Hello all,
The longer I am out on the field, I am learning more and more that it’s not about what I am doing here that intrigues you all, its what’s going on in my mind and heart that puts you in awe of what God is doing. So this is where I am at. I don’t have the answers yet, so don’t keep reading if you want to know what God has done in the end, because I’m still working though it. It’s real and raw, straight from my journal.
I have never in my life struggled with my identity, more than I am right now. I’m not sure what triggered it, but it’s there and I’m wrestling with it. It’s hard and I honestly want it to end. But I know that God is going to show me something so beautiful through all of it.
I can come up with reasons and real solutions as to why my face is breaking out as bad as it is. For example, the water is not good here, if it’s even available. Hopefully it’s not a light brown color either. My diet and food intake has not been consistent, since I have left home. I was sick for three weeks with a bacterial infection, which caused raging diarrhea (and most of the time vomiting) after any consumption of food, so the stress my body was in through all that, probably has a lot to do with my pizza face.
Pizza face. I’m a pizza face. When did I get to the point that I ever thought it was okay to call myself a pizza face? I’m beautiful, with the most beautiful “root beer baby” eyes ever. My mom would probably try to slap some sense into me if she knew I was ever allowing myself to call me anything less than beautiful.
I was sick. My body was sweating all the time, even though it wasn’t hot here. Could have been low grade fevers, could have been from the pain I was experiencing. Headaches were getting worse and worse. It was hard to do ministry. I was in constant agony of abdominal pain, wondering if it was still from the cramps I was having after my breakfast blowout or if it was a new explosion coming on, even though I hadn’t consumed even a morsel of food. I simply just didn’t look like anything other than a disintegrating ball of pain and hearing “are you okay” from every stranger around. I know I didn’t look okay, no matter how hard I tried to hide it.
After one night of too much pain on the toilet, I went to the nearest clinic. I cried most of the way there, from the pure fear that was overcoming my body. I never wanted to get to this point. Tiff loved me through it, she was the comforter that I needed. The fear didn’t go away. The doctor was talking too fast, and too loud. But Tiff understood and repeated everything to me. Tests were being done, so I had to have my blood drawn. I was scared, in a room of a bunch of other people reminding myself I am in Africa, this is how they do it. The nurse that was drawing my blood couldn’t find my veins. The tourniquet was causing more pain, I showed her that the blue things bulging out of my arms are my veins. Her response after finally going after it was “wow, you know your veins well”. I was given a cup, the size of a prescription pill bottle, and was asked to give a sample. Embarrassed, because I had to walk out the bathroom, (which had no sink to wash my hands in) where the whole room could see my lovely sample. The little giggles that seemed to echo in my head were no help to my already struggling mind of allowing myself to feel beautiful in anyway. Two antibiotics, pain medication and two hydration packs later, I was able to leave.
Fatty. I’m a fatty. Some would say thick, but not the good kind of thick. Although, I lost 22 pounds while I was sick, I still feel as though I am whats weighing this world down. When Tiff calculated my weight from kg to lbs my stomach sank because how have I lost 22 lbs? And if I really have, why in the world do I feel like I am an obese elephant?
Why am I struggling with who I am? Eat the damn sandwich Calla, the carbs from the bread are not going to kill you. Be comfortable in your skin, its God’s temple.
I am beautiful.
I am beautiful.
I am beautiful.
But I’m learning identity isn’t just the shape of my body or the blemishes that make me fear looking in the mirror. Who am I? When I am no longer an International Missionary, what will my identity be? Am I good for anything, if I’m not spreading the gospel on the other side of the world?
Satan says I am nothing, my Creator says I am everything.
This is where I am. This is me, Calla. Learning how to defeat Satan and resting in who God says I am. To anyone who has ever struggled or is struggling with their identity, I am here.
I see you.
I hear you.
And you are freaking beautiful.
Because They Haven’t Heard,
Calla Rae
