When It All Seems Like Too Much

I don’t know if I’m supposed to write about this topic on this woefully neglected blog site, but it’s a glimpse into our daily life in this country we dearly love.  It’s a glimpse into issues all too common today and I don’t have many answers.

Two weeks and two incomprehensible stories of 12 year-old girls who have been raped.  Technically, one case was only “attempted” rape, but the trauma is nevertheless devastating. I looked at a hospital photo of one girl while eating lunch with a potential new volunteer for Solid Ground International. She asked me for advice and I talked about 24 hours and the police report and medical records and government services, but what I really want us to do is to board a ferry and rescue the girl who, although now at home, is still vulnerable.  She was walking home when a man high on drugs swept her up on his motorcycle. He strangled her and tried to rape her. Then he threw her from the bike. She passed out.  I don’t know the rest of the details.

We hear stories like this on a regular and it never gets easier to hear. We get calls and referrals and each one is fresh and raw and full of inadequate words. We have forgotten what it’s like not to be surrounded by tales of abuse and exploitation.   

Each story is rife with pain and fear. We don’t see that everything happens for a reason. There is no reason a 12-year-old child should ever endure the emotional, psychological, spiritual, and physical wounds that result from rape.  There’s no reason any human should. I don’t even ask God the “Why” question because I don’t think any explanation will be satisfactory.

Sometimes people talk about a broken world and broken people, about sin and evil, about free will and choice. And I still can’t make sense of it and the massacre of human flesh that happens daily around the globe.

While the SGI staff and I spend much time celebrating with individuals who have overcome trauma, we spend just as much time listening to the sobs and questions. We let them get it all out and we tell them it’s not their fault, but we don’t tell them it’s all going to be okay or that it will all work out for good if only they soldier up. Because we just don’t know the end of the story. We hope and pray and guide them the best we can. We sit with them.  We can’t afford to be dismissive or just give them a gentle pat on the back. When it’s time, we prompt them to take steps forward using their own motivations as impetus. If we rush the process, they may retreat.

The stories aren’t going to end tomorrow, so with what does that leave us?  I asked SGI residents about ways others best help them in the healing process.

In short: LISTEN. 

In fact, be quick to listen.

Let us cry and cry.

Show us you care through acts of kindness. Express your love out loud.

Be present and willing to spend time with us.

Come when we need you.

Be gentle when you speak to us.

Remembering to Breathe

I took these photos at SGI just a few meters outside my office door in a busy metropolitan neighborhood. They remind me of the simplicity of life and also the work required to make things grow well.

Dave’s big on spiritual disciplines. I’m so-so. I think they’re vital and good and worthy of time and devotion, but I’ve never really implemented them in my life. However, for the past several months I have developed the habit of praying for the day as soon as I get in my car and pull out of our parking area.  This by no means makes me more spiritually mature than anyone else, but I need this time to set my focus for the day and to remember what really matters.  When I don’t do this, my mood quickly goes sour.

The life-giving nature of this routine prayer greatly helped me the other day as I pulled up to the Solid Ground gate at 6:15 a.m., my usual arrival time. Before I even opened the gate, two residents met me outside with a problem. There was a relatively easy fix to the problem, but I wasn’t positive if it would work so I didn’t offer any solution at the gate. Breathe in and out, I told myself. It’s not a big deal.

Then I walked to my office and opened my door where another problem sat waiting for me on my desk. I called the two concerned residents to the office to discuss it and even had to get a staff member’s input about the situation. Not the end of the world. A good lesson for all.

Then I got a text from a staff member at the other SGI house and discovered that a resident didn’t come home the night before, a third time offense. As the staff revealed more of the story, I genuinely became concerned for her safety. Fortunately, our social worker reached out to her and the resident assured us she was safe but not ready to come home yet. Wait patiently and hope for the best outcome.

And then I had to confront a resident about some sticky, sensitive issues and she did not like what I had to say, even though she agreed with it all. I asked her to please disagree with me and to help me understand the other side of the issue, but she said there was no other side. Except that the heart wants what it wants.

