hanging by a moment
Listening to: "Take This Life" by Shawn McDonald
As I sit here now, my emotions on edge, my heart a mess as usual, I am thinking above all else two things: Life is short, and I need God.
As many of you know, last July I stepped foot in a third-world country for the very first time. I went with a team based out of my church to El Camino, a children’s home in Palmira, Colombia, expecting to give of myself and share God’s love with the children there. What actually took place was an experience that words failed to describe and photographs failed to capture. I left having received so much more from the children than I ever could have given them, with a heart so saturated with love and emotion that I knew it would never be the same again.
My return home (though where was home anymore?) immediately fell hard on the bitter end of bittersweet. I remember walking around in a fog of sorts, in denial that I had ever left that beautiful country and its more beautiful people. I was disgusted by so many things. I thought about the children nonstop and oftentimes my heart would begin to swell so big that my eyes welled up with tears. In one of a handful of tormented blogs I confessed, "Life seems so routine, so void without the presence of the children I have left behind...I guess I will never feel complete without those children around me," followed by an onslaught of contradicting emotions that you can read about here.
During this time of unwilling readjustment, as blog after blog recording my daily struggles was produced, I remember listening to Shawn McDonald on repeat much of the time. Ironically, I began listening to him for the first time since then just now as I started this blog, having completely forgotten that connection. I am hoping that this is a sign of something good.
I knew that another team from our church would be going back to Colombia this year, and while anxiety birthed by impatience took over, I never doubted that I would be on that team. Just recently, however, I was informed that this year's team will most likely be chosen based on who can bring the money in. Not only is a $100 deposit due in a couple of weeks, but apparently there will come a time when those wanting to go will have to produce at least the price of their ticket in order to reserve a spot on the team. This sunk my heart like an anchor for several reasons, the first being that I had a very difficult time raising the amount of money needed for our last trip. By the time we left, I hadn't even raised a fraction of what was required of me. Now I still managed to go, and after about two weeks of being home all the rest of the money came in (by some very generous friends of the family whom I am forever indebted to), but all of that is irrelevant this time around. So I fear that the same thing will happen again, but this time it will be worse because my husband is also signed up to go. That means a $200 downpayment and a lovely little sum of $3,000 to raise. This with one income and, since my parents are also going and will be sucking our family members dry, a limited number of friends and colleagues to beg for help.
Now, the sinking of my heart didn't happen right away. When I first heard about this change in procedure, I was fine. So fine, in fact, that it started to worry me. As I drove to Starbucks with my mother one day, I remember saying, "I've been so relaxed about this that I feel like it must be the calm before the storm." And she agreed, thinking it odd that I wasn't already freaking out.
But it did come. Slowly but surely the doubt, the dread had been creeping up on me, and the same voices that told me I'd never go back when I only just returned from Colombia were finally starting to wear me down again. I looked back on old blogs, knowing that God had made me a promise (unless, of course, that was something I completely fabricated, which I suppose is entirely possible). Then I found it. At the end of my second blog upon returning home, I had recorded this vivid memory:
God will bring me back. I knew this as we were leaving Colombia, having just reached our steady altitude in the air. When the plane took off, I began weeping and begging God, "Please...I need to know...Assure me that I will be returning to these kids." And I looked out the window and there, in the clouds that hovered over Colombia, was a perfect solid shadow of the plane, with a rainbow ring around it. I wiped my eyes because my vision was blurry with tears, but I had seen correctly. And I knew exactly what that symbol meant: that I should have peace about returning to Colombia, and that my God is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow and wants to fulfill the desires of my heart.
And He will. I don't know how, but I don't need to know how. It's just a matter of time. In about 60 seconds, the symbol of the plane with the rainbow ring was gone, and I am willing to bet that not one other person on the entire plane had seen it.
Here I am, God. Send me.
Now, a good slap of reality will tell me that the shadow of the plane was not an uncommon occurrence, and the rainbow ring was no doubt the result of some kind of refraction of light cast upon the clouds, and probably every other person sitting on that plane had seen it. But at the time, I took it as a sign. The moment of truth, I guess, will come soon enough.
All of this while my grandfather lies uncomfortable and fragile in a hospital bed, a line of staples trailing from his stomach all the way around to his back, having just undergone a painful operation that probably won't even prolong his life by much in the end. Both of his kidneys are loaded with tumors and he has emphysema, and though my mother was miraculously healed from emphysema not too many years ago, I wonder if God might not be inclined to save another member of my family, especially one who, as far as I know, has not accepted Him as his Savior. I am scared that my grandfather's illness is truly malignant and that he might not have much time left. I wonder if praying for him will be enough.
So I'm back in this waiting room again. Hanging by a moment, expecting nothing and everything at the same time. I am waiting to hear if I will be allowed to see the children in Colombia who have become my family, my purpose in life. I am waiting to hear if my grandfather will be spared any longer than he has been, or if he is literally lying on his deathbed. I am waiting for practical things and unlikely things and a whole lot of impossible things. I am waiting for God to tell me that I've finally done something right.
But most of all, I am just waiting.
As I sit here now, my emotions on edge, my heart a mess as usual, I am thinking above all else two things: Life is short, and I need God.
