First I’d like to start with an apology. I’ve not posted a blog in a long while, and overall have done an absolutely atrocious job of keeping everyone updated. To say I’ve been caught up in life would be a drastic understatement, but I suppose an equally poor excuse. Let’s just say I’m learning.
If you have read my last blog you are already aware that the ministry for my first month of life on the field has been “Women’s Ministry”. Now, there have been a lot of challenges that have come with such a ministry, but none, and I mean NONE have compared to challenged I faced with the nefarious door 8.
It was a cream colored door with a big green 8 painted on it, thus to the untrained eye it may seem like an average door. But -you know what they say- looks can be deceiving, and unfortunately I fell into such a trap. “Will someone get started on the doors?” our ministry host asked innocently enough. “I will!” I volunteered enthusiastically. And so it began…
First the primer, which was more like slightly tinted water. After two coats you’d think I’d start to realize that this was no ordinary door. Onto the paint, plain white paint. Simple. First coat, and something wasn’t right (it went on awfully and uneven). That’s ok, it just needed a second coat! Right? Well, four coats and two days later it was in worse condition than when I started. The green eight’s sardonic silhouette burned through the layers, and my frustration along with it. To say I wanted to give up and ignore the whole situation, and responsibility for that matter, is a drastic understatement. In fact, I would be perfectly content with never seeing another stupid door in my life. Was I going crazy? I felt so helpless and foolish, all my teammates had moved onto painting other full rooms. Me? Still sitting on the floor outside of room eight trying desperately to finish one dumb door.
What you don’t know is that it wasn’t just the door, the wears and tears of living life on the field were getting to me. The spiritual warfare I was warned about before was coming at me full force. I was emotionally, physically, and spiritually exhausted. That awful door was just a thorn in my side, and it certainly was not helping. I was overwhelmed with so many emotions that they cancelled each other out into a numbness. Don’t get me wrong, I knew I was where I was supposed to be, and everything was going fine in its own right. The reality, balancing community living, ministry, as well as trying to identify personal growth, is simply difficult. And thats okay. It’s supposed to be. When you sign up for a mission trip, however, it seems selfish to think of yourself, or allow yourself to be poured into for that matter. After all, we do these things to influence others right? God gave me a wake up call, showing me that the mindset I had adopted was simply not truth. He was here for me too, not just the people of Thailand. And how did He show that to me? You guessed it… that stupid door.
We have morning devotionals every day at 7am. Naturally, they became a frustration due to my state, and God was being awfully quiet up there. But one morning it was all different, at the peak of total frustration, He finally broke his silence. I flipped to the book of Haggai, which never had resonated with me before, but as I continued to read I started to realize just how relevant it truly was. It speaks about how God revealed to his people that they must build him His house. That they toil in vain for themselves, attempting to reap a harvest that isn’t coming. Their efforts are worthless because they are neglecting the house of the Lord.
“Consider your ways” it says clearly. Here I was toiling away in vain, neglecting to build the house of the Lord, which was my heart. After all, we as people are where the Holy Spirit dwells.
“There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells.” Psalm 46:4
The house I was neglecting was me. I was sowing endlessly and harvesting little, and there was a drought in my life. I was so focused on what I could do in my own strength and consequently was running on empty. Knowing that as truth, however, wasn’t enough. How? Building the house of the Lord especially myself was a huge responsibility. All it took was looking over to the next page:
“ be strong for I am with you… work for I am with you”
There was no reason to fear because God keeps his promises, I wasn’t alone. At the very end of Haggai was where God really got me. He proclaims that He will not simply restore his house to its former glory but to be made better than how it was. The same reigns true for us. God is not working in our lives, on our hearts, in our brokenness, to restore us to our former glory but to make us better then ever before.
This was nice and all, but one thing still remained, that dumb door. That same day we went to ministry and what I saw made my stomach drop. The green paint that was used to paint the eight was causing huge bubbles in the paint, which popped revealing the awful green color, which then began leaking out onto the rest of the door. I wanted to cry. It was almost the third week of ministry, and I was being defeated by a door. A door for a young woman, a door that led into her room, her safe space. A door, the first thing she sees after a long day of hard work. And here it was, acrylic green paint and bubbles everywhere, uneven paint. Defeat. The issue we discovered was that it had needed to be sanded before being painted, so all of the dents, splinters and preexisting paint could be evened out. One neglected step led to all of this struggle. I had to start over. So, after a deep breath, I set to work, peeling off all the paint, layer after layer until the door looked the same as I had started. Then I sanded until all the green was gone and my hands raw. As all of this took place God showed me a clear image:
He was sitting behind me as I did all of this to the door, doing the exact same thing to me. Peeling of the paint that was hiding all of the dents splinters and unevenness, all the things in my life that I didn’t take time to sand and wipe down before attempting to hide it with layers of paint. All the things hidden underneath, no matter how many layers of paint, bubbling to the surface. My Father was taking the time to remove all of it, He was sanding until his hands hurt, so that I could be painted in a way that would last. The door to His house, the first impression people get when they see me, wasn’t just being restored to its former glory. He was making me new. He was making me better. And finally after all the weeks of work, I finished painting the last layer, and it was even and white. As I walked away, I was met by the woman who’s door it was. She told me to wait right there and disappeared into her room. When she returned, she handed me a bracelet, and thanked me for painting her door, eyes aglow. I was speechless, something that I didn’t think would ever be noticed, and yet God still used it to minister to not only that woman, but also to me. And now its a constant reminder on my wrist. It was the unfortunately fortunate topography of that ghastly door 8 that God used to change my life.