All this before 9:00 a.m. The day tarried on with resolutions to some situations appearing little by little while other issues were left unresolved and new issues appeared. The heart issues aren’t easily resolved because there are layers of guilt, scar tissue, desires, and dreams mixed with the present reality of school, work, and responsibility. It’s life disorganized. Still healing.

I love the messiness of working with these women during this time in their lives.  My routine morning prayer stabilizes me so that I don’t over or underreact.  When life, glorious life, is abounding in our midst, our habits should point us heavenward.

A Sure Foundation

This is Zyra, our goddaughter. Yeah, we know she’s crazy cute.

We have four godchildren in Cebu City, but I admit that Zyra has profoundly nudged her way straight to my heart.  A couple of weeks ago I got a text from Zyra’s dad, Zaldy, thanking God for their new house.  So I headed to their home near the dumpsite to have lunch with them and to celebrate a new beginning. Through the donation of a local charity, they will be able to move from this house . . .

To this house . . .

They have five children under their care, two of whom are a niece and nephew whose parents cannot care for them.  The city closed the dumpsite so they are no longer able to derive income from scavenging and reselling items they find. 

They are thanking God. Soon they won’t all sleep in a single room in a house covered with tarp without a kitchen or bathroom. They will have a house with two bedrooms and a bathroom made of materials not scavenged.

The hope that seemed years away has returned.

This is not a case of people who are always so happy even though they have nothing. They have struggled and despaired, questioned and cried.  In every neighborhood in Cebu it’s easy to find an extremely grand, pristine house right next to a house without running water or a mattress. The under-resourced know they are under-resourced. Zaldy and his wife Rowena incur debt when a medical problem arises. They try to save to buy school shoes for their children only to realize it’s not possible to save even $5. The girl living next door was trafficked. Zaldy’s brother was murdered last year. A new heartache appears often.

And then this. A place to rest the overburdened soul.

The neighbors assist in mixing the cement. Zaldy carries bucket after bucket of cement and pours it onto the floor, making sure the foundation is secure in his family’s new home.

There Remains Love

Christmas is nearly here which means Dave and I will celebrate another year of marriage.

We’ve moved ten times on three continents in our 15 years of marriage.  We can probably fit our most desired belongings (minus furniture and appliances) into two suitcases each.

When I was young, moving so often wasn’t part of my life plan. I dreamed of owning a red brick, Victorian mansion with a winding staircase and a wraparound porch, of having deep roots in one place, of living near family, of living off the land with our children. Clearly, I was born a century too late.  

Well, we did own a brick house for 1½ years in Kenya and it was everything we wanted in a house despite our water problems, but when we left we couldn’t take the house with us.  Since then, we’ve never talked of owning a house again, though we’re certainly not opposed to it.

Dave dreamed of being a football star and a comedian. He did play college football for one year, which happens to be the year we first met. The comedy thing . . . one can always dream. Sorry, Babe.

Long after childhood fantasies have faded we find ourselves with an unpredictable, incredible life beyond what we imagined.   The best part is that we get to live it together.   

And some days it feels like the worst part because we don’t get to do whatever we want. We have to be together. We have to decide together.  We must remain.

Our marriage has endured struggle born out of selfishness, pride, impatience, obstinacy, personality differences, and other á la carte characteristics that cause couples to clash.  We are two different kinds of leaders, Dave the extroverted networker whose words inspire confidence and hope and me the introverted achiever who dodges public speaking and meetings as much as possible. He’s a big picture guy; I’m into details. He wears his emotions; mine are lodged within me. He greets everyone; I avoid people.  He’s a hugger; I’m just not (except with my sons). Our differences are no secret to those who know us well.   On the one hand, we balance each other as the marriage cliché goes. However, there’s another hand and that’s where arguments arise. Thankfully, I’m with a man who always fights fair, accepts responsibility, and works toward reconciliation with me.

So how have me made it this far and how can we make it another 15 years?  I don’t have an answer, but I know we’ll try. We’ll work to fan the flame to a roar. We’ll work on giving up our selves. Sometimes we’ll fail, but we won’t give up on one another.

