Finding Yourself in Motherhood

If you're a mom, the title of this post isn't a foreign idea to you. It's no secret that mother's of young children have a difficult time not losing themselves in the daily grind of diaper changes, burp rags, toilet training and laundry loads.

But in the throes of motherhood, how do you keep from losing yourself? How do you remind yourself of the things that make you, YOU?

I remember a significant moment shortly after I had my second child. After Britany was born, I struggled in a way I hadn't yet as a mother. I was the new mother of 2 under 2. I was literally on survival mode. Rather than living to the fullest with my toddler and infant, I was simply doing just what I could to keep everyone alive. I hadn't really told anyone about my private struggle with the demands of my new life. Not even my husband knew how difficult of a time I was having. When I look back on that time, I can describe it as like being in the middle of the ocean treading water...barely able to keep my head above. I guess you could say I had a classic case of post partum depression, although at the time I wouldn't have so logically labeled it. I felt like I was drowning in my own life, and while I was just barely getting by as a mother, I certainly didn't have the time or energy to focus on being anything other than that. One particular day, when our new daughter was probably less than 2 months old, we had a big snowfall in Vermont. My husband went outside to shovel the back deck, and I stayed in with the girls. After about 15 minutes, my husband came in and asked if I'd like to finish the shoveling--if only to get out for a bit. I reluctantly agreed and grabbed my coat and gloves and started shoveling. After I finished the deck, it was almost dusk. There was a gray fog that had settled and snow started falling. Cold, blustery snow. The kind that sticks. The snow kept coming until it you could barely see for 100 feet in front of you. I walked off the deck and into the woods behind our house. And I stood there. In the quiet. With the quiet, calm, cold snow falling around me. All I could hear was the wind and all I could see was snow and trees. I stood there for minutes. Just letting time pass and just being silent. Just being me. Memories flashed of countless snow storms of my childhood. Playing outside in the snow, letting it's clean blanket restore the earth in newness. It was restoring me in those moments. I closed my eyes and let the cold flakes fall and the wind blow and silence sweep over me.

I don't remember the exact details, of course, but I'm sure that as I went back into that house, the crying started, the housework reappeared and the responsibilities of a mother of two small children resumed. But the work those moments had done in my heart remained. A moment to breathe. A chance to reflect. An opportunity to be myself for even a second--without demands, without servitude.

Mothers, I know it's not easy to get away. I know it's not easy to take that time for yourself without feeling guilty or frustrated with your own need for a minute alone. But make that time. Step outside away from the noise and the rush. Don't just sit on the couch for a few minutes and call it good. Actually get outside the four walls of your home. Clear your head. Don't fill it with more chaos and stress from facebook feeds or a dramatic TV show. Get outside. Feel the air. Breathe the air. Get alone, get silent and clear the clutter of your own mind and heart. Pray. Think. Just breathe. Whatever difficulty you are facing as a mom today, it will pass. But it may pass easier if you take a few minutes to let the wind blow your stresses away from you. Even just for a minute.

Every Breath

Every day living can suck the life right out of you sometimes. 

Somewhere in the middle of pouring cereal, sweeping floors and wiping little noses I can forget to be alive... 

My mantra used to be the quote from the Last Samurai , "To know life in every breath". Hmm. That was back before I had kids. Before life was getting up out of bed and being thrown straight into a multi tasking frenzy. You know, back when I actually had a few minutes to sit alone (uninterrupted) and think. 

These past weeks, I've felt that quote being whispered right back into my soul. "To know life...." to KNOW it. Not to just exist it. To KNOW it. To understand it. To experience it. To LIVE it. "...in every breath." Not just in moments or isolated instances... but in EVERY SINGLE BREATH. What would that be like? Like a free fall from an airplane? Like running through the tall grass, barefoot with the sun on my face? Like riding my horse as a little girl, wind blowing through my hair and powerful hoofbeats carrying me anywhere? Like that moment when I pushed each of my three babies into this world, screaming and strong with power and LIFE... beautiful LIFE beginning--emerging from me? What would it be like if I lived each moment in the spirit of those FULLY ALIVE moments? 

