Controlled Burnout

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” (Ecclesiastes 3:11)

Always working, never resting—mile after mile after unending mile. Churning striving blind circles no progress back to square one EMPTY. Shins bones and ankle bones splinter delicately and vibrate their jagged way wider with every stressful step and gasping breath. All mental and emotional faculty poured out, again and again, into one class—one project—one person—over and over only to gaze on—glare at—the result with unholy dissatisfaction. And I would shy away from locking eyes with the utter, desolate depth of my disappointment.

“Night and day, whether [the sower] sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how.” (Mark 4:27)

So much effort wasted and no understanding gained; once again, I had failed to find my Savior even when I did win another person’s approval—a spiraling cycle I reworked downward and repeated by devoting my life to pursuing completeness by achievement and wholeness by intimacy. I never ended up with what I so desperately sought. Repeat. Never reaping good fruit of  my ever-anxious labor. Repeat.

“So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The man who plants and the man who waters have one purpose, and each will be rewarded according to his own labor.” (1 Corinthians 3:7-8)

My mid-week crisis after the second full day of teaching was due in part to physical exhaustion, lack of sleep, lack of quiet times and emotional overload—and in part, a silent tantrum at God. My will—connecting with the children—was directly interfering with His purpose for me that week—to contribute to His overall plan by sparing the kids from internally combusting, which mandated getting their little bodies to run as much as possible and, thus, my teaching Phys. Ed.

“In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.” (Proverbs 16:9)

Source: World Harvest Mission

I was again confronted by a God of an infinitely stronger will and was again rebelling. I was again grasping for control of outcomes and asserting my puny demands as I have all my life, only to reap the reward of a familiar turmoil seething in my soul—something neither He nor I wanted. I was again faced by that awful realization—both humbling and, upon acceptance, soothing—that I am sinful and limited, that I am not God, but that He is good, sovereign and in control. I was again made to surrender to Him, to submit to the path He had laid out.

“Now the body is not made up of one part but of many… But in fact God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be... The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I don’t need you!’ And the head cannot say to the feet, ‘I don’t need you!’ On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable.” (1 Corinthians 12:14, 18, 21-22, emphasis added)

I didn’t want to play a supporting role—which was news to me, since I’ve never loved the limelight. With the wisdom of hindsight and what the Spirit has directly imparted to me, however, I’ve since realized that I’m quite happy with a supporting role, that I probably would have been even more totally overwhelmed seeking connections than I already was, that I merely wanted control, and that God knows me much better than I know myself. What a silly little creature I am.

“I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that men will revere him.” (Ecclesiastes 3:14)



True Grit

“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.” (1 Corinthians 9:24)

(I tend to allude to cultural phenomena—especially films—that I have never experienced firsthand. The title of this post is no different...)

Easy breaths, blink back sweat, kick out legs—left, right, left—in smooth, loping strides. Mile after straightforward mile, until ten or twelve have trotted underfoot and I’ve had my day in the park.

I recently was forced to undertake the uncomfortable task of describing my special gifts for an application. Coordination and what boils down to sheer endurance are what I’ve been given, along with some proficiency in math and writing. But there certain gifts—like speaking other languages and playing worship music, as the question so helpfully suggested—that are more obviously contributable to furthering God’s kingdom. Since my skills in piano and Spanish are something less than fluent, my struggle has been about what to do with the gifts I do have. What prize was I after? If I do not literally run a race toward Jesus, for what purpose was I beating my body (c.f. 1 Corinthians 9:27)? The question of worth once again raised its ugly head.

Then I found out I would be co-teaching Phys. Ed. for the spring break church camp in Miami.

 

 “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” (Hebrews 12:1)

And I found out about the spiritual endurance patience required and that playing with 84 kidlings for six hours a day entailed all the physical grit I could muster, and indeed, sometimes more than I could. Furthermore, “Duck-Duck-Goose” became for me almost absurdly emotional when kindergarteners Kaila and Lisa unexpectedly and perfectly reenacted a game of “Poul-Poul-Pijon” from Haiti two months prior by claiming my lap for as much of the game as I was duck/chicken and not goose/pigeon.

