This is the hardest blog I’ve ever had to write. These past few days, these past few weeks have stripped me of everything I thought I knew I was.
My confidence and security depleted and a broken engagement has sent me spiraling, unsure of how to right myself in a mess my own flesh has created. I’m being suffocated by the words flooding my brain, the lies of the enemy seemingly more constant that the tangible presence of the Lord.
Entering Guyana month two was the beginning of the fall. An amazing place, people and ministry welcomed us ; beautiful, but full of despair. The highest suicide rate in the world. Empty eyes, already preparing to control the only thing they see left : escape.
During our time there, a short ten days, there were no less than three suicides, two hit and runs and two car accidents. So much death. It chases us.
The enemy feasted, consuming all of it. A gluttonous evil, taking control of women, men and children alike. My arms burned as I prayed for one little girl. A teammate had visions of the evil stirring in body after body.
And yet the Lord was present. We shared testimonies to over 400,000 people in the nation – stories of redemption and of unconditional love. We spoke the hope of the Father over the people and the community and the Word of truth would not, could not be silenced. But even with prayer, a murkiness clung to me.
Suriname was another short visit. Our first experience in walking blindly into a country, scouting for contacts for future teams. Our first country as the Shebrews, a mash-up of the ladies from the two co-ed teams to celebrate manistry month.
We were all eager, yet still our stability was rocked. We had amazing contact opportunities arise, a wonderful location to house the seven of us and our squad leader and quinoa for two meals. But amongst the joy, cat calls continued, my heart feeling oppressed and guarded to the point I even began to shut out the true beauty God proclaims over me. Anxiety mounted, murkiness grew.
French Guiana was a welcomed relief, even entering without a place to lay our heads. I felt at home, at peace. I felt useful and served my team fervently, blessed with a language with which to communicate. The Lord showered us with blessings, bringing a beautiful woman of peace to us who took it upon herself to help us find housing, even in the midst of her own personal turmoil. Strangers opened up their pools, fridges and houses and became family.
We continued, pressing on to Brazil.
Reading about the spiritual warfare couldn’t have prepared us, prepared me for what was to come. So many interrupted and spoiled plans of man resulting in last minute housing that was a blessing, but made me cringe at how it would affect our budget.
Still we trudged. Oyapoke —> Macapa —> Santana
And in one night, my walls crashed down upon me.
The past few months, I’ve gotten wrapped up in expectations I have for myself on this mission and I’ve projected them onto the people I love and care most about. In my wake I’ve left a trail of destruction, covered lightly by any spiritual highs I could share to distract myself from my own wandering heart.
In the ache, I cry for home, for comfort. I beg to go home and hide in shame from the despair I’ve caused and realized far too late to repair. Instead, the Father breathes into me. I shut my eyes and hold my breath, denying myself the grace that hovers around me, waiting only for my invitation. I hold myself hostage and the enemy prowls closer, circling me in his increasing power, taunting me.
You don’t deserve love. Don’t you remember what you’ve done ?
And, even staring out at the fluorescent red sun, bleeding into the trees on the Amazon river, I stifle the truth Father God cries out to me. My life is at stake as I reject Him again. I wish there was a switch to turn, hurt to healed in an instant.
But there will be no reinforcement of this shallow human dream. So while I spill out these words, tumbling as much from my very pores as from my mouth and hands – an ever-glowing spark within me fights still. It fights to shine, it fights for the truth. It fights to glorify the King who fights for me.
He fights because He loves me.
He fights for his perfectly imperfect daughter.
His beloved and chosen child.
I am imperfect. I have sinned against love itself by misrepresenting the Father’s love and for telling myself I’m not good enough and for projecting that hurt onto someone who loved me so well. I confess, in defeat, accepting my weakness and stepping into my God’s embrace, full of mercy and grace. My heart still turns somersaults, using my stomach as a punching bag.
“By this we shall know that we are of the truth and reassure our heart before him ; for whenever our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart, and he knows everything.”
1 John 3:19-20
But. One step at a time. The Lord has fastened lanterns to my feet and shall guide me, one foot after another.
After all, He is only good.
And I am nothing without Him.
This is my plea for forgiveness, take this heart of true repentance and step into this next season, where the Father is going to love and teach us more than ever before.
The world is black around me now, black waves gently lapping against a dark boat on a dark night. Even the stars are hiding, save one, bright against the abyss. All is calm and silent aside from the quiet hum of the boat motor and the creaking of hammocks, mindlessly swinging in the breeze.
My prayer for us is peace. It is for Your Glory, God, to break through this brokenness. Redeem this ache, Father, that we may know you so much more. Thank you for allowing us to know your love in a new and different way. Thank you for hope, pushing and propelling and calling us forward, even when we can’t see to walk.
Lord, I ask for your perfect love and forgiveness to wash over us, over me. May your truth reign in our lives always and our heads and hearts bow to Your Sovereignty forever and ever. Amen.