"Without vision the people perish." (Proverbs 29:18)

Without a vision... without a reason for life... without a purpose... I perish. I falter. I lose my way. I lose hope. 

I've been reminded that I need to re-cast vision. I was really good at vision years ago. Before the kids. Before the laundry. Before the cooking and the cleaning and the tantrums and the stretch marks. I was full of motivation. Full of hope. Full of LIFE. 

What parts of me have I simply let die? 

Without vision, [I] perish. 

My husband and I are reading the New Testament together. We are reading it out loud to one another and its words are saturating my soul. When my husband reads especially, I am opening my pores to it and allowing him to wash me with the Word, as he should. I am allowing the God breathed words to breathe life back into my spirit. I am opening my mind and my heart to new VISIONS.

I remember standing in the sanctuary at our church in Vermont. I was broken, empty and lost. We had just gotten back from the mission field, defeated and (failed).  I felt so shallow. I felt laid out on the cold earth needing something from God. I needed Him to speak to me. I needed Him to shape me and tell me that I was still useful. I felt sure I wasn't. Our pastor's wife stood up on the stage and she spoke in clear strong terms. I closed my eyes and I felt goose bumps. I was about to hear. I can still remember her words clear as a bell. I hear her inflection, her tone, and her strength as she spoke them. "There are dreams that you have lost that WILL be returned to you." I crumpled. When we left the mission field, I felt like all my vision and all my dreaming was wrong. I felt like nothing I'd believed about my purpose was real. I felt I'd been dumped by God. I felt useless, worthless and less than. And in that one sentence, I felt God say, "I still have dreams for you." 

Don't ever lose your vision. Chase it. Redeem it. LIVE it.

Remembering Gran

"My beloved Goldie" I could almost hear her gentle accented voice speaking the words as I read them. Her thick black pen had formed the letters in her distinctive script. She called me her "Golden Girl", her "Goldie". She made me feel treasured, adored and special.

I only saw my granny a handful of times. She lived in South Africa. A world away. Even though my time with her was scattered and brief, the closeness I felt to her was unexpected and unparalleled. She never let our distance stop her from being my gran. She wrote pages and pages of letters. She poured her heart out to me and chatted with me as if we were sitting face to face over a steamy cup of rooibos. She told  me stories of living in South Africa under apartheid and post-apartheid. She told me tales about her romances and adventures--all big screen worthy storylines. Every time her letters came in the mail, I'd sit in a corner and pore over them alone at first, and then we'd share them as a family. We'd sit and we'd read them, all entertained by her heartfelt words and her interesting news. She'd call us each out by name in her letters--made us all feel special.

Those few times I was with her, (twice here in America and twice in South Africa) I felt destined for greatness. She spoke life into me. She told me I was "a beauty" and she called me her "irrepressible cork" that couldn't be weighted down by anything. She told me which family members I bore traits of and reminded me that I wasn't alone. She taught me about the fact that blood is thicker than water--even the waters of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans between us. She, along with my mother instilled a love for South Africa in us. An unfamiliar country but the country of our heritage. A country who many people here in America know only for apartheid's cruel stories, AIDs statistics and Mandela's heroism. But a country that is so, so much more. A country that is home: people, faces, communities, hearts, beloved nannies, strong roots, rich history and family. My family.

She was foremost a woman of faith.

"After 83 years I've finally surrendered ALL TO JESUS. I'm throwing out all my memories--some wonderful, some horrid--and living just for the moment. God is at the helm. Finally I've died to I! What a relief to know I am now accountable only to my Lord."  

My Granny died two days ago, February 16. She was at my aunt's home in Botswana and died surrounded by those that loved her. She is now with the Lord she surrendered her everything to. She is dancing with Jesus having far greater adventures than she ever could've dreamed for herself.

My heart is full of memories of my Granny and there is only so much that I can say that will relate to you. But, at this time I'm happy with quiet rememberings. I want to close with a passage from a children's book my Gran gave us as kids. "Dear Mili" the book is called.

