As I turned awkwardly, waiting for someone to make eye contact and extend their hand in greeting, I felt my eyes well with tears. This didn’t feel like home. Finally, a young woman across the aisle came over and started to extend her hand for a comfortable American handshake, and then switched halfway through to a Bolivian hug. She said hello, but we didn't really say anything else. I knew her name and that she had just gotten married, she knew my name and knew that I was here volunteering in an orphanage, nothing more.
I have been here five months, why did I still feel like such a stranger? No one knows me, notices if I attend church, knows that I miss my family, that I love coffee and how much I would love to be able to be learning Russian in my weekly language classes. No one knows how much I long to get married and have children of my own. They don’t know my passion for music, reading, writing, and history. They don’t know anything about me, except that I must come across shy and immature. No one knows how old I am, that my favorite flavor of ice cream is boring vanilla, that I have ten siblings, that I adore my family, and that my best friend is my mom.
How could they know? They’ve never tried to get to know me, granted, I’ve never tried to get to know them. I have it in my mind to survive in this church for the next seven months until I can go home to my beloved family and to my church. I’ve told myself so many times over the past five months, especially in church, “Only a little while longer.” I know that God is sufficient, if He wasn’t I would have given up a long time ago. In the past five months, Sundays have been a day to remind me that I’m on my own. Sitting by myself in a row of plastic chairs. I often imagine my family worshipping in the States, feeling my little siblings next to me, seeing my mom’s smile of recognition when we start to sing a song that both of us love, being able to recognize whose baby is crying, to know the people that the pastor is praying for, and to spot the visitors because I know almost everyone else.
Part of me says that I should become involved in the church here, that’s what I would do if I was in the States. Frankly, I’m scared. I don’t have anyone to go with. If I go to Bible studies or prayer meeting it will be after dark and I’ll have to walk alone (which is scary and highly inadvisable.) I don’t speak Spanish well enough, or comfortably enough, to participate, I could listen I suppose, but I could also just read my Bible at home. I don’t know what language children’s church is taught in, but I assume Spanish and I can’t do that. Plus, I’ve worked all week and I want to sing songs, listen to a sermon and leave as quickly as possible. Then I wonder if I am just justifying my laziness in participation.
I’m not a part of the church. I’m just attending until I go home. I’m not saying that is the right attitude, it’s not… But I don’t know what to do with it, my justifications feel very legitimate, perhaps it’s simply my mindset that needs to change, maybe my actions can remain the same for safety reasons (such as traveling unaccompanied at night) but my thoughts need to be less self-focused?
I do believe that God has me here for a reason, I don’t know what that reason is, but I have to believe that it is true. He brought this opportunity out of seemingly nowhere, in a way, bringing my childhood dream true. Does He have a reason for me being in the church that I am in as well? Or can I just glide through the rest of my year here, going to church, singing, and walking away as quickly as possible afterward? I feel like a stranger there and five months hasn’t changed that. Maybe that’s okay, there are plenty of good people there it seems, they don’t need me. I came to work in the baby house, and that’s what I’m doing. I don’t want to do more, I am counting the days until I come home, and the idea of having to force myself into a new situation again kind of terrifies me.
I was doing so well the past couple of months, I always figured that my bursts of sadness were just missing my family. After having my mom and sister here I realized that I am lonely. My family isn’t just my family. They are my closest friends, I did everything with them, and I never had to wonder if I should shake hands or hug, and a hug never had to end and was always readily available, unless it was from Elijah or Levi… They aren’t so big on the hugging thing...
My mom and I could talk for hours about anything and everything. My sisters and I would laugh and sing, it was comfortable and, though not without the usual problems of ten sinners living in one house, it was easy.
I don’t have that here. I question how long I should stay at someone’s house before I have worn out my welcome, I don’t have a shoulder to cry on because I don’t want to seem like I was a burden or a deadweight. I don’t feel like anyone really knows me. I have a friend that I do a lot with, but it’s not the same as with my mom or dad. I’ve always been good at hiding my tears, questions, worries, fears, doubts, even to some extent- my dreams from my friends, it’s not really bothered me too much because I’ve always had my mom. In some ways, not having the luxury of unlimited access to my mom (doing chores or running errands together so that we could talk) has caused me to draw closer to God, which has been so good, I needed to be pushed closer to Him because in any relationship He must be first. So I am glad for that, but I also have been longing for the sweet fellowship of being known and loved completely and unconditionally by a human. I was journaling about this the other night and realized that God has loved me and known me completely, He holds the entire world in His hands, including me… I am praying again for contentment, God must be my all, but I think that it is okay to miss the relationships at home as well just so long as that is not all-consuming and taking me away from my time here.
The ache though… I don’t always know what to do with it. It hits me at random times, it helps if I have a little one in my lap or a three-year-old boy yanking my head as he tries to figure out how to brush his tía’s hair, but even with those little comforts and chubby cheeks and hands that are always welcoming hugs and kisses, seven months can seem like an eternity. The tears well up and sometimes the other tías can see that I don’t look so well. They ask if I’m okay, I tell them yes. They know I miss home but I can’t explain it well in Spanish and if I try the tears will begin to flow.
It hurts. I want to be held, to be able to cry and not be alone. God is teaching me to lean on Him and to be held by Him. I have been fine before, albeit missing home just not quite so fiercely in recent months, and I can be fine again.
Psalm 18:1-3
“I love you O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised, and I am saved from my enemies.”
Philippians 4:19
“And my God will supply every need of yours according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.”
Hebrews 11:13-16
“These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared for them a city.”
In heaven, we will be perfectly united with Christ and His church and we will live in harmony, worshipping together in spirit and in truth. Truly, I have nothing to complain about, my trials are minimal compared to so many. God has ordained this time for my sanctification and for His glory, and in His heavenly realm, there will be no more tears or mourning. This life is fleeting and though it can feel so real and lasting, it’s not, and neither is sorrow, it will not last forever but how we handle it and the relationship with God that can be built in the midst of sorrow will be eternal.
Psalm 17:15
“As for me, I shall behold your face in righteousness, when I awake, I shall be satisfied with your likeness.”
Now you know how you can pray for me, that these truths would become a part of me, and that I would know with all of my being that God IS enough.
In Christ,
Susannah