the whole truth

Tonight was the kind of unexpected you'd be thinking I'd be expecting by now from God.

Even as I blogged this morning, I couldn't find a way to put all my strugglings together into anything that made any sense or had any uplifting purpose, so I didn't.  Nobody needs to hear any of that, anyway.  

I was simply as alone as I thought and that was that.

So tonight in the Guest House before a group of strangers, nobody was more surprised than me to find myself crying into Bud's beard.  

I can't always share all my heart with you all, though I sure do try to give Him glory through this blog by sharing as much of life and my walk with Him as I can.

But He reminded me tonight that as I have shared my whole heart with Him, He hears...and in the times when it seems no one cares or can or knows, He does...and in the times when I can't share how I'm feeling for fear of hurting others, for fear of worrying others, or for fear of Grandparents getting on planes...He is there.  And knows.  And hears.  And cares.  And moves.

And loves.

All piled up and general, I've been feeling awfully terribly lonely.  I've got lots of reasons, and I'm sure there have been times that you have, too.  So much to do...so much good...so many dearly loved ones around me...so much to pour...so much to be thankful for.  

And yet at the end of the day, struggling with the temptation to believe the lies that I will just never be able to do anything right by anyone, that we are in this alone, that I have no friends.  Those dark nights when you are well-aware that you are in the trenches and deeply saddened to find yourself there alone.

You know...all those lies that sound shockingly ridiculous here about someone else... but there have been moments you have believed them, too.

Pushing back those nagging feelings, I persist.  And my hours with my students and coworkers in the mornings are sweet.  My time with Gertha or Micheline or Noel so cherished.  My hours with my girls and their love and their joy so dear, and laying in bed at night sharing with Matt and finding someone else so frequently to be thinking and laughing and wanting the exact same thing that I am...so precious.

If only I were doing enough, doing it right, and if only I was loved...the lies continue as I seek Him in the same breaths.

And Wednesdays are so full.  School for three of us in the morning, getting Lily at 1, then waking the girls early to head for Vaudreil and weekly prayer meeting. Getting them off with Gertha, studying Psalms with other missionaries from the US and Canada, being given a chance to offer prayer requests but nobody EVERY prays for things like lonlieness, heavens, and there is no way I will be the first!  Besides, everything is quite good, truly, I don't even know why I'm struggling so.

And then it's our night to eat with teams in the Holiday House, and beyond Bud, Dave and Marilyn I don't recognize a soul, and it's more steaming hot corn mush with bean sauce and fish with the bones in and I'm wanting to connect with strangers but it's not always easy when you're picking bones for the girls and trying to talk to people you know to be family but whom you know absolutely nothing about.

After dinner as I teach the girls Janga and Matt starts to share his testimony, God has me listening.  Matt's story is one I was mostly there for, and one I have heard a million times, but it's powerful and it was that power that started working on me tonight.  Touched.

Matt's story is always so remarkable and the girls always so anxious to be home by this point that mine has never been asked for.  

But Bud, dearly missed friend and constant trouble maker, noticed the fact and pointed it out.  As I've been privately struggling with my struggle, the last thing I wanted was a group of strangers looking at me to share something.  To share anything.  

But now all eyes were on me, and as I briefly shared my story, God had me listening too.  Call to missions in a sugar-cane village of Haitians in the middle of the Dominican Republic at 17, Asbury College and mention of my brother--whom I never mention--who I followed there, illness and death of my mother, which I also NEVER mention to strangers, hurting in Port-au-Prince while sharing Christ with the hurting and working with Junior.  The joy, today, of living life with these brothers and sisters.

Made it through in one piece, and ready to GO home with my struggle.  

And you know what?  

Instead they made me cry.  

That group of total strangers wanted to know if my brother now knows my God, and a man I've all but stopped praying for they were anxious to lift up.  Wanted to know his name.  Loudly announced with all the faith and confidence his sister is missing that "GOD CAN DO IT.  If He changed me, He Can Change Him!"  

Prayed for him, right then and there. 

They listened.  They heard me.  They were heart-broken.  For a complete stranger's brother.  And prayed for us.

Then an Ann I never knew stood up and shared a testimony of herself, husband and children and our blog.  About how they read it in in the mornings with His Word.  About how her teenage son listened to Matt's sermons this summer on our blog, and about how it is real, and has touched her life, their lives, in a real way.  Said it was a joy to finally meet us.  Says she tells everyone else to read it.

And then handed us two shiny bags of Happy Birthday Oreos.

She listened.  She heard me.  And she loved me.  

So when we scooped up our girlies and our stranger friends came around us and Bud wrapped his arms about us all and everyone prayed for us...

He wrapped up those struggles and took them away.  

He heard me.  He knows me.  He sees it, all of it.  

And I am dearly loved.  And never ever alone.  And more than enough.  

And it was so vital to Him that I know it that He used traveling Bud and complete strangers and our own worn stories on stinky fish night with pee-pants-Sofie on my hip to love me so. 

Sent a baby in a smelly feed-box to a rugged cross crusted with the blood of God to love me so.  

So there'll be no more lies.  

If your struggle is silent and undescribed and deep tonight, I understand.  

Struggle on, my friend.  

For He will meet you.  

He might use strangers, He might use friends.  Might use loss or He might use Oreos.  Might be glamorous and radiant or it might be something totally unexpectedly routine.  

But you are dearly loved.

You are never ever alone.

You are more than enough.

and He won't quit pursuing you with it 'till Kingdom come.  

Glory to God.