"I'm sure you have gone walking in the woods or in green meadows and passed a clear flowing brook. And you've tossed a flower into the brook, a red one, a blue one, or a snow white one. It drifted away, and you followed it with your eyes as far as you could. And it went quietly away with the little waves, farther and farther, all day long and all night too, by the light of the moon or the stars. It didn't need much light, for it knew the way and didn't get lost. When it had traveled for three days without stopping to rest, another flower came along on another brook. A child, like you, but far far away from here, had tossed it into a brook. at the same time. The two flowers kissed, and went their way together and stayed together until they both sank to the bottom. You have also seen a little bird flying away over the mountain in the evening. Perhaps you thought it was going to bed; not at all, another little bird was flying over the mountains, and when all was dark on the earth the two of them met in the last ray of sunshine. The sun shone bright on their feathers, and as they flew back and forth in the light they told each other many things that we on earth below could not hear. You see, the brooks and the flowers and the birds come together, but people do not; great mountains and rivers, forests and meadows, cities and villages lie in between, they have their set places and cannot be moved, and humans cannot fly. But one human heart goes out to another, undeterred by what lies between. Thus does my heart go out to you and though eyes have not seen you yet, my heart loves you and thinks it is sitting beside you."

"Anyways my lovely one, I wish you could fly in and play casino with me and I also do love scrabble.... Lovingly, Gran"

Unashamed.

"Are they BOTH yours?" The host at Applebee's fairly cringed when I walked in the door with my one year old on my hip and my 2 year old in tow. My coat slipped open as I bent over to wipe my daughter's nose.
"OH MY GOD!" He exclaimed. "You're PREGNANT!"
"Yup." I responded, really just wanting him to do his job and take me to a table rather than gawking over my reproductive choices.
"Well, you've been busy" He turned on his heel and led us to a table in the back-- furthest from any other customers. I sighed in relief when he walked away, settling into my booth and getting my children situated in the booster seat and high chair provided.
"Hey I'm Nick. I'll be your server today." I look up and see the same host who brought us to our table. Great. He's going to be my waiter. Well, maybe he's gotten all his gawking out of the way and now he'll just take my order and get on with it.
"So you look awfully young to have so many kids. How old are you anyway?" No such luck. Uh oh. He's not done.
"I'm 22."
"WHOA! You ARE young! That is just crazy. So, I mean, why?" Why? Really? Does he really want to get personal? Should I launch into a 10 minute explanation of the fact that I'm super fertile and seem to fall pregnant as easily as I blink my eyelids? Should I tell him how most women stop ovulating while they're breastfeeding but my body continues to have a cycle, meaning that I become fertile again very shortly after delivering my babies? Should I tell him that I'm not all that comfortable with hormonal forms of birth control and that in my research I've found that the ways in which it prevents pregnancy are questionable at best and contradict my views on life and its very value? Should I just laugh him off and tell him I like sex? Should I get angry with him and just tell the kid to mind his own business and serve me my lunch? Should I call security? 


I'm ashamed to say I didn't have a good answer for him. To be honest, he caught me off guard. I gave him some ridiculous answer about wanting to have my kids close together so they'd grow up close. True, but not the best thing I could have said, I'm sure. I think anyway he got the message that I wasn't interested in talking about it. And other than a few smart comments throughout the meal about how messy my kids were, he mainly shut up.

But he got me thinking.

So, why?

Why am I due to have 3 kids under 3 just after my 23rd birthday?

All those reasons I thought up in my head certainly have something to do with it. But are any of them really the underscore? Do any of them truly define the reason my family is growing as rapidly as it is? No. I don't suppose they do. None of those reasons offer enough conviction and motivation to choose and continue a radical life style.

At the end of the day, whenever my husband and I discuss the size of our family, or the speed at which we are adding to it, there is one thing and one thing only that comes out of both our mouths.

"Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord. The fruit of the womb is a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth. Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them; they shall not be ashamed..." -Psalm 127:3-5

I don't know how many children we will have. I don't know what God will show us over the coming months and years in regards to our family. But what I do know unwaveringly, is this: 

Children are NOT merely an inconvenience.

Children are NOT an unnecessary expense.

Children are NOT a curse.

Children are NOT an accident.

God is clear on this point. Children ARE a blessing. A REWARD. An inheritance. Who doesn't want all those things? 

My life is messy. My home is messier. My eyes are heavy. My back aches. I don't have it all figured out. I might look like a walking poster ad for birth control. I might be the image that causes people to shudder because they think my life looks so rough. I might be pitied by people for the tolls that pregnancy and child rearing have taken on my body and my time. I might be the example held up of why others want to wait to conceive, or why they want to space their children.

Why did people hug me, jump up and down with joy and slap my husband on the back when we got pregnant with our first.... but then look at us with apologetic eyes when we announced both our second and third pregnancies?

I even question this life so many times a day. If you read my last post, you know that loss of self is one of the hardest things for me about motherhood. I struggle. I falter. 

But in the eyes of the Lord? The only perspective that will ever truly matter? I know what I am because it is spelled out plainly in my Creator's words in Psalm 127:3-5. This is my credo. My hope. My motivation.

I am: 

BLESSED. 

REWARDED.

HAPPY.

UNASHAMED.

Finding the Myself I Lost

You could say I've always been a little wild. Passionate. Excitable. I have this image of myself in the truest form, and it involves a little girl with crazy blond hair riding her horse a little too fast. She cares nothing of dirty hands, a dirty face or mussed up hair. She cares only about that moment--that fleeting moment of freedom and unpredictability. 

As a young girl, I lived for the time of day when I could put away my schoolbooks, change in to my favorite torn pair of jeans and my worn green sweatshirt, jam my hair into a pony tail and fly out the back door. We lived in this little cape on the top of a hill, surrounded by miles of woods that begged for exploration. I would spend hours out there, completely released. Sometimes I would lose myself in make believe. Other times I would lay on the gnarled branches of the apple trees looking up at the sky and dreaming about my own life--who I would become. 

As time went on, I lost so much of that girl. I'd like to say she's still alive and well inside my being, and in some ways I suppose she is. But in so many ways, I've forgotten how to feel pure joy simply by letting the wind course through my hair. I've forgotten how to dance wildly and run freely. I've lost the art of day dreaming and wild flower picking. And even as I read back through this blog of mine, I realize that I've lost my love of writing, somewhere in the daily grind of it all. 

That little girl grew up so quickly. At eighteen I became a wife and responsibility took over carefree spontaneity. Becoming pregnant at nineteen meant that the maturity of motherhood must take the helm rather than the reckless desire to chase the sunset. 

I suppose the last traces of that little girl longed to be revived when we found ourselves bound for South Africa. One of my day dreams in that orchard not so many years before had been going to distant lands, carrying the wild hope of the Gospel with radical love and barefoot obedience. But when reality fizzled even that final dream, I found myself floundering. Who was I, if not that fancy free little blond girl? Who was I if not the wild, unpredictable free spirit than everyone knew me to be? I now found myself, a tired and weary brunette mother of two. Hardly an evidence of what was, remained.

I used to feel so deeply. I used to love so passionately. I used to dream so limitlessly. 

I want to find myself again. 

It sounds so cliche to say that as mothers we often lose ourselves, but this morning as I sit here thinking over days gone by, I realize that it's begun. 

But I am resolved. It is not without reversal. 

I see so much of that wild little girl every time I look at Peyton. She is vivacious, passionate, joyful, energetic, strong...she is everything I was. Even down to the wild blond hair and light filled blue eyes. Little Britany is sweetness, pure sensitivity and love. She is gentleness, but she is also strength. My daughters each reflect what I hope to be. Peyton reminds me to let loose, to dance, to run. Britany makes me long for the gentle and quiet spirit that is so precious to God. (I Pet. 3:4)

Through my children, God will restore to me what has been lost. What life has threatened to strip from me--my very being--God will restore and reshape. He will return unto me the joy of my salvation. He will renew a right spirit within me. 