 

As one of my colleagues so wisely concluded, it is entirely possible the whole point and purpose of us having the penchant for athleticism was fulfilled that week in Little Haiti. Oddly satisfied with that explanation after a week of cursing my gift and feeling my usefulness under attack, I realized I’d gotten another glimpse of “fixing my eyes on Jesus” (Hebrews 12:2) by leaving opportunities to use the gifts He gave me up to Him. For that moment, my prize was peace.

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” (2 Timothy 4:7)

Miss K, Mr. G, Sasha, Patricia, Samantha, and Geraldine

Back to Mind

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!” (Isaiah 49:15)

Stripping off winter coats and sweaters at the airport, stepping into warm air, an early first night and orientation—all brought back to mind touching down in Port-au-Prince two months ago and the frenzy of a new environment. Soft sand over skin and shells under fingers, a gently wild breeze tangling my hair with salt and beads of seawater—tokens of a relaxing last day repeated at a different beach. Bright dark eyes in small dark faces, eager squirming bodies—even disguised in complete sets of clothes, these children brought my mind irresistibly back to Chambrun.

I bawled when I saw them.

That was my first day in Little Haiti, Miami and my second cry of the night. And I’m now out of things to write. It’s as though the fact that I experienced Haiti almost out-of-body, observing myself, made that trip easy to process. But I wasn’t prepared to experience—finally fully present—the emotional charge of last week, or even the beautiful degree to which I have witnessed my own heart soften. I am less sure how to relate it, but hopefully will be able to with more prayer.

May or may not be related, but Psalm 118 has been on my heart lately:

“I will not die but live, and will proclaim what the Lord has done.” (Psalm 118:17)

Back to Life

“‘Will they restore their wall? Will they finish in a day? Can they bring the stones back to life from those heaps of rubble—burned as they are?’” (Nehemiah 4:2)

These words were sneered at the returning Israelites attempting to rebuild Jerusalem’s wall, left in disgraceful ragged shattered shreds since the exile. These words were the words of enemies—threats—meant to tear down and discourage, meant to corrupt identity and hope. But, despite interference and persecution by man, the Lord rebuilt the wall through Nehemiah in a mere 52 days.

These words were also God’s special call to me in Haiti. He was reminding me that despite my enemies’ constant attacks, despite the brokenness of my burnt and shredded heart, despite the heaps of rubble it sat in, He intended to restore it back to life, and would in His timing.

“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” (Ezekiel 36:26)

This Monday was the fifty-second day since Haiti. Today, I leave for Miami to begin another mission trip, the second chapter of God’s redemptive work in me this year. The hope contained in that first post, “Freedom Trail”, has not been disappointed (c.f. Romans 5:5).

“These are the words of him who is holy and true, who holds the key of David. What he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open.” (Revelation 3:7)

“Then you will know that I am the Lord; those who hope in me will not be disappointed.” (Isaiah 49:23)

I look forward with quiet anticipation to the next 52 days.

Present Peace

“For God is not a God of disorder but of peace.” (1 Corinthians 14:33)

A scrawny rooster crowed, waking half the barracks but not me; my eyes cracked open of their own order to welcome the pre-dawn gray. Like an ant army, we dressed in silence and one by one marched the no-man’s land between bed and bath, wash-clothes in hand. We returned, one by one, fresh-faced, squinting back the sun as it softly broke the eastern mountain crests, admiring the already warm morning, contemplating the day.

Breakfast: scoop of oatmeal, spoonful of sugar, splash of milk, dash of cinnamon, packet of almonds, did-everyone-take-their-malaria-pills? Devotions: worshipping from a still, steady heart and uncluttered head, giving God the day, minute by minute. Received the day’s orders.

“Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

The rhythmic peace of reliable routine and no expectations was a balm for my weary, harried heart. Organize donations: one by one, wiggle a box from the top of the heavy pile, slice the tape, check the contents—another jersey!—move, sort, move, one by one. Organize the warehouse: receive a box, pass on a box, arms tired, drink some water, check the contents—another mouse got in—one by one, thirty-nine left, three, two, one… Organize the office: move out boxes, sort, sweep, sand, paint, stroke by stroke… Stop for lunch: beans and rice and soup and what-flavor-is-the-punch? Refill water bottles: soon to be warm again but now perspiring icy coolness. Continue on. Stop for the day. No urgency nor guilt nor pressure about unfinished work. No real deadlines. We’re on Haitian time.
 

