we come upon her in various stages of undress, shyly we retreat a bit to give her privacy. her house is mostly an open view from the road and she appears nonplused by our intrusion. once fully clothed, she steps out and smiles broadly, welcoming us by her gestures into her humble, tattered, thatched-roof home. it seems she knows the pastor well and they converse as we take it all in. her name is tan, and it is not long before her joy turns to sorrow; she begins to tell us her story of profound grief. we learn that her husband died unexpectedly after a sudden illness eight months ago. she proudly relates on and on about what a mighty man of God he was, bringing out his bible and other study materials of his to show us. our hearts mourn with her.
through tears of pain, her face suddenly becomes contorted with what appears to be anger. her voice deepens and rises, her gestures grow more exaggerated. as the pastor translates, she discloses that those who attended their home bible study group, which her husband led, have deserted her. she tells us that she has not seen them since his death; the tears intensify. her facial expressions clearly divulge her extreme bewilderment and anguish. ‘how can this be so?’ she questions over and over. she claims that because of their actions, she has turned away from Christ. we can feel her hurt and her fury. she begins to jump between stories of her husband and this abandonment she feels so acutely. her wonderment becomes our own, as it makes no sense to us either.
sarah recommends that someone speak to her about rejection. our silence remains, tan rambles on. i begin to feel the Holy Spirit nudging me but i resist – i am not sure i want to share my experiences of rejection and abandonment. somehow in listening to tan, my own issues with this rage up and threaten to choke. sarah walks away. the nudging persists. i scoot closer to tan and reach out to her, placing my hand into hers with what i hope will be taken as encouragement and empathy. my wrestling continues, as does her giant tears. with a gulp of courage and a prayer to Jesus, i finally begin to speak. fully relating to her pain, i tell my story of being rejected by my church, and how i let my hurt paralyze me; my stubbornness and pride kept me from getting involved with this new church i was attending. for several years i sat in the service alone, and then would immediately leave afterwards. i share with tan how God finally got me to a place where i submitted to His pleas to forgive them. i explained to her that it was then that i realized i was expecting Christians to be perfect. we are not, and we make mistakes against our brothers and sisters, sometimes horrible ones. yet Jesus commands us to forgive each other ‘seventy times seven’ (matthew 18:21-22), and extend the same grace He gives us to others. sarah returns, reaching out to tan as i continue to encourage her and speak about how God promises that He will never abandon us, and that though only He is trustworthy, we are still able to love each other through His strength and power.
through much support and prayer from all of us, her tears begin to lessen. she softens and quiets, eventually sitting down next to us. we spend our remaining time once again listening to her speak so lovingly about her husband. as we prepare to depart, we invite her to the upcoming church service at the orphanage and let her know that we will come again to her home to visit. she sends us off with the same smile that initially greeted us, and i leave with a grateful heart that God has shown to us so beautifully His promise that He indeed uses our sorrows to minister to others. on sunday, tan arrives to church with a wide smile and joy in her steps. what a privilege it is to watch her worship with abandon and to see her interact with everyone at the service with such delight. these are moments forever burned upon my heart, and exactly why i left all i love to be on the world race.
on our last day visiting tan, she asked us to write our names on the wall of her home