I have to find that little girl again. I need her to help me teach my daughters to day dream. I need her to remind me how to run barefoot and dig in the dirt. I need her to help me teach my children to climb trees and go fishing. I need her to help me show them how to wade in the water, how to catch fireflies, and how to run with the wind in your hair. I need her to help me dream again. To lose resignation and rekindle passion. I'm ready to live fully again. To chase life with fervor. To forget about the things which really never mattered all that much, and remember what it is to breathe life in my lungs. I will remember.

What To Do With Fear

"Be strong and courageous....with us is the LORD our God to help us and to fight our battles." 

-2 Chronicles 32:7b

I've struggled with fear for quite a few years now. It's funny, because when I was a teenager, fear wasn't really something that I identified myself with. In fact, I really enjoyed taking risks. My best friend and I had a notebook full of all the crazy things we wanted to do before we graduated. Things like take a late night walk across the highest train bridge in our area. Drive her car as fast as it could go... In fact, maybe it was my car accident that first made me realize I wasn't invincible... and allowed fear to grab hold. I remember being surprised by my own fear when Bryan and I were first married. We went cliff jumping up in Lake Superior. I had never hesitated to jump off cliffs even higher than the one we were on, but for some reason I found myself gripped with fear. I jumped anyway... but I just didn't enjoy it the way that I used to.

Sometime in college, I remember my fear sort of settling on one specific thing... death. Suddenly I couldn't go to sleep at night without fears of dying myself, or of the ones I loved dying. It became such a strong oppressive force over me. No matter how much I reminded myself that as a Christian, I know death has NO victory. NO sting... I still couldn't shake that frightened feeling.

I would pray over it, usually receive some relief and fall asleep. But each night the fear would return. I went on like this for many years. One night in South Africa, we heard a loud crash and then our security alarm system went off. It was about 2 in the morning when our alarm siren started. We jolted up in bed and checked the control panel. It was showing movement in our downstairs passage. Fear gripped me as Bryan told me to grab Peyton and duck behind the bed. We waited as the movement lights continued to flash and the siren continued to sound. We waited for the local guards to arrive. I remember crouching there, realizing that at any second someone could come through that door and could take our lives. I remember praying and crying out to God with my baby in my arms, unsure of whether or not these would be my last moments. I've never felt so paralyzed. Bryan barricaded the door and grabbed a lamp. We'd been told so many stories of crime happening in our area, so we knew our fears were far from unfounded. Finally after what seemed like forever, the guards showed up. It turned out that our TV had fallen off the table and caused the alarm system to sound. We were flooded with relief... but as I went to sleep that night, I couldn't help but think that it could've been so much more than just a fluke.

After I had Britany I remember my fear once again taking hold. I lay in bed each night for weeks, paralyzed by my fears.

One morning, on the way to church I told Bryan that I needed freedom from this fear. I felt that if I didn't get freedom soon, the fear would crush me. I had prayed and prayed, but somehow fear still seemed to always creep back in. That same morning at church I asked God for freedom during the worship service. The sermon was good, but I couldn't remain focused. After the message, we stood for the final worship song. My pastor took the mic, and prayed a closing prayer. After he said "amen", he paused as if thinking deeply. Suddenly he looked back out into the congregation and asked the ministry team to come up to be available for prayer. Then he spoke into the mic: 

"Someone here struggles with fear." 

I froze. He seemed to be looking at me. (I'd like to add that I've never met my pastor before. We've only been going to this church a few months, and I've never actually had a conversation with him) 

Again he spoke: 

"...specifically the fear of death. You can't even sleep at night you are so gripped with this fear. You lay awake at night paralyzed. But God doesn't want you to be fearful anymore. God wants to give you freedom." 

