try to} imagine Christ, for some reason I never picture Him up and running around, busy. I picture a peaceful calm. Yet at the same time I know He is constantly at work among us, through us, in us.

When I open my eyes, however, and see my life, so often all I see is busyness and rush. A hectic race of back and forth.

Nothing like my Father. 

If there is one thing God has taught me these last few years, it’s that He is not in a hurry.
(And let’s be honest, that is tough news to an American!)

We have plans and dreams and schemes and hopes all laced with goals and timelines and to-do lists to make those happen.

But God? He has all the time in eternity and He’s not afraid to use it.

We pace the floor, glancing at the imaginary clock wondering when all of these things will come to pass. And all it does is create in us a dissatisfaction with where we are, who we are, what we have.

All the while, God moves and breathes life, methodically and timely.

We huff and puff, missing the whole point of it all—Him.

But that’s too simple, to walk towards Him in humble submission.

We want results. Numbers.

I don’t suppose I’ve attended a single “church service” in my life that didn’t put a varying degree of emphasis on a number. This many in attendance, this many confessions, this many baptisms, this many new churches, this many Bibles given, this many “souls saved”, this much money donated.

Numbers. Goals achieved. 

And so we say that, yes, these numbers represent souls and lives changed. But ever so slowly {and mostly with no recognition at all} we fail to realize that, while these do represent souls, those souls have quickly faded from our focus. Because we are off to the next number goal.

Last year we had 100. This year we want to see 200.

Last year they gave $1,000. This year we want $10,000.

Numbers. Objectives. 

But why do we care about "how many" and "how much"? Because time is short... right? Some would say because Jesus is coming soon. Some would put up the counting clock that shows how many souls are dying and going to hell this VERY moment and what are we DOING if we aren’t counting “souls for the Kingdom”?

We’re living. That’s what we are doing. We are loving our neighbor. We are confessing our sins to one another. We are praying for healing. We are giving and serving. We are poured out and broken.

And yes we are even longing for that Day. But we are living this day in all of its holiness, too.

And when we recognize that God is sovereign and His plans cannot be thwarted, suddenly we don’t feel so glorified in our busyness. Because it’s that same lie that the busier we are, the more productive we are that leads us to neglect our children and our marriage and our neighbor in pursuit of the goal. It leads us to shout judgment and rules rather than hope and love.

Because when we are rushed, there is no time for love. Because love takes time.

Love is patient. Love is willing to endure rejection, hatred, failure, backlash. Because love has all the time in the world. Love never fails.

Rush says we need to see repentance now. It’s now or never.

Love says God is in control of the outcome.

Rush says the bigger the crowd, the better.

Love says this one sufficient.

Rush says goals must be met.

Love says goals are good but not ultimate.

Rush says there is no time to sit still, there is work to be done.

Love says we’ll stay as long as we need to.

So often we confuse waiting and stillness with laziness. But we neglect to realize that it’s often busyness that creates laziness. For what else do we want to do after a busy day but sit on a couch and let our “brains rest” in front of the television? What is a better excuse for a little more time on social media that a long day of working hard? We deserve it, right?

But when we create a habit of waiting and watching, suddenly our time is consumed with things that matter. More time with our Savior. More time to pray for healing. More time to listen. More time to sit. More time to hear. More time to see.

More time to truly feel the groaning of the world around us in need of a Savior. Our Savior.

More time to taste and see that He is good.

No longer do we need to shout from the rooftops our expansive knowledge of spiritual things. Our lives speak loudly enough.

No longer do we need to organize and plan bigger and better activities to win people over. Our lives are speaking Truth from which the Holy Spirit will win people over.

When we moved to the Jungle three years ago, we had plenty of plans and goals.

Not one of them came to pass as we had thought. Not a single one.

But when we found ourselves at the end of so many dreams, we found God was moving all around us the whole time. Turns out He didn’t need us after all.

And then we slowed down and we could hear it for once.

“Come.”

And it was scary at first because there wasn’t a plan laid out in that one word. He didn’t say where or how or when or even what the outcome would be. He just said, “Come.”

So with feeble hands and weak knees, we stepped out of what we thought was the way things had to be done and we decided to just trust His timing. To take it one step, one day, on moment at a time. We would just live life with these people and trust that He would do the rest.

And oh what we have seen Him do!

This doesn’t mean that it isn’t hard work. Again, waiting doesn’t mean sitting idly by. We’ve worked harder and cried longer and wanted to give up countless times these last three years. But there in the quiet we still hear His voice whispering, “Come.”

His Spirit strengthens us again and we walk with the broken and speak into their lives and show them a better way with all of our insufficiencies and weaknesses in full light and at the end of the day all that can be said is, “Wow. Look at what a God we serve. LOOK at what He is doing!”

So three years into this thing, I’m {not so} sorry to report that I don’t have any numbers for you... I haven’t been counting. But if you want to sit for a while I can tell you some truly incredible things that God is doing in and around us.

None of it was our plan. None of it fit into our schedules and timelines.

But all of it—every last detail—fit perfectly into His.

Dear Ashley From Two Years Ago...

