Strangely Dim

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace.  

Tonight I read a blog post entitled "Ten Things That Your Missionary Will Not Tell You."  While I'm aware that we have barely gotten our feet wet in the missionary lifestyle, I could relate with much of what he shared.    You can read the post here if you really wanna:  http://joe-holman.blogspot.com/2014/08/ten-things-that-your-missionary-will.html?m=1

I suspect this wise and seasoned veteran wrote this piece in a moment of catharsis and unusual transparency.  There IS a reason that missionaries don't share some stuff, after all.    

However, I've learned that much of our struggle is related to our perception of a situation.     I can't begin to tell you how many times I have said to my children (who were positively falling apart on homeschool days and missing best friends and longing to be back in the familiar classrooms of their climate-controlled and mosquito-free schools with actual qualified teachers), "How many of your friends get to look at the beautiful ocean while taking a spelling test?"    That wasn't much of a consolation to them at the time, but still...we can choose to focus on the hard stuff or we can determine to find the beauty in it.  

So, yeah...here's a little transparent confession of my own.  We live in a tiny concrete house that's inexcusably dirty--eight sweaty people and two dogs in about 900 square feet.  Our bedroom has never been painted--still just the steel grey of solid concrete-- and the roof leaks right over the head of my bed.  We have had an unlovely issue with rodents--and I'm not talking about cute little fluffly mice that sing "Cinderelly Cinderelly" while helping sew clothes and clean the house.  I'm talking about rats that seem to be the size of gophers who race across our tin roof at night and scoff at any attempt of ours to trap them.  I hear them now even as I type and hate every inch of their nasty little selves.  And it's hot.  Our car registered an outside temperature of 109 degrees this afternoon.  Both sides of our family have had major crises in the 9 months since we have moved, and I struggle with guilt over not being there to help.  All this dirt and heat and critters and rampant emotions and all-the-time-togetherness makes us not very nice people sometimes.   I cry nearly daily and frequently wonder what in the world I'm doing.

If you're still reading and haven't abandoned all this loathing...let me tell you firmly:  That's just one side of the coin.  Please give me the chance to tell you about the beauty on the flip side:

On my unpainted bedroom walls, there are several names scrawled in green chalk.  I can't bring myself to paint over it because these are the names of the men who sacrificially served us to build our family this home.  MATT.  JEFF.  TODD.    These guys along with seven other saints, on a moment's notice, gave their time, their money, their muscle-power and brain-power to fly to Haiti IN AUGUST (only the hottest stinking month of the year) and worked sun-up and sun-down so we could have a roof over our head and a safe place to call home.  Next to the names of the American men are the names of the Haitian men (EDWINS.  MACKINSON.  KERRY.) who worked alongside them to bless our family.  Do you see the beauty?

The drip drip drip of rain from holes in the tin above my bed is where our much younger and nimbler Haitian friends (Loucy, Osney, Rozanor, Yndy, and others) risked life and limb to attach solar panels to the roof so we could have power 24/7.  For the first 6 months in Haiti, we had power 10-12 hours of the day, some from our generator and some from city power if it came on (and that's a BIG 'if').  But God provided funds for us to install solar power and now I can keep food in the fridge and run fans at night.  Many, many, many friends around us do not have this luxury... and so I choose to give thanks for those holes from where screws missed the beam--and for my hard-working husband who is determined to patch the holes so I can sleep on rainy nights.   Do you see the blessing?

And the rats...hmmm.  I don't have much nice to say about those creepy, sneaky jerks, other than to concede that this is indeed part of island living.  And so much goodness comes from living on an island!  Ocean views every morning!  Mountain sunsets every night!  Fresh coconuts right out our back door!  And millions of twinkling stars on crisp, clear nights.

I can find God's beauty written all over this life.   Holiness in the middle of the filth.  Sweet fellowship in the depths of loneliness.    Grace in the face of failure--again and again.    The Gospel of Jesus Christ changing lives.  People rising up in this little village to the Glory of God.  We've seen His fingerprints all over the past year... providing countless times through the generosity of others.    My perception of God is not skewed because I have seen His mighty hand time and time again.  He has proven faithful and true.

However, alas...Perhaps my greatest struggle with perception is how I perceive ourselves.   A kind Haitian friend asked me tonight, "how can you always be so nice?" And I promptly replied, "I'm not always nice.  Ask my family."  We struggle most within our own little circle.  We are sinners in need of grace, and no one knows that better than the 7 other humans in our tiny little space.   I sleep with one eye open because I'm making the kids do school work throughout the summer AND match their Xbox time with their reading time--gasp!  The horror!  (I'm not winning any popularity awards...but the truth is, I probably failed them in our first year of homeschool and am scrambling to make sure we get it all covered!)  The bottom line is:  We are keenly aware of our brokenness and insufficiency.  It's been laid completely bare as "death to self" becomes a forced daily reality.

But really, if we step back a minute, and straighten our glasses of perception in light of eternity...isn't this how it should be?  Our simple lives are a vapor, while God's purposes stand forever.  Our imperfections magnify the only perfect One--when everything good in life is "only because God".  Paul may have felt this way when he wrote, "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." (2 Corinthians 12:9) 

Desperation and total dependency on the Lord is right where we should rest--no matter what mission field you are in, internationally or in your own American neighborhood.  In this prostrate place, keeping eyes focused on Him, we can find the beauty, the joy, the blessing, the purpose, the strength--even on hot, stinky, grumpy days.  And still, God chooses to send really imperfect people to do His work!  I find it simply amazing.

It's nearing 1:00 in the morning, and while the rats hold track and field day on our roof, the joyful voices of our Creole speaking friends fill this hillside with the spontaneous praise party that broke out at the church tonight.  It shows no sign of slowing down...and it's beautiful.