Without saying a word, Bryan took Britany from my arms. Tears streamed down my face as I was overwhelmed with the mercy of God and His great love for me. I practically ran to the front of the sanctuary. I reached out to a woman on the ministry team and could barely speak. I was able to say, "That's me. He's talking about me" but really nothing more. The sweet woman called over another woman and the two of them prayed over me. I was so shaken, in a good way. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil." 

Now, when I am faced with fear, I am reminded of the great love and mercy of a God who reached out to me. He doesn't want me to fear. He spoke to my pastor that morning because He wanted me to know that He cares. He doesn't want me to live my life in fear--rather He desires that I might be free.

"Sometimes faith is the absence of fear. Other times faith may be choosing to believe God even when your heart is melting with fear. Perhaps, then, faith is tested by what we do with fear--not by whether or not we have it." (Beth Moore, Breaking Free Study)

Facing the Facts of Failure

We all have things in our lives that we need to process. For me, as of late, that thing is South Africa. It’s no secret to you, as my blog readers, that I’ve struggled with feelings of failure centered around our experience as missionaries there. 

Recently, my wonderful brother coaxed me to think through my feelings by answering some interview style questions he’d written up for me: 

“If this is overwhelming to you, I totally understand.  But it seems like you want to process this, and get it off your chest.  I read a quote this morning I think applies to this:   

If you genuinely have something to say, then there's someone out there who genuinely needs to hear it.-- Arnold Patent 

And I think I maybe you have needed to say this.  And I have wanted to hear it for a long time.” -Colin

What exactly is the dream you had for your life?  How did you picture it?  How did you picture it bringing you joy?

Ever since I was young, I dreamed of being a missionary. I suppose you could say that I idealized that label extensively, but at the end of the day my heart and motives were true. I honestly desired to love the “unlovable” and to share the light of Christ with those whose lives demanded hope. I knew that I was fortunate to have been born in America, and a trip to the third world when I was 11 ignited a restlessness in my young heart. I knew that I could not live my life the same way—not now that I knew how my fellow human beings lived. I had to do something for them, when I had been given so much and they had been given so little.

I always pictured my missionary experience as a life long “career” and I even romanticized the notion of going it alone… just myself, my message and the people I was sent to. I honestly believed that there could be no greater joy than living wild and free, attacking life by facing odds that would cause most Americans to squirm in their seats. My iconic picture of missionary life was a hammock and a hut, running barefoot, digging wells and building bridges. To my eleven year old dreaming heart, nothing sounded more thrilling. But as I matured, I suppose the dream did as well. I realized that I could still have impact on this world as a married woman—and in fact perhaps my impact could actually double in that role. (I also realized that a hut and hammock are not actually commonplace for twenty-first century missionaries.) I had always dreamed of going somewhere remote. Papua New Guinea was the country I’d dreamed of most. But I still remember the night that my eyes fell to South Africa on the map. I’d never considered it before. It was too close to home, you could say. (My mom is a South African) 

Design I created for a classSotu project on South Africa

 But when I did a class project in college on the AIDs crisis and post-apartheid economic shift in South Africa, I found myself wondering how I could not turn my sights toward this country whose own blood runs in my veins. In an instant, I knew, that was where I was to go. All my dreaming, and all my hoping to help change the world would one day take me there.

What did if feel like for you in the months leading up to going to Africa, the months leading up to living out your dream?

I felt excitement. But I also felt uncertainty. It’s one thing to “wish upon a star”—to dream and hope and wonder. But to plan…to buy tickets, to secure housing, to exchange currency…those are the things that quicken your heart. I remember standing in our garage, marking all of our belongings with price tags as we prepared to sell the majority of what we owned. I wondered where this would all lead. What were we thinking? I questioned as I watched people pick through our things, selecting their purchases from our possessions. But every time I wrestled with doubt, I remembered the words from Hebrews chapter 10:  “So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what He has promised. For, in just a little while, he who is coming will come and will not delay…but my righteous one will live by faith. And I take no pleasure in the one who shrinks back. But we do not belong to those who shrink back and are destroyed, but to those who faith and are saved.” How could I question this calling when those verses rang in my ears? How could I shrink back in fear when faced with the opportunity I had dreamed of my entire life? So I moved forward, with my trembling excitement.