Dear Ashley From Two Years Ago,

Hey, it’s me. (Or you, rather.) It is two years today that you have been here in Brazil (a year and a half in the Jungle) and I wanted to let you know a few things about this journey you are about to embark on. Go ahead and sit down. I know you’re tired with that baby girl growing in your belly and that two year old boy all wild and rowdy. I know you are experiencing the paradox of both utter excitement that your dreams are coming true and downright terror at the unknown that lies before you.

Let me assure you, this is normal and completely justified.

Here are some things you should know:

That little blonde-haired boy sitting next to you on the plane with his paci and airplane blankie? He isn’t as big as you think he is. He’s a little guy and he is going to prove to be both your sanity and source of insanity over the next several months. Enjoy him through and through because he is going to grow up before your very eyes and you are going to look back fondly on those times it was just three of you curled up watching Backyardigans in that 400 square foot air-condition-less apartment in the city with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

He will throw out his paci and trade in his Huggies for a mini-machete and Superman undies soon enough, so stop stressing the “when” of those things. Until then, let him have his paci in the line at the grocery store, even though it’s supposed to be just for bedtime now. Remember, he is trying to figure out what all these strange people are saying, too, so let him have his comforts. (By the way, stop stressing about him learning the language, too. He will learn it way before you and you will soon find your three year old correcting your grammar.)

That sweet baby girl curled up in your rib-cage that won’t let you sleep at night? You’re prayers will be answered in the affirmative and she is going to be the easiest baby God every created in the history of ever. You will survive giving birth to her in another country with a doctor that speaks your going-on-third language in a hospital where you feel painfully out of place. Everyone will think she is a baby doll when you take her out in public because that is exactly what she will look like. Hold her tight and rock her long because your life is going to get so busy soon that you are going to miss a lot of those moments and won’t even realize it before it is too late.

Your amazing husband and best friend? Your marriage going to have a tough go that first year. Life is going to get incredibly stressful and lonely and instead of leaning into one another, you’re going to push hard against each other. In fact, you are going to reach a point that you feel like roommates, simply coexisting. I know, you don’t believe it, but it’s true. Hang in there, because by God’s grace you make it through and you eventually find your footing again. You will laugh together and cry together and say, “What in the world were we thinking?!” more times than you can count. Lean into each other and remember you are both new at this thing called missionary life. Don’t be afraid to laugh and be quick to forgive. The seasons pass quickly.

Those plans to move into an indigenous village? Ain’t gonna happen, y’all. You will mourn your dream as you bury it, but trust me, later you rejoice. Life is hard enough in the small town you will move to and God is gracious to lead you elsewhere. And oh the plans He has!!

In fact, He will bring an Indigenous family to you. They will live with you for six months and it will be a stretching experience. Soak it in. You need these life lessons through this young family, lessons they don’t even know they are teaching. God will knit your heart with many of the indigenous people around you. Some of them with take advantage of you and turn their backs on you. Let it go. God sees. Others will teach you what it is to humbly serve, expecting nothing in return. You will see what it means to suffer for Christ and you will be stronger for it.

Which leads me to my next point and I hope you are still sitting down. In less than a year on the mission field, you will adopt a seven-year-old street girl… and she will undo all that you have ever known about love. She will steal your heart and you will beg God to make her your own. And when He does you will cry and ask Him to take it away. It is gong to be the hardest thing you have ever done. She will fight against your love. You will have to hold her down as she kicks and screams, demanding to go back to the street, after you just spent months fighting to give her your last name. God will put you through the fire with her and it will hurt. Don’t run away though. This, too, is worth it. He gives beauty for ashes.

There is more. God is going to give you a sweet lady in your life named Rosa. She will teach you to cut up a whole chicken and how to gut a fish (though she will laugh along with you when it takes you thirty minutes to do what she can do in five!) She will amaze you with her patience and awe you with her endurance. You will spend many hours talking and your kids will call her “Tia” (Auntie). She is going to be the Director of the Children’s Home that God is going to lead you to start.

Yes. Children’s Home. I know. I still think it’s crazy, too.

Your heart is going to break for the children on the streets of this town who have been abused and neglected. You will see their bruises and you will feed their bellies. You will bandage their wounds and you will give some of them the first hugs of their lives. You will lose sleep over them and you will pray for miracles. And God will allow you to be a part of those miracles.

During these first two years, you are going to be dumbfounded because you will come to realize something you never really considered before: you are totally ill-equipped for absolutely everything God has called you to do. You will fill inadequate as a mother. You will resist your role as wife. You will struggle to adapt to the culture. You will cry yourself to sleep many a night. You will get tired and lonely and scared and overwhelmed. You will miss family and friends back home. And also Chick-fil-a.

But you know what else? You will see God do amazing things. You will build strong friendships with people who look nothing like you. You will master your third language. You will learn what sacrifice really looks like. You will watch you kids speak multiple languages without even realizing that is STINKIN’ CRAZY! You will learn what ‘wife’ really means and it will become your favorite title.

And all of these will be to the glory of God for the very fact that you are inadequate. But with Christ, all these things are possible.

So relax. Laugh out loud. Soak it in. Endure.

It’s a beautiful journey you’re on. Don’t try to run it as you will miss too much. Just walk.

With still a ways to go,

Ashley

P.S. And another thing. When everyone around you down here pretends they have it all together, don’t believe them. You will quickly discover that this missionary gig is full of just a bunch of inadequates who struggle with the same things you do. Be real. Be transparent. It will serve you (and others) well.