"'Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.'" (John 14:27) 

The glory of clear skies continued with committed regularity. Day by day, I was allowed to release my thoughts to a warm and gentle breeze, to "cast my anxiety on Him" (1 Peter 5:7)—allowed to indulge my endless fascination with watching cloud formations change the color of the sky. These clouds did not block out the sun, but worked in ways that did nothing but enhance a week of crystal sunrises and ruby sunsets. I identified with the sun as it landed gently to the west, tired from its eternal work as we were. Moon and stars peeked out shyly by twilight, diamond eyes and faces shining boldly by evening, battling against the darkness creeping over the landscape.

“If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,’ even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.” (Psalm 139:11-12)

Swarms of mosquitoes and moths and gnats gathered around every light on campus at night, even in the dining hall. But even avoiding those tables, by dinner already littered with tiny corpses scorched by the lamp above, was an endearing custom. Refreshment from cool showers was short-lived; I was already nodding off into food and Bananagrams, blinking back sleep during discussion time and Bible study. Even during worship on the roof of the school under the cheerfully twinkling stars, constellations comfortingly familiar, my body melted into the quiet stillness around me, feeling closely the Spirit’s presence.

 “Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, for you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.” (1 Corinthians 15:58)

Night by night, full of the satisfaction from the day’s work and feeling exhausted, I went to bed and slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

The Lasting Kind

“[Jesus] replied, ‘My mother and brothers are those who hear God’s word and put it into practice.’”
(Luke 8:21)

Hi team,

This post is nothing less than a big thank you to each and every one of you, and is already long-overdue. I know that all of us were pretty thrilled to stay in the grace-and-truth quadrant toward each other (if not always for ourselves), so I don’t have much to add to that. What I frequently remember is that, after confessing our first night how numb and not present I was and feeling like I couldn’t pour back into anyone, so many of you were so kind in taking the time to draw me out over our trip. I am pretty embarrassed to share some of these things, but as per my last email to you, I feel my embarrassment was worth bringing glory to God through sharing the need for prayer and, as a result, through your prayers’ answer.

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2)

Dear sisters, I especially want to thank you for getting deeper—some of you very deep—into my wounds and helping me clean them out and make sense of them. I appreciate your gentle empathy and kind compassion and sound advice. Thank you for "spurring me on toward love and good deeds", for "encouraging me" and "not giving up" (Hebrews 10:24-25).

“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10)

Dear brothers, I really appreciate you being good brothers, and showing that you men can comfort and lend an ear to us women without it being A Thing. I might be speaking only for myself, but I often wonder how women supposed are to practice good relationships with men (and vice versa) when our Christian communities are so segregated by gender? In any case, I do appreciate the practice.

Separately, there is one particular instance of thanks owed for which I know I am speaking for quite a few of the ladies, that we noticed the first few days moving donations in the sea container:

Once the consolidated boxes got too heavy to lift, you really stepped it up and helped out. It may seem small to you, but the women were really grateful that you did the part of the work you could do—lifting—without complaint; and moreover, let us do the part of the work we could do—directing—without questioning us or trying to take over. You could easily have pushed us all into the performance quadrant, but instead it was a really beautiful example of the functioning Body, with you using the strengths God created you—as men—to have. We really appreciated it and want to say thank you!

Finally (welcome to my slightly disjointed conclusion), I’m very happy for the awesome experience of community we made as a team and am especially glad we have kept in touch and can visit each other. It could have been one of those things where you meet once, add each other on Facebook, and then never talk again—but I don’t think this was. I’m so grateful for our special experience together and that our new friendships are turning out so far to be the lasting kind. And I look forward to more adventures with you!

"As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another." (Proverbs 27:17)

In His love,

Kelsey

Good Gifts

“It does not, therefore, depend on man’s desire or effort, but on God’s mercy.” (Romans 9:16)

Some people have found me hard to believe when I say there was nothing really distressing or even particularly uncomfortable about my time in Haiti. On the contrary, it was so full of pleasant surprises and comfort and happiness that I want to use this space to honor God with praises for a trip that was more like a homecoming for my soul than anything else. Besides, after the heaviness of the last post and this past weekend, I definitely feel the need to reflect on His unaccountable goodness in the form of describing the many ways He showed me His love and careful attention on the broken island in the Caribbean.

