The Present Ache

Sometimes I can stay busy... most of the time I stay busy and never have to think about it. I can go days at a time, but it always catches up, that familiar feeling. The ache, as I refer to it.

I am used to this ache. For the past three years, between living in a new city for school and leaving my heart in a country an ocean away, this ache has been pretty familiar.

It's like living with a hole in your heart. Some days, it is a small hole and can be ignored, or it only hurts a little. The pain is bearable, like a mosquito bite.

Other days, the hole is big. It's all you can think of, and it hurts.

In the past, it came on birthdays, days when little ones were hurting and I could do nothing from where I stood, days when life got so monotonous and I couldn't feel alive anymore, days when they were walking and talking and I was missing it.

Now, it still comes on birthdays. Days when the family vacations, the weddings, the ball games, the Sunday lunches, the daily life comes and it's one more picture you were absent for.

It comes on days like today, when life is hard, the work is overwhelming, and I just want to sit at the kitchen table with familiar food and the people who know me. I want to bury myself under a comforter on the familiar couch I fight over with my favorite three people.

I have been accused of being flippant... of not taking others seriously when they say they miss me or want me home. And I know I come across that way. I don't mean to do it.

But that's what I have to do to hold it together.

Because, how do I explain? How do I convey what it means to constantly live with your heart divided? To call two places, and possibly one day a third or fourth home?

Because, home isn't a house anymore. It's people, and I am a part of two different families, and for the rest of my life, I always will be.

I try not to think about it, but I know that soon, I will step foot on the place that is so familiar, but it's not my normal anymore.

I don't feel American anymore, and I am not sure what to do or how to respond to the questions. The thought fills me with a little anxiety. How do you go from a home of 100 you haven't left for more than 2 days for the past 9 months, to a home of at the most, 5?

Will I be glad to be in America? Yes, but only because of the people.

When will I be coming back again? I honestly don't know. I just want to cherish this... these 30 days I am given to rest, to love and be present.

My life has become one of inevitable good byes. I say good bye to those in America, I say good bye to my little ones here, and I live with the knowledge that being with one part of my heart will mean separation from the other.

This is what He called me to, and I said yes.

Is it worth the pain? Absolutely. This is my life, and I love it. He is worth it.

But please remember that when I said yes, and I said yes knowing there would be cost.

So if you ask me a question, and my "This is what He said to do" sounds flippant, dismissive, please remember there is a heart behind those words trying to hold it together.

Because sometimes the pain is intense and I feel like I might fall apart, and those responses are all that will hold me together.

I don't like to think about it... this separation, knowing that the choices I make mean pain for someone else. I want my family to know my family. I want to be present in both. And I can't. And one day, I will have to leave this country and move on to a new country with another family.

He will call, I will say yes, and the pain will still be there, probably even stronger.

I wish there was a way to keep them together, everyone I love within a 2 mile radius.

But I can't.

So on days like today, when I wake up, work, study, and go through my daily routine, when my heart aches for physical presence, I give it to Him.

I have to. And He comforts, knowing what it is like to be separated from who He loves because of their own choices.

And He is present.

And we ache together.

When Beauty Finds You

Find the beauty… my heart has been crying this lately, screaming for something to behold, to take my breath away, to be in awe.

My grandparent’s garden… one of my favorite places in the world. Maybe my favorite place. Magical battles have been fought under the shelter of its trees and in the coolness of its streams. In my enchanted world, the prince always fought for the princess, and the princess rose to the challenge of rescuing her people from certain despair. Good triumphed evil and dreams came true.

It was especially magical just after a rainfall, when the air was still damp with the remnants of the storm, the sky still covered in clouds, the birds reemerging from the shelter in the trees. All was peaceful, and the garden was full of possibilities.

It was in that garden I dreamed of love. I dreamed of the prince who would come one day and the magic of falling in love. I wanted to be the princess, the heroine, the one who saw beauty, radiated beauty.

I always though the prince of my story was someone one day tangible, someone far off in the distance, some one years away.

Yet, the prince of my childhood dreams  has been here all along, the inspiration of my stories who led me to dreams that were a reflection of Him.

He has been the prince who would sacrifice everything to rescue me, who inspires me to rescue my people, who gave me the desire to seek beauty, because that beauty is a reflection of Him.

