My parents have a dog, named Marley, that is the friendliest and the sweetest dog you would ever meet. But she wasn’t always so friendly. When we first rescued her, she was scared, wouldn’t let anyone near her and would flinch when we pet her as if we were going to hit her. People had abused and hurt this poor dog until it no longer trusted anyone. It took a lot of time and patience to work with her and to gain her trust.
Like Marley, I have been hurt by people. I’ve had my trust and my heart broken. I became like the the hurt and abused pup, not letting anyone close. I put up walls that rival the Great Wall of China. I also became really good at hiding my pain. Not many people knew how much I really struggled. On the outside I appeared as if nothing was wrong, while on the inside I was hurting.
I recently returned from a mission trip to Haiti, and while I was over there I was determined to not let anyone close. I knew the pain of farewell, and I was not keen on experiencing it again. I was afraid of getting hurt, whether by farewells or because I knew that people can hurt. As I went through the week, I did good works and saw amazing things happen. But I would never let anyone close. I didn’t let my team in on what I was really struggling with. I thought that I wouldn’t need people.
But then I got stuck on the roof. Now the place we were staying at was all open. The windows were all screen, no glass. You could hear conversations happening on the front porch from the back pool, or at least I did.There are two levels to the roof, the first level is straight off the stairs with a door (that I didn’t really pay attention to, till later) and you could climb a ladder that took you up to where the water barrels were kept. I had went up to the second level of the roof to enjoy the scenery, and the peace and quiet. I lost track of time and when I had come down off the ladder they had closed the door. It didn’t open from the outside. At first I started to laugh. Just my luck, I’d be the one to get stuck on the roof. The door was metal, and I could see the hallway down the stairs through the sides of the door frame. I figured someone would hear me pound on it. But no one seemed to hear me. I yelled out and no one came. I started to get concerned. How could no one hear me? It was starting to get dark, and I knew that the mosquitoes would come out in full force and it had down poured every night. I walked around the roof and I could see people in their rooms, no more than a stone’s throw away. I called out again and it was like I wasn’t even there. I went back to the door and continued to beat on it. I got scared; I started to cry and frantically beat on the door. I have never felt so alone. I’m not sure how long I was up there for, but it felt like an eternity. I could see a couple people pass by the stairs in the hallway below. Finally someone did hear me and I ran down to my room. I was prepared to hole up in my room and stay there because I was so distraught.
But there’s this man. He came with me to Haiti and he doesn’t let me hide away. The love, kindness and support he showed me in order to bring me out of my funk impacted me in ways I’m not sure he knows. He showed me that I need people. That I can’t push everyone away for fear of getting hurt. Fellowship is critical when it comes to chasing after the race we are each called to. People are not just capable hurting, but are also capable of incredible love.I sat there actually letting someone hug me, crying until there were no tears left, completely overwhelmed as my walls were crumbling down and I let someone love me.
We are created to be windows through which God’s love flows. We are called to love others, not push them away. We need to surround ourselves with brothers and sisters, like the one I had in Haiti to spur each other on and to encourage each other when we need it. We are called to fellowship.
