If this title is misleading, I apologize – the truth is, I couldn’t muster up a single answer for this question no matter how hard I tried (and I’ve tried). Actually, if anybody knows the answer, or resources to a handy self-help guide, please hit a sister up!
I’ve been warned that entering the “Real World” after eleven months of ministry, travel and chasing after Jesus on this thing called the World Race, is difficult. But nobody warned me how hard it would be to enter the Real World after two months, only to re-enter the Race seven days later.
I want to sit here and share with you the ministry my team and I have been working with, how we spent Christmas away from home or the incident in which I fell out of a tree (helpful hint: don’t climb a tree in Chacos) but the truth is, I can’t. I can’t seem to write about much these days. By re-entering the Race, I’ve hit the RESET button. My blog writing skills are out of practice, my intimate time and relationship with Jesus has floated to surface level and investing in relationships around me suddenly requires more effort and courage than ever before. Everything that became easy is now difficult. After not running for over two weeks (metaphorically and literally), I have to re-train my muscles. And training from step one when everybody around you is on mile ten is hard.
So how do you re-enter the World Race? And how do you do it with ease, grace and confidence? If you want the answer to these questions, you’ll have to find another blog (and forward it along to me).
How did I re-enter the Race? While imperfect, vulnerable and scary, that is a question I can answer. And if my experience can help somebody else acclimate into a community, then God must be using my words. If nothing else, though, this is my attempt to let you into my Race; not just the beautiful parts, but the messy parts.
Step One: Embrace the discomfort
My flight from Boston to David, Panama was nothing short of hectic. At 6AM in the morning, I went to buy my final Starbucks after making it through security only to find that I left my wallet at my friend’s house. Needless to say, a morning of going through security twice, having my name called over the loudspeaker and running through the airport with the flight attendant in order to catch my flight set the precedent for an adrenaline-filled day. And that adrenaline lasted as I was reunited with my team, introduced to a new ministry and exploring a new country. But Day 4 was when that adrenaline faded away to reveal the immense grief, fear and isolation.
I looked at my weekly Journey Marker we answer for our leadership, a usually simple task, and was overwhelmed. I couldn’t answer a single question. I couldn’t open up my Bible and read more than a verse before putting it down in frustration. I couldn’t think about anything except the tremendous loss I’d just experienced. I needed to be home.
Well, if you were wondering, I didn’t go home. That was the hardest night since being back but I didn’t run from it (not that I had a choice). I sat in it, I cried through it and I let the discomfort happen. It was so hard but somehow, the next day was a little bit easier. I didn’t avoid the pain but I walked through it.
Step Two: If you push it down, your body rejects it
If you know me, you know confrontation is my enemy. I will do anything to maintain peace and maintain a mask of strength. Crying in front of others? Grieving when you should be working? Addressing the inadequacy you feel among your team? Why, that doesn’t create peace! That only creates inconvenience and weakness. (FYI these are a few of the lies that I was tricked into believing)
I tried to push these feelings down, trust me. But much to my dismay, my heart wasn’t having it; God wasn’t having it. Sure enough, the further down I pushed these feelings, the more violently they came up. So for a few days, I tried to wear this mask of strength; I think I had people tricked for a few days that this was an easy transition. But the truth eventually came out. I wasn’t okay. Which leads me to step three…
Step Three: It’s okay to not be okay
SHOOT this is a hard one for me to accept. I viewed my time at home as the time I was given to grieve the loss of Marney. I’d be home for a week, grieve with my family and come back on the field ready to move forward and jump back in! Now, everybody but me knew that this was not the case; this was just the beginning of the grieving process.
Waking up every morning in Panama with a group of women whom I consider sisters at this point, ready to serve the Lord together? How could I not be okay? Well, it turns out going through a major loss dampens that picture-perfect scene.
I’ve woken up a lot of mornings, or gone to bed at night not okay. I’ll be triggered by little things: playing cards and thinking of all the card games Marney taught me how to play; walking by a woman who has the same perfume as Marney did; seeing the phone alarm I set in September telling me to “call Marney and Grampa.” Or sometimes, more often than not, I’ll just miss her. And it’s hard to be okay when you miss someone you’ve lost.
But something I’ve been learning a lot about is grace. I have been shown so much grace through this process: by my team, by my ministry hosts and by God. Just because I’ve left home doesn’t mean I’m not still processing this major shift in my life. And the abundant grace I’ve been given has given me the space to start to extend that grace to myself.
Step Four: You can’t do this alone
I’ve never been forced to, for lack of a better word, rely on other people like I have this past month. Through this experience, God has forced me to cry in front of others, to verbally process and to admit that since coming back on the field, I’m not the same. Letting go in these areas, showing my peers and my leaders that I’m not okay, was hard. Shoot, it’s still hard; that’s why God gave me a community that won’t give up on me; He’s given me a community that won’t let me pretend I’m okay and that will stand by me with love and patience until I admit to myself that the feelings and insecurities I’m facing are valid. He’s given me a community that consistently checks up on me, knowing the difficulty I’ve faced in coming back on the field. He’s given me a community that will fight for me. And with a community that fights for you, it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to take time to acclimate yourself. It’s okay to walk through discomfort. Because you’ll be loved through it all.
Step Five: God is carrying all the strength I lack
My first Sunday in Panama, we went to church expecting to a Christmas message. Instead, God decided to blow my mind and meet me right where I was at. The Pastor felt lead to speak to those of us experiencing loss or hardship during the Christmas season. And the message revolved around Matthew 11:28-30. (which happens to be my favorite verse; check out the tattoo on my ankle for proof) For the first time since coming to Panama, I felt God speaking directly to me.
Through this message, He was telling me to give Him my burdens and take His. He was saying Haley, come to me and I will give you rest. I didn’t need abilities through this process. I didn’t need an answer and I didn’t even need strength. I needed rest. And God reminded me of that promise.
So here I sit over a week after landing in Panama. I still have really hard days. I still feel like my old identity was stripped away by my circumstances and I have no confidence in the new sensitivity and vulnerability God has given me. I still struggle to sit down for a whole hour with Him and I still get nervous initiating a one on one conversation with somebody. And I still really REALLY miss Marney every day. Readjusting to life back on the Race hasn’t gotten easier. But knowing that I’m understood, given grace and never alone makes each step of this journey so worth it.