As many of you know, last July I stepped foot in a third-world country for the very first time. I went with a team based out of my church to El Camino, a children’s home in Palmira, Colombia, expecting to give of myself and share God’s love with the children there. What actually took place was an experience that words failed to describe and photographs failed to capture. I left having received so much more from the children than I ever could have given them, with a heart so saturated with love and emotion that I knew it would never be the same again.
My return home (though where was home anymore?) immediately fell hard on the bitter end of bittersweet. I remember walking around in a fog of sorts, in denial that I had ever left that beautiful country and its more beautiful people. I was disgusted by so many things. I thought about the children nonstop and oftentimes my heart would begin to swell so big that my eyes welled up with tears. In one of a handful of tormented blogs I confessed, "Life seems so routine, so void without the presence of the children I have left behind...I guess I will never feel complete without those children around me," followed by an onslaught of contradicting emotions that you can read about here.
During this time of unwilling readjustment, as blog after blog recording my daily struggles was produced, I remember listening to Shawn McDonald on repeat much of the time. Ironically, I began listening to him for the first time since then just now as I started this blog, having completely forgotten that connection. I am hoping that this is a sign of something good.
I knew that another team from our church would be going back to Colombia this year, and while anxiety birthed by impatience took over, I never doubted that I would be on that team. Just recently, however, I was informed that this year's team will most likely be chosen based on who can bring the money in. Not only is a $100 deposit due in a couple of weeks, but apparently there will come a time when those wanting to go will have to produce at least the price of their ticket in order to reserve a spot on the team. This sunk my heart like an anchor for several reasons, the first being that I had a very difficult time raising the amount of money needed for our last trip. By the time we left, I hadn't even raised a fraction of what was required of me. Now I still managed to go, and after about two weeks of being home all the rest of the money came in (by some very generous friends of the family whom I am forever indebted to), but all of that is irrelevant this time around. So I fear that the same thing will happen again, but this time it will be worse because my husband is also signed up to go. That means a $200 downpayment and a lovely little sum of $3,000 to raise. This with one income and, since my parents are also going and will be sucking our family members dry, a limited number of friends and colleagues to beg for help.
Now, the sinking of my heart didn't happen right away. When I first heard about this change in procedure, I was fine. So fine, in fact, that it started to worry me. As I drove to Starbucks with my mother one day, I remember saying, "I've been so relaxed about this that I feel like it must be the calm before the storm." And she agreed, thinking it odd that I wasn't already freaking out.
But it did come. Slowly but surely the doubt, the dread had been creeping up on me, and the same voices that told me I'd never go back when I only just returned from Colombia were finally starting to wear me down again. I looked back on old blogs, knowing that God had made me a promise (unless, of course, that was something I completely fabricated, which I suppose is entirely possible). Then I found it. At the end of my second blog upon returning home, I had recorded this vivid memory:
God will bring me back. I knew this as we were leaving Colombia, having just reached our steady altitude in the air. When the plane took off, I began weeping and begging God, "Please...I need to know...Assure me that I will be returning to these kids." And I looked out the window and there, in the clouds that hovered over Colombia, was a perfect solid shadow of the plane, with a rainbow ring around it. I wiped my eyes because my vision was blurry with tears, but I had seen correctly. And I knew exactly what that symbol meant: that I should have peace about returning to Colombia, and that my God is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow and wants to fulfill the desires of my heart.
And He will. I don't know how, but I don't need to know how. It's just a matter of time. In about 60 seconds, the symbol of the plane with the rainbow ring was gone, and I am willing to bet that not one other person on the entire plane had seen it.
Here I am, God. Send me.
Now, a good slap of reality will tell me that the shadow of the plane was not an uncommon occurrence, and the rainbow ring was no doubt the result of some kind of refraction of light cast upon the clouds, and probably every other person sitting on that plane had seen it. But at the time, I took it as a sign. The moment of truth, I guess, will come soon enough.
All of this while my grandfather lies uncomfortable and fragile in a hospital bed, a line of staples trailing from his stomach all the way around to his back, having just undergone a painful operation that probably won't even prolong his life by much in the end. Both of his kidneys are loaded with tumors and he has emphysema, and though my mother was miraculously healed from emphysema not too many years ago, I wonder if God might not be inclined to save another member of my family, especially one who, as far as I know, has not accepted Him as his Savior. I am scared that my grandfather's illness is truly malignant and that he might not have much time left. I wonder if praying for him will be enough.
So I'm back in this waiting room again. Hanging by a moment, expecting nothing and everything at the same time. I am waiting to hear if I will be allowed to see the children in Colombia who have become my family, my purpose in life. I am waiting to hear if my grandfather will be spared any longer than he has been, or if he is literally lying on his deathbed. I am waiting for practical things and unlikely things and a whole lot of impossible things. I am waiting for God to tell me that I've finally done something right.
But most of all, I am just waiting.
posted by audrey at
2:22 PM
1 Comments:
I mis Colombia so much. I also am not sure if I will be able to return this year. It saddens me to think that, because I know if I do not make it this year it will be at least four or five years(maybe) if I ever return. All of my siblings also want to go, so we have four strains on our accounts and family and friends. It's hard but I'm trying to simply trust God on this one. Every time I have trusted in him, things have worked out. I'll pray Audrey, that both you and I will be able to return once again to our home away from home: Beautiful Colombia.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home