One of Them

The people who help you up
And the people who hug you till your tears are dry
Are the people who feel you -
The people who burned with you when the match was struck;

People who are burned already.

The truth is that ache is unavoidable,
But ache is what gives us power.
When you’ve fallen, you haven’t lost;
Not nearly as much as you’ve gained.
Those who fall are those who will fall over and over again
Everyday with their friends who suffer beside them.

Yes – everyday. Every friend who feels the repercussions of divorce,
Every soul that wastes away slowly under the increasing pressure of depression,
Every child who’s been left without a mother,
Every mother left without her child,
Everyday and everyone.

The tears of an angel harvested
By the man who promised her the stars,
The sweat of a child, terrified
Of the sound beating he knows is coming,
The sleepless weeks of a mother
Who misses the son she lost to tragedy,
The dark circles on a good heart
Whose hands are tied as they watch their house fall.

You know them all -
And all of them personally.
You know their ache and the sound of their breath
When it hitches, even though they’re too tired to cry.
You remember and you feel it -
Like the slit never healed,
Like the devil never left,
Like the shadows never fled,
Like the coffin never closed,
Like the bruise never changed,
Like words are still ringing,
Like the blow is still stinging,
Like the orphan is still waiting,
And the gates are still locked shut.

But every time you fall with them
(And fall with them again and again),
You remember;
Cuts do close!
The devil grows tired.
The sun chases the darkness over the far, far horizon.
You can silence the words.
There are good people in the world
Who will come and save us from abandonment ,
Who come and lift us from tragedy,
Who can feel with us and breathe with us and pray with us
Until the locks fall and the gates crumble -
And you remember,
You are one of them now.

Missionary support

Days have passed in tiresome work. It's just one of those days when I go from one thing to the other, and in the end I feel like I'm in a fog - everything I got done is really nothing, because my brain is swimming together like a puddle of consciousness whispering 'stoooooooooop, you are neglecting meeeee'. I have successfully ignored both sides of the brain; I have excercized no logic whatsoever and done nothing artistic since the moment I woke up.  I've just gone back and forth between computer and chore, computer and chore ... Pinterest, laundry. Again and again. It rocks, but I don't really feel anymore accomplished or happy at the end of the day.
I'm preparing mexican food. My mom cooked the meat, spiced it, and got out the tortillas, which we use sparinngly (we treasure our burritoes, since tortillas are incedibly hard to find in Africa). The rest of the work is for me. Tomatoes, onions, lettuce, cheese. I'm standing in the kitchen, getting lost once again in thought.


BAM!!!


I get hit by a wave of horrible music.


Coming from the livingroom. I stop shredding the cheese and cock my head. After a while of listening, I recognize the music. My mouth turns into a grin.


It's the da Silvas.


Aah, my old friends. The music is so sudden and silly, it's like they are here with me. This family lives in the United States, about the area where my family is from. We've been old friends with them. I met the two pretty sisters through ballet class (ages ago), then when my brother discovered all of their brothers, I guess our two families had to meet. So we've known each other for years. They've supported us through the move to Africa, the transitions, everything.


So they made a video for us. This was about three years ago, and all six crazy kids helped make it. I haven't watched that video for *phh*, I don't know how long.


And one of my siblings just put it in the DVD player. A wave of memories comes over me. I can't even see the screen from where I'm standing. It's just the horrible music SOMEONE was playing during recording. I start laughing.

The foggy feeling that I've experienced through the whole day is dispersing. For a few minutes, I remember the goofy person I was at the age of twelve, the crazy dreams I shared with my friends, and the inside jokes that will never wear out. The 'da Graham's as we were called.


All of this brings back a clear mind, a happy face, and a little more energy.


If I may say so, a lot of missionaries (new or not), struggle emotionally if they are unable to bring their own world - the American culture, comforts they grew up with, old friends - into contact with the culture they are presently living in.


This could mean living so deeply in the present that one forgets where they  have come from. Or maybe the people from their first culture simply cannot understand the trials or experiences of the new culture they are living in. Some, during the first few months, shut out the newer culture to dwell on the past (*aghem* made much easier through facebook). All of these prevent transitioning or comfort in the lives of missionaries.


I guess this is a way overdue thank you to my old friends. :) Their rediculous jokes, acting, and music-playing brought a new light to my day. This is also an encouragement to any readers with missionary friends. It might seem like no big deal to write a letter, send a little gift, type up an email or tag them in some silly old picture. But those things matter, and simply asking the question, 'how is the ministry going?' can bring a new life to their ministry that nothing else could.


If you ever choose to make a twenty-minute movie about the missionary family you miss, go all out. For all you know, three years later, you'll bring some laughter into their long, weary day.