As I seek beauty, as I seek magic, He draws me closer to himself.

He knew my heart has been craving beauty.

We went to the mountains the other day, and I was expecting the beauty to come in the form of rainbows and waterfalls… but it was something else.

On a rainy afternoon, I took a walk to be alone, be with Him.

Clouds covered the sky and a cool breeze sent my hands deep in the pockets of my jacket.

And just down the road, He won my heart all over again.

I asked for a flower, and He gave me a garden.

Exotic flowers, birds, butterflies, all to myself. This little oasis in the middle of a city. And I want to giggle and blush like the twelve year old girl I feel like on the inside.

He knows, doesn’t He? My prince knows how to romance me, to remind me of magic, to love just for the simple joy of loving.

In spite of my flaws and failures, the brokenness I have caused His heart, caused for myself.

He never spent time criticizing or writing a list of grievances. He just loved me, in the way He knew I would feel it, know it, be sure of it.

I walk around, Mary Lennox discovering her own secret garden in a busy world. I take pictures, I sing, I discover beauty.

There were no great revelations that took place in that time. I didn’t walk away with a new vision for the future or answers to questions.

But that’s ok.

Because He knew what I needed… to be loved, to be wanted, to behold something wonderful.

And He did it by bringing me a garden… a place I have always loved, found peace, felt secure and protected, believed in magic and miracles.

And I fall in love all over again.

“My lover spoke and said to me ‘Arise, my darling, my beautiful one and come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come.” Song of Solomon 2:10-11

The Privilege of Sharing their Smiles

She melts in to me… the little one I have searched for all morning, and there she is. We smile at the sight of each other, and I hold her close, wanting her to know I have missed her, I am glad she is safe, I love her. So we walk through our narrow alleyways and sit together in concrete, my arm around her, communicating friendship despite a language barrier. I lean, and she leans, and will she ever know just how much she has helped me heal? I always think she is older than she is, even though she is so small. Probably because she is always carrying a little sister on her hip, a big sister with big weights. My dreams for her home, her friends, they are inspired by this little one. I would take her in a heartbeat if I could. My sweet princess, my vision.

And my baby… her cheeks are full from added weight, her skin tainted with the dirt on her floors. Her bum is bare and she only wears a t-shirt. But those eyes… my girl. He sets her down and she makes those little steps to me. I scoop her in my arms and her head finds its familiar place on my shoulder. I only get a few minutes with her before I must go and she must be returned. But my baby girl… I miss her so much. I would take her in a heartbeat if I could. My sweet princess, my treasure.

That little face and those little dark eyes, full of laughter and mischief. I see her and she sees me, so I bend down and open my arms to welcome her. And she comes… to my surprise, she comes. Arms around each other, I rub her back and she holds me. The sweet little one I didn’t even ask to fall in love with, oh, but I did. Eye to eye, we rub foreheads and noses, and she laughs, and I laugh. And for a minute, all is right in the world with my little friend and I. We play, and then she runs off when arms must release. I would take her in a heartbeat if I could. My sweet princess, my angel.

Her eyes rarely find mine, and when they do, they seem to be far off. A hard life, a mind that went wrong, and pain etched in pronunciation. To take a little of her pain… I don’t know how much she can understand. Does she know she is loved? Can she understand it? But we sit and we laugh and she reveals pieces amidst the chatter. Only five years older than I with more pain than I will ever know or fathom. How do I speak wholeness and value? How do I speak worth? How do I love her well? She is strong, a survivor in spite of impossible odds. I would take her in a heartbeat if I could. My sweet princess, my friend.

An Old Soul...

      I've always been described as an old woman in a whatever-age-I-am-at the-time-of-comment's body. Maybe some would describe it as an old soul, mature, or maybe just plain boring.

      I always wanted to be older... to be able to drive, vote, go to college, grow up. Not in a way like I was rushing for those things to happen, but I was just ready for them to happen. Who knows... I like my biographies, hot tea, and things that smell like roses, so maybe I am already an old woman.

      While I have been trying to focus on really living in the present, especially this past year, tonight I find myself with that familiar longing... I just want to be older.

       It's not because I find myself discontented with life or even bored.

       I want that wisdom that comes from being older.