After a long and complicated journey from Boston involving a cab, an overnight bus, a subway ride, the AirTrain at JFK, and a Boeing 767, another bout of sitting-and-waiting—this time, outside the airport in Port-au-Prince—was happily resigned to as the preferred activity over trudging-with-luggage. And happy—not delirious from lack of sleep—it really was, for stretching over me in all directions was the perfectly unblemished blue of cloudless sky, and beaming down on me were 85 degrees of brightly and continuously streaming sunlight. It was not the passionless, washed-out blue of winter, nor the iron gray of storm, nor the lifeless undefined white that cloaks New York from December till March. It was certainly not the gloom of my apartment, which strangles even the strongest rays that dare battle their way in. It was radiance itself for the air to touch and warm my skin.

 

“‘Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.’” (Matthew 6:8)

The next two gifts were such a combination of specificity and improbability that it is impossible but that the hand of God was at work. Upon entering the dining hall, I was immediately greeted by the sight of a piano, complete with sheet music that ranged from Christmas carols easy enough for me to sight-read to Beethoven’s Für Elise, which I have been painstakingly working through for months. I can’t adequately express how entirely tinkering at the piano puts me at ease, except to try to explain that it’s qualitatively equivalent to enjoying a really good quiet time with the Lord. I spent a great deal of time there.

The other gift, which by itself was totally unlikely, were the no-bake cookies that were served with dinner that first night, the likes of whose glorious oat-and-chocolate-and-peanut-buttery-goodness I had never before beheld outside my own kitchen. That mostly everyone on my team happened to know what they were did not detract at all from the fact that Haiti had no-bakes in common with home, of all things. And food-related blessings didn’t stop there. Along with having to eat oatmeal, rice and beans, and spaghetti and chicken all week—foods that top the list of things I don’t get sick of—I realized as the trip progressed that God was restoring my appetite, which, after my perpetual illness last semester and the resulting fifteen-pound weight loss, was a miracle.

I saw a no-bake cookie.

“You are familiar with all my ways.” (Psalm 139:3)

There were many, many other details I could point to… the comfort of roaming barnyard animals and dusty heat, reminiscent of home… the particular satisfaction of cold showers and a clean face after getting filthy dirty… and many other instances I have yet to relay that soothed my heart that week—but I could hardly close on the goodness of God without mentioning the day on the coast.  

Having been raised camping and gotten through elementary school on books like Island of the Blue Dolphins, My Side of the Mountain, and Little House In the Big Woods, and playing games like Oregon Trail (I’m dating myself), I have in me an unswerving romanticism for certain time periods and environments in which I would realistically find my present-day self very uncomfortable. In particular, the idea of pre-industrial America and the English Middle Ages woo my fancy—as well as surviving on a deserted island, à la Robinson Crusoe. So washing that mango while standing in the waves, stripping it with a oversized knife, and then drowning my face and hands in its delightfully squishy orange pulp (and later, gnawing on a foot-length of sugarcane) pretty much fed the primitive instinct of my soul to be wild and fierce and somewhat unladylike, which I usually fulfill with sports and cooking-with-my-hands. This was great fun, but at the ocean, God met another, deeper soul-need…

I love water. I love the cool soothing swirling flow around my ankles, the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain, the perfect reflection of a puddle, the tenderness of a dew drop clinging tightly to the tip of a new leaf or sparkling in a spider web. I love the pulsating ebb-and-flow of the ocean, the weight of a giant heartbeat pressing around me, the salty sea-smells, the breathy crash and spray of a hello to the shelly sand. I could watch the variable tripping and giggling of a creek unceasingly.

Much like flying in an airplane, standing in the ocean is, for me, always a time to meet with God. In the ocean, listening to that strong and steady heartbeat, I experience His might and beauty and tenderness all at once. I can look out onto those clear blue ripples and imagine them rising up into wild waves, a black, crushing storm which my Lord calms with a raised hand, saying, “Quiet! Be still,” as He so often says to me (Mark 4:39). I feel the countless tiny grains of sand brushing between my toes and remember His thoughts of me are more numerous than the sum of them (Psalm 139:17-18), that I cannot find a place where He is not present, even if I “make my bed in the depths” or “settle on the far side of the sea” (Psalm 139:7-9). Lord, I will “be still, and know that you are God” (Psalm 46:10).

“‘If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!’” (Matthew 7:11)