Walking Across Tracks and Oceans

I recently read a book (okay, part of a book) that angered me....initially.

The author *seemed* to be accusing me of being afraid of the students I love -and for whom I offer a daily sacrifice...

...because of their skin color?!  

The strength of emotion I felt surprised me.  It breaks my heart when I can't reach my students, when they don't know how much I care about them.  When their parents don't trust me and can't see that we're on the same team.  I love and enjoy each individual.  

I love variety.  One memorable moment I had while traveling a while back, was when I spent the night in this little *intensely* creepy town in Indiana where I could hardly breath for all the suffocating sameness.  I don't think there was a single dark colored hair- let alone skin tone - not even in WalMart!  ...at the next rest stop, I almost kissed the first person of color that I saw.

The author's words also brought out more intense feelings, because I felt that I was being judged outside of relationship.  The stereotypical remarks being made about me and others in my profession cut to the core. 

But then I paused and thought:  If he was making stereotypical remarks...there must be something prominent enough to base that stereotype on.  How truly sad.  

I hold firmly to this belief: 

There is one race, and only one - and it's called "The human race."

I don't see color, I only see wounds - wounds that can only be healed through relationship.  

Edit:  apparently I don't hold too firmly to that belief...because I'm editing the post just 18 hours later.  I do see color.  I LOVE every shade, and I relish a community that can embrace variety with each maintaining his or her cultural identity.  

So, I do see color *and* wounds.  

Many in my profession see the divide but lack the social skills and finesse to bridge the gap.  Myself included.  

Y'all, relationships are messy.  

You've heard it said that possession is 99% of the law.  

I say perception is %99 of reality. 

The only way to improve perception is to get closer to what you are trying to see. 

We have to walk across the room, across the tracks and trample over stereotypes, the fear of rejection, and embrace the awkward to reach out a welcoming hand that says "We're in this together.  We're on the same team."

Another edit: I'm Swedish...a few other nationalities too, but the biggest chunk of me is Swedish.  It is a part of my family's culture.  

I get that part of cultural identity has to do with race.  In that sense race is something to be celebrated.  I don't want to come across as a big racial eraser - we are all God's children, and our Creator has made us beautiful  because of that variety.  Navigating the waters as a shepherd of several races in one classroom is a lot like finding the needle in the haystack of my mixed metaphors.

Beauty for Ashes - The Kenya Post I didn't (don't) want to write.

We left on June 18th.  I did my very best to ignore that it was our wedding anniversary.  We haven't lived as man and wife since November of 2011...and I still miss the old Kip - before alcohol.   I must have cautioned my roommate a few times too many about my snoring because another teammate commented.  "You are really paranoid about your snoring!"

...and the memories came flooding back.  Kip had always been a light sleeper.  but after he started drinking he would go days with no more than a few hours of sleep - which turned out to be particularly dangerous for me.  In the week hours of the morning (more than once), he got fed up with my snoring and placed his pillow over my face and attempt to smother me.  I soon stopped trusting to sleep in our bed and moved to the couch for the remaining months of our time together.

It made sense to me that I might fear rejection from my new roommate because of my snoring.   ...and with that, I could no longer pretend that this trip me putting the past so far in the past that it appeared erased.  I wasn't Becca 3.01, completely renewed without any visible scars.  I am a new creation, because of salvation, but I have been burned and wounded deeply and repeatedly.  It's part of who I am.

Still, I tried to push it down, until a few days later, a brave young lady asked the question 'where is God when bad things happen to good people who are sure they've heard God's calling and everything seems to be ripped away?'

Before I knew it -  the part of me that had resolved to close up and leave all of the vulnerability of my story deep inside a vault, tucked away in dark corner was TACKLED by the Holy Spirit who was so forcefully compelling me to answer from my experience that I didn't have time to protest.

There is a breathtaking beauty found in suffering that you can't know until you risk looking for Jesus in the midst of it.  That beauty is SO moving you can't help but gasp in awe of the Creator who gives us beauty for our ashes.

Fast forward a few days to that time when Pastor Benard told us on a Thursday afternoon that we'd be the main speakers for an all day Christian conference on Saturday (two days later!).  Just like the sage leader from the Lego Movie, there he was, in effect saying "the Special will now give an eloquent speech.  Go ahead man.  You got this."    

I most certainly hadn't prepared to speak to an entire church.  I was going to Kenya to love on the children and their teachers.  I'm no Beth Moore!  I hadn't planned on being pushed to be the lead singer for large groups of children and adults.  I planned on sharing 3 songs.  I practiced those three songs for MONTHS.  My team wanted to sing songs I didn't feel qualified to sing.  My ears were a total mess from the flights.  Filled with fluid...and my heart was filled with a fear of inadequacy.