       I want the wisdom and the grace that comes from years of living in this world and learning how to not be of this world.

        .... the wisdom of treasuring a lifetimes worth of friendships.

        .... the wisdom of loving and learning to really love well.

        .... the wisdom of a lifetime's worth of fighting spiritual battles and winning victories.

        .... the wisdom of removing labels and seeing people as they really are.

        .... the wisdom of learning to really delight in the time I spend with Him.

        .... the wisdom of nurturing- children, strangers, whoever is brought into my path.

        .... the wisdom of living in a culture and becoming more like them than the culture in which I was         born.

     And no, this is not an impossible standard to hold myself to, or an impossible dream, because I know women like this... women weathered by the storms of life, lines etched in their faces from years of choosing laughter over anger.

     Women with a lifetime's worth of sins, and a deeper knowledge of beautiful grace and redemption.

     I was raised by these women... some biologically, some adopted me, some were in my life for only a season, and some will never meet until heaven, but their influence has forever changed me.

     However, I know that this wisdom does not come without cost... mistakes, sacrifices, pain, regrets... and I wish it were possible to skip that part. Oh, if only it were possible.

     And this is how He reminds me... with every mistake, every word uttered carelessly, every battle waged, every humbling moment... I am learning to love well. I am earning my wisdom.

     I am a student of this grace.

   

Even in this Season

     The rain has been falling in intervals... first slowly, then a steady beat, then it will relent for a few minutes, only to repeat the cycle again. It is always cold.

      Manila is closed today as flood waters rise in certain parts of the city. Our babies are safe here in a home on high ground. The kids color and make hot chocolate. We bury ourselves in paper work.

      It has been a week of rain, water falling from heaven like I wish tears could fall from my face.

      We lost two babies last week.

      She had come on Sunday, her body starved and tight with a year's worth of rejection. We held, we whispered, kissed, cherished, caressed the soft little cheeks that held potential for such beauty and grace.

      Her name means "Resurrection". I prayed for a resurrection of her body and soul. He had something different in mind.

       I don't understand, and I know I will not for a long time. I may never.

       I have to trust that He is still God over this season.

       Less than eight hours after she went to Him, our sweet little boy, the one who had been defying the odds for years fell unconscious.

       His little body, the one I have held and loved, the one I have kissed, the beautiful little grin of mischief... it struggled. There is no other way to put it. His death was hard. It was ugly, and in this country, there was nothing we could do.

       And now he is gone. She is gone. And my questions are not.

       And the heart that was able to detach for the necessary purpose of doing my job, is now trying to find it's way back to my body.

       Sometimes the rain doesn't always bring healing.

       I love to play in the rain, to run and jump in the puddles, to feel the wind on my face. I have since I was little. The rain was my friend, my comfort.

       Even now, part of me wants to run as fast and far as I can into the rain until I feel... cold, wet, feverish, alive... something. Anything.

       And I can't take pleasure in this rain, knowing that while I am safe, the little ones I love are frightened and clutching the rooftops of their little shacks.

       I want to be there. To run there, to fly there, to do anything to help and keep them safe.

       But I can't.

       I have to trust He is God, even in this season.

       And so we wait... for answers that may never come, a grief that may never be observed, a heart that won't fit quite right anymore, for the floodwaters to subside.

Rainy Season

     Dark clouds loomed over our heads, have been looming overhead for days. It's rainy season, nothing new. The air is thick and humid, often oppressive until the water is released from the sky, leaving a gentle chill in its aftermath.

     But dark clouds do not deter, and we press forward to the people we love.

     We walk through the dirt, the garbage, the "other word" I really want to use because it is the best way to describe the ground beneath my feet. They join us. The find our hands and call out welcomes. They smile and walk beside us, joining a merry caravan of brown and white skin.

      If I look with human eyes, I see nothing but tragedy.

      I walk beside a coffin, the same coffin with the same body there last week, still unmoved because the family will not pay for the burial. The sisters chant in deep and pain filled voices for God to save her soul, not realizing her soul's fate has already been decided. She knew the truth, this we are certain. What she did with that truth, I don't know. But I hug the smiling face of her daughter, and we continue to walk.

     I see the baby girl with hydrocephalus, the one who still has not been to the doctor. The one who, unless there is a miracle, will die.