I considered coming up with a list of marital secrets for happiness, the one-for-each-year kind of thing, but the truth is that we already know what we should do.  I know where I need to take hold and to release and to be calmer inside.  Dave knows where his way of doing things can breed tension in our relationship. Each marriage is unique and it is imperative upon each couple to refine themselves and one another in distinct ways.

For us it means less griping and more giving.

Less independence and more interdependence. As much as I appreciate how we get things done on our own, we must acknowledge that we need one another’s ideas and different opinions and then work together toward common goals as much as possible.

Less of me and more of the other.

Less energy spent worrying about every little thing and more energy spent on eternally important matters.

We were born worlds apart but our playful, infinitely wise God saw fit to cross our paths during a freshman seminar class in 1993. He was not mistaken.

So here’s to another 15 years of growing in love and learning to love because we want to do so, not because the other person tells us to do so. Another 15 years of this wild, relentlessly unexpected life where our hearts still thump for one another. Another 15 years of remaining, abiding love.

Getting Burned Without Being Burned

I told her she didn’t have to pray or read her Bible. That she could attend church and not listen to the pastor or sing any songs. That she could wrestle with her anger and unforgiveness. But she had to come to the evening table when others were praying. She had to give space for others to attend church and read their Bibles and forgive. Non-participation, at least with the physical body, is not an option because she is a member of this home and her presence matters.           

She told me she has no interest in God.

With this resident, I don’t know where the breaking line is. The line is blurred so much it’s no longer a line. The static electricity inside her body fights to find balance and finds peace still a long way off. I told her it’s okay to not believe in God.  I told her that what happened to her was not her fault and that the people who did it are bad people.

BAD.  REALLY BAD.

That doesn’t mean God doesn’t love them, but there’s no justifying their horrific acts. I didn’t try to explain God’s love to her.

Yeah, I’m not exactly a great example of what it means to “win” others for Christ. In fact, I wouldn’t even know how to best tell someone to do this. I don’t know of any formulas because my lines are blurred, too.

The line about when to push and when to hold back. When to speak and when to stay silent. Just listening. Just being present because she really wants to talk about the shock waves charging her body but doesn’t quite know how.  Release is slow, unsteady, and all kinds of emotional soup.

Even though I’ve never known trauma like hers, I feel like we are in this together.  I like being in this place with her where uncertainty is the only sure thing.  This place where she’s still figuring out how to let go of so much anger.

She can’t fight on her own. Not yet.  She needs us to bid for her and to rage against the memories that paralyze her and the faces that cause panic. 

Fast forward three days.

We have our combined praise and worship gathering for both homes and share a meal together. Dave has been taking the residents through a series on healthy relationships and we start session one of family relationships. I know ahead of time that this will bring pain to the surface, but we have no intention of ignoring the hard.

He speaks and prays and some cry but she cries longer and needs constant consolation because her breaths are stifled and she can’t stop. I sit beside her and she grabs onto me and my heart becomes gelatinous goo. So wishing I could wave a wand and make her feelings of helplessness and fear vanish. 

She breaks again and again.  For every step forward, she goes back three.

The next morning she asks for prayer.  I should have been shocked due to her anti-God stance the week before.  But I wasn’t. Choosing the spiritual makes sense because she’s running out of options.  She needs the supernatural.

One of our volunteers has her read Daniel 3:19-25 because it’s the passage God impressed on her to share.  It’s not exactly a “go to” Bible passage when walking someone through the pain and despair of incomprehensible trauma. After the prayer session, I ask what she understood about the passage. She says, “They got burned but they didn’t get burned.”

Now I understand why these verses.

In the midst of fire heated seven times more than usual, three servants of the Most High God walked out untouched by the fire that should have devoured their flesh.  They were living examples of God’s deliverance and saving power because they put their uncompromising trust in Him.

I ask how she feels after praying. She says “lighter.” The pushing line remains blurred indefinitely, but she has allowed light to penetrate some of her fear.  It’s going to take more time for this ongoing rescue. If she needs support from mental health professionals, we’ll offer her that. For now, she just needs to know we are present and that we’re not going to abandon her.