"Yes, it's true.  I may not be a master builder.  I may not have a lot of experience fighting, or leading, or coming up with plans - or having ideas in general.  In fact, I'm not all that smart; and I'm not what you'd call the creative type.  Plus, generally unskilled. also, scared and cowardly.  I know what you are thinking: He is the least qualified person to lead  us - and you are right!"  ~Emmit from the LEGO movie.

I identified with Emmit.  I could have been Emmit.  I like structure.  I like routine.  I enjoy doing what I'm good at.

Yet this was the message God was nagging me to give that Saturday.  I chose as my topic "Suffering and Idolatry"; and this is how I began my talk:

"My husband was my best friend for 12 years before we married."
(I was grateful for our translator and for the time in between sentences to breathe.)
"During our first 5 years of marriage he protected me." (here is where the sweet memories of our early years together flooded my heart as I waited my turn.

He provided for me.
We prayed together.
We laughed together;
...and we continued to grow closer especially through conflict.
But he lost his job.
His grandfather and best friend died.
He was attacked by an entire hive of bees;
...and he turned 40  - all within the time span of just a couple of weeks.
But instead of waiting to see what God would create out of this pile of ashes.
He chose to drink alcohol.
He chose to numb his pain.

Exodus 32:1New International Version (NIV)

When the people saw that Moses was so long in coming down from the mountain,they gathered around Aaron and said, “Come, make us gods[a] who will go before us. As for this fellow Moses who brought us up out of Egypt, we don’t know what has happened to him.”

Instead of waiting.  Instead of being faithful to the God who had saved them SO MANY times in the past, the people of Israel - God's beloved, wanted to feel good.

They had a party with a gold cow.  (yes...I really said that.  smh)

My husband's future was uncertain.
But he didn't want to wait on God.
He no longer submitted to God's authority.

 (this is where my memory of my talk gets fuzzy...so the following is what I tried to say, even though I'm not certain that it's how it actually came out) 

Judges 17:6New International Version (NIV)

In those days Israel had no king; everyone did as they saw fit.

I also had waiting to do.
When my beloved became too dangerous, I had to leave him.
I had no home to call my own.
I was wounded - physically, and traumatized emotionally.
Kip didn't repent.
He didn't stop drinking - even when SO many offered to help him.
He forgot about how powerful hope is.

I'm SO GRATEFUL that I listened to the friends who surrounded me during this very tough season that lasted years.  I'm so glad I learned about holding onto hope.

I gave into idolatry too.  I wanted the pain of losing my beloved numbed.
No one wants to hurt.  No one asks for suffering.

Paul shares about his suffering here:

2 Corinthians 12 New International Version (NIV) 

8 Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. 9 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. 10 That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

I can tell you without a doubt that God is worth the wait.
He is GOOD.
 He is kind.
He is faithful;
- and He is with you in the middle of whatever you are going through.

I do remember feeling SO strongly convicted and joy filled during the last part of my talk.  I intimately know God as Emmanuel (God is with us) in the middle of very hard times and was excited to testify to that truth.

As I sat down...I was awe struck and relieved.  I had been able to get through it.  The hardest thing I ever faced was over.  The translating Pastor's words to me were both humbling and encouraging as he commented on how beautiful it was that I could say that God is GOOD even though I had suffered.

Another teammate spoke and the time came for us to break up into small groups.  I was surprised to be the only one from my team to be put in a group with the women.  It seemed as though about 70% of the community who attended that day were women, and most of them were widows.

I have completely blocked from my memory the specific questions they asked me.  They were trauma filled questions.  Questions that floored me.  Questions that made me want to run to my childhood bedroom, flop on the bed and weep for days.

These women were looking to me???? for the answers.  I just *thought* I had nothing earlier in the week.

I said to God, "I REALLY got nothing.  I'm empty.  There is nothing that is in me that can meet the needs of these desperate and hurting widows.  I don't have words to say to them.  All I have are ashes."  

I'm so thankful Shannon came in and sat with me.  She had heard their questions.  I stumbled over my words.  Yet, these precious women and I searched God's word for something - anything; and a beauty beyond belief began to grow out of those ashes.  The Holy Spirit had a word for these women, and it was beautiful to be in the awkward middle of it all and yet somehow on the sidelines watching Him (the one who Loves perfectly) speak though His Word.

I had a front row seat - God was the speaker.  His Word truly is alive.

He does give us beauty for our ashes - in every moment.