    I look at the little girl too afraid to get close, and I beckon her to come, but she won't. She is afraid.

    My heart reflects to my other country, the pain of a night with friends and family gone terribly wrong. A community shaken, a country rocked, and we think and ask God why.

    And I look around and see the disease, the neglect, the poverty, the pain, and ask God why. Where is He? How is this fair?

     Then I look inside, my own garbage coating my heart from the numerous falls and failures. And I look into His gentle eyes as He offers to cleanse, and I shake my head "No". Because the dirt is comfortable, and I have to admit my failures to be washed. I am too good for this grace. Send it to someone who will wear it well, because I can do nothing but soil it over and over.

     We make our way into a small home with a man stretched on a bed, death at the door, darkness within. And we pray. Life is spoken, grace offered and received. Family and friends watch as another candle in a dark world is lit and begins to burn.

      We leave the little home, adding more. Little hands are holding mine. Two little girls, not letting go.

       The clouds are darker and the rain is coming. We must hurry, but we must stop and watch.

       This man should have died a year ago, but he is healed.

       This woman should have died, but she is healed. She has a baby, a miracle child. life coming where death should have won.

       This baby, my sweet baby, healing. United with the family who loves her, she is a completely different child.

        And He is here. He reveals himself when I look through His eyes.

        We make our way back to the basketball court where the little ones have gathered. The rain begins to fall... little droplets, and they crowd under umbrellas.

         The rain falls harder, and my body is wet. Soaked, in a cold shower.

         And they sing...

         Their voices drowning the sound of wind and rain. They cry out, little hearts understanding truth and dancing to the beat. The water falls steadily, cleansing, washing away the dirt from our bodies.

         And we play in the rain.

         In this culture, it is believed that being out in the rain will make you seriously ill. They don't play in the rain.

         But they did. They splashed and ran and jumped and laughed.

         Freedom.
   
         Dry bones absorbing the moisture and coming to life. The beauty of sweet freedom, of joy.

         I think He watched in that moment, splashing and singing beside us, rejoicing in the healing He brings.

         And I, the girl who spent the first 22 years of life under blankets and hidden from the storms, open my arms wide, and I embrace the little girl who came running toward me... the little girl I had been looking for all day.

         There is a reason rain comes more than once, to continually cleanse. And grace comes hourly, by the moment as times, to constantly pour healing.

          So I open my hands and allow the cleansing to begin.

          And I rejoice... for the time of cleansing is coming, and these dry bones will walk.

          Rain is a season... a season to welcome life.

          And all things are made new.

         The rain stopped when we left, and I can't help but think there was a purpose to the timing. There is something coming for these people. I believe it.

         And after the rain will come the harvest.

     

And One Day They Will Be Queens

     It began with a hand, her little hand grabbing mine. They were walking in the opposite direction when they saw us, she and her little sister, another little friend and his brother.

     She saw and she grabbed my hand, and they joined our little band of merry women as we walked the paths they take every day. And she didn't let go... except when I let go to hug the grandmother I haven't seen in a long time, the baby with the swollen head full of water, the little girl I have been looking for and finally found.

     But she waited, patiently, for me to return. And she grabbed my hand again and didn't let go.

     The hand soon turned into an arm around my waist, and then two. And the little arms became a hug, and she opened them to welcome others.

     But she didn't leave my side, and to be honest, I didn't want to leave hers.

     From hand to hug to shared giggle to hearts that mutually speak please don't let me go.

     And I saw her... another little girl. A familiar face I have a picture of from two years ago. I don't know if she remembers me, but I have carried that face in my heart. I met the little sisters she leads by the hand. An unsure and uncomfortable hug goodbye. I have missed her, and now there is a name to attach to the face.

     Still this other one. One little girl I have known for years. She will call my name and say "Hello", but she won't come near. Her smiles hold a world of secrets and I wonder what her life is like when all is silent and we are gone.

      The dreams I have for the little girls in this area, really, they are because of her.

       And there are still more... big sisters with the weight of the world on their shoulders, the hugs I won't dare let go before they do. And we smile and whisper blessings and prayers because they have value.

        Their world says they have nothing, but He sees them and they are valuable and precious and cherished.

         Sweet little princesses, your King delights in you. How do I help you know?