Part 1 wasn’t originally a “part 1�. Cry Out 1 was about the
hot mess known as Cambodia.
Cry Out, part 2 is about the hot mess known as me. A lot
more selfish, but if I’ve learned something in this past year in a half, it’s
to be present in my emotion, to talk, pray through it.
So. Yesterday I talked to one of our squad leaders, and I
sounded like Susie Sunshine. Because in that moment I was.
So how did we get to today where I am a bawling, angry
crumpled ball on my half empty, half packed room.
Today, our race route changed as a result of the cholera
outbreak in Haiti. I think most of us have known this was coming for awhile,
although we’ve prayed against it vehemently…and of course finished by
submitting it to God’s will. To God’s plan.
So no Haiti. Big pill to swallow since it means not being
able to get back to my family at RENMEN.
But Haiti wasn’t the only thing to disappear from the route.
Cambodia was wiped off too, although there’s still a small chance our squad may
go during our Asia Ask the Lord month.
God’s will. Not mine. Right. Don’t wanderlust. Right. No
expectations. Right.
So as this morning and day have progressed through the
frustrations of support raising and through the new emotion of the race route,
and through a few funny cry-out conversations and through a not so funny fit of
frustration and through packing yet another bedroom, I somehow ended up face pressed
into the floor, snot all over my face. And still refusing, REFUSING to cry out
TO GOD.
As with all these tantrums, I finally give into God, and say
“Okay. Your turn. I’m done trying to figure this out without you. WHAT am I
feeling? Where is all of this coming from?�(…And from here you can figure out
prayer requests for helping get me through this hurdle.)
1. I’m moving out, again. And the reality of the race is
hitting. With the exception of maybe 37 nights since I graduated, I have been
sleeping on an air mattress or on the floor. I’m moving to my sister’s
apartment in LA, where I will continue to sleep on a sleeping pad on the floor
for two more weeks. And this truly is as petty as it sounds. I was/ am
frustrated with God about this. Most racers at least get the comforts of a real
bed for the seven months leading up to the race. It means by the time I get
home at this time next year, I will have not slept in a bed for over eighteen
months. I know you’re reading this
and thinking: It’s the life of a racer. I
chose it. And it’s humbling to know that I am living the way probably 90%
of the world lives. But when my back is hurting, when I’m freezing, when I can’t
get comfortable on a carpeted piece of cement, it’s a big wall to break down to
release me of the selfishness. And I guess this is God’s way of reminding me to
its time to pray even more for the people who can’t throw a fit over not having
a bed. I’m blessed to know that I will at least have a bed to sleep in for the
two weeks before launch. (So as you put your head down on your pillow tonight,
and wrap your blankets around yourself, pray for the rest of the world that we
are fast to forget from the comforts of our sugarplum fairy dreams.)
2. I’m tired of moving. I’m tired of leaving people behind.
And I am tired of being unsettled. I’m truly sitting in that “the grass is
greener on the other side�. Because I know it’s hard for my roommate to stay
here in a stable job, living a stable life while I go have a reckless adventure
for God. And she knows she’s where God has her for a reason. And most of the
time, I sit here in awe of how blessed I am that God is taking me to the
nations. But there are those feelings sometimes where I just want a stable
life; I want to know what life will look like when I get home. I’m frustrated
that all I have done is postpone making any life decisions for an entire year. And
I know God is going to change my heart next year. I always say that God is
going to show me where he wants me this next year. But what if He doesn’t? It’s
a distinct possibility that no concrete answers are coming. Because that’s His
way of making sure I never live of me, of my own strength. Too much revelation
of future makes me comfortable, and I’ve prayed for God to take me out of
comfort. So yes, basically I am mad God is answering prayers. Oh, and that it’s not about my comfort. It’s never been about my comfort. It’s about Him. It always has been. It always will be.
3. Reread Cry Out 1. I said in there that I promised God I
would go back to Cambodia for Him. Now I am potentially not going. And then I
have to face the reality that this year isn’t going to be “it�. Which made me
realize that in some ways I think God will “let me off the hook� after this trip.
Or something. As though, He’d be done using me after this year. It’s laughable I
realize. Completely laughable. Did I truly believe that God was thinking, “Ok,
Tiff gave me a year. Now I’ll give her grad school, a steady income, a husband
and family and a white picket fence.�? REALLY? Maybe Cambodia is (potentially)
gone because it’s God’s way of saying that my journey of missions isn’t over
next December. Maybe I’m going to out and do this again. Oh gracious. My heart
is for the nations, which probably means I need to get used to the floor, to
let go of choosing meals, to get over hot showers, to be prepared for God to
break my heart for what breaks His by truly putting me in their shoes.
Part of this is that spiritual attack I’m under for
following, for submitting. Part of this is the weeding of my heart. The
answered prayers. The painful process of stripping me down. And part of this is
that learning to be broken, learning that it’s okay to be broken, that it’s
okay to hurt, that it’s okay to wrestle with God. I always tell people to bring
whatever they are feeling before God. He can take whatever gamut of emotions we
are going through. Yet, I don’t do that. Or I didn’t until recently. And this
is one of those moments where my (puffy) eyes are glaring, my jaw is locked, my
body language is shut down, my shoulders are tense. And our gentle God is
softly waiting, smiling at me the whole time, loving me in my Eeyore storm.
4. After studying psalm 139 thoroughly, I know that it’s pretty ridiculous to be mad at God for making you a certain way. Actually, it’s pretty insulting to knock your Creator. Still, I’m annoyed that God made me an emotional person. I am mad that I feel such extremes and depths. And I know soft, empathetic hearts are a gift, an incredible gift. So. I’m grateful… even right now.
5. I HATE feeling frustrated with God. Why do I feel this
for my Creator? I KNOW He is bigger than all of this. And I KNOW my problems
are so miniscule compared to everything I am about to witness, to be a part of.
And then I get frustrated that I am frustrated about small things. About me. It’s
still all about me. “Why me?� is still hugging my lips, dripping from my
tongue.
6. Psalm 13. Right.
7. It’s always best to listen to worship music when one is fighting God. He’s been delightful enough to play “These Hard Times” by Needtobreathe and “Faith Enough” by Jars of Clay. It’s His not-so-subtle way of reminding me He is sovereign, He is the answer in all storms.
