Screeching Halt.

Over the last few months, I’ve really felt the urgency to write. But I just didn’t trust myself.

The words I had to share were anything but up lifting. The troubles racing through my heart and mind sounded too much like the piercing screech of metal against concrete, right before impact.

The question was not “if” but “when” it would collide.

     What would it look like when the flames hissed out?

I talk about it each time I enter a new field. I talk about the stresses and strains, the chaos and calamity, and the eventual ear piercing screech of culture shock. But each time, it hits a little different. Some times the bumper is scratched, and on others the back window is shattered.

     Cosmetic stuff, really. Nothing more.

But the way those silly brakes lock and skid me about always gives me a shock.

    Yes. A shock.

There is no better way to describe it.

So there you have it. It’s no excuse. Just an honest observation.

This time the hardest impact hit around 6 months in... (September 2013) and has lasted until today. Even now, I’m still reeling from the force of it, like tremors. And as I move about, my body aches and my soul whimpers.

“What has been so hard?”

Nothing and everything at once. That is why it’s so sneaky.

One minute I’m driving along just fine, and the next... BAM! The airbag is inflated and the front left tire is in a ditch.

Sigh. And all I can think is... “Oh, No! Culture shock has struck again!”

I’m happy to report, however, that I’ve missed writing. I’ve missed reaching out into the great chasm of words and spaces, of dots and dashes, of blogs and bloggers and grabbing hold of an eye... and hopefully a heart.

    Have you missed me?

So, I’m back. Or at least I intend to be. Only time will tell if I am truly able to see straight enough to type.

But like before, I promise... not to hold any of it back --mangled chassis and souls alike.


Photos thanks to 123RF Royalty Free stock photos @ http://www.123rf.com/photo_12398003_cartoon-car.html

Black Hole.

Two weeks ago, I realized I was empty --a black hole kind of empty. Perhaps a spinning vortex of black matter is not the best image here, but it’s the one that jumps to mind. Needless to say, it was dark, and each miserable day started the same.

I woke up with dark thoughts. I drank my coffee with heavy sighs. And thoughts darker than the sludge I sipped would raced through my brain. The work you are doing is lousy. No one wants you here. These women don’t care. Nothing will ever change.

I would then sit through devotions, clapping to the beat of the African refrains, but my heart was far from worship. Lord, I have lost my joy. Fill me, Papa. Help me to worship You in this dark time. However, trying to drown these thoughts out with praise didn’t always work.

My third cup of sludge in hand, I would then walk with lead feet toward the clinic, murmuring to myself. Is any of this helping? Am I not just wasting my time? These women don’t care. Things will never get better.

Like I said, it was dark.

Then as I would work through the long line of prenatals, I found myself not only gloomy but defeated. These treatments are not working. The women are still coming back week after week with STDs. No one is willing to deliver at the clinic. They don’t want my help, they want the free stuff I hand out.

Sigh.

What is worse is I found myself lecturing them and trying to make them feel bad. Who was this miserable cuss of a person I’d become? I didn’t even want to be around myself.

It was bad.

Oh Lord! What is wrong with me? Help me gain new perspective. Please, open my eyes to see Your marvelous works! Show me Your hope for this nation.

It was a battle. Some days I won out over my dreariness. But other days, I caved to fatigue and frustration. I’m not proud of this; it just is the fact.

“Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.” Psalm 42:11

Hope. I talk about it frequently because it is where I am attacked the most. Why God would let me wonder and waver on this issue is interesting to me. What is it that He desires me to understand? Why does He constantly bring me back to HOPE?

I don’t know yet... but I’m confident it will be good when I do!

Today, a full two weeks later, my weary weeping has passed, and I cling once again to hope. But the battle scars are still a bit raw.

Are all my questions answered? No. Do I know what the future holds? Not exactly. But in the end if hope remains, does it matter?

He is God and I am not. His ways are higher; His plans are good; for He is good. In this I can and do delight.

Thank you for praying for me through this dark time --even if you didn’t know it had come.

Expect more stories soon. I have so many to share. I’m just running low on time to write them! Suffice it to know that the ‘slow season’ has ended; the clinic is now wildly busy again.

Please hold up the staff in prayer, that none of us would grow weary in doing good. Thanks.