During this lead up time, were there any warning signs that you disregarded, any hints that you might run into obstacles later on?  If so, what were they?

To be honest, just answering this questions makes me want to hang my head in shame—because yes, yes there were. We had only raised about 50% of our budget about a month before we were scheduled to leave. I was pregnant which we knew would only increase our costs, and we had already cut out every “extra” expense we could possibly dream of. Our whole life savings was included in that amount, and we had exhausted our list of potential supporters. We were skyping with our team mates, Andy & Leigh one night when Andy made a statement that still rings in my ears to this day: “We would rather you come join us later in South Africa and stay with us for the long haul, than come with us immediately and have to leave after only a few months because of funding.” How uncanny to rehash that moment and realize that Andy spoke out an exact prediction of the future. We knew that we were under-funded. But we also knew we could get by on the money we had—as long as we didn’t lose any supporters. In fact, we thought if anything, we would surely gain supporters once we reached the field. Well, the opposite was true. We lost supporters, expenses rose, and the rest is history. Three months after landing, we were forced to leave because we couldn’t afford to stay.

When you were in Africa, were there moments when you started to realize it wasn't going to last?  How did you react to those moments?

No, there weren’t. We were honestly blindsided. One month, our report came in from our agency saying we had more than broken even, and the next month was barely enough to survive on. Couple that with the fact that an expense report had come from the local hospital listing how much it would cost to have our baby that was due in only 3 months and we had a very large problem on our hands—one that we only could see resolving by leaving the field.

You used the word "failure."  Do you remember when this adventure cut short first started to feel like failure for you?

To be honest, it was the night we broke the news to our team mates. Up until that moment I felt more like we were making the responsible move for our little family. But when I saw the disappointment, pain and hurt on the faces of our team, I felt as though I had let them down. It was only worsened by the fact that they weren’t just team mates—they’re family. After that moment, I couldn’t shake the feeling of failure. Of embarrassment for screwing up. And I couldn’t pray without asking God, “why?” why would He lead us this far, only to let it all come tumbling down so quickly that it would seem it never even was. I remember driving along the roads in South Africa and wondering what had happened there. It was as if our lives there had been lived in the blink of an eye—in the span of a breath. We had landed there only months earlier, honestly believing we wouldn’t be leaving for a very long time.. yet here we were… all our promises proved empty and all our plans disintegrated.

If you knew then what you know now, what things would you have done differently?

I would have been patient. I would have waited for the rest of the money to come in before we left.

You talk about never picturing your dream coming true and then ending in failure.  What is it like to live the part after that?  After the dream?

I can’t even read that question without crying. To be honest, it’s frustrating. My whole life became about becoming a missionary… and now here I am at 22 years old, with that dream already behind me. Everyone who knew me knew that was what I wanted—to go to the ends of the earth and be a missionary. But now, it’s just this blip on the radar of my life. The most radical change I have ever been through sounds to a stranger nothing more than a brief vacation. I can’t help but wonder what now. When all my energy, passion and vision had gone into this one thing—this one thing that is now over—I often wonder what I have left. I know that I am not rendered useless in the wake of all of this. I know that this too shall pass and that vision will return to my soul. But I cannot help but grieve the loss of not only my dream, but also a part of myself. When one purpose drives you for over a decade, and then that purpose simply disappears in a matter of days, you can’t help but be staggered by it.  

What is your life like now?  

My life now is about picking up the pieces. It’s about re-claiming lost time. It’s about re-discovering myself, and re-acquainting myself with my own heart. It’s about stepping back in time and asking that 11 year old girl what it was that opened her eyes and broke her heart in the first place. Because there, buried in the moment where my vision was conceived is the place where I will find the true dream—the one I didn’t see at first. You see, my circumstances may have changed, but I have not. I am still the dreamer—and the dreamer is never ruled by her dreams—not once she wakes up. I’m still the same girl, only now I’m older, wiser and fully awake.

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