Sometimes, a missionary feels like he’s dying a martyr’s death. Only slow. And on the inside.
There are times, of course, when he rejoices that he has the privilege of suffering for such a worthy cause and offers himself up willingly.
There are times when The Job eats at his heart like an aggressive cancer. When—fighting to survive in his own strength—he struggles against the clock, striving to find a niche, and questioning the use of every moment and the eternal value of the mundane.
Every missionary desires to be useful, whatever the cost. They know the end goal. They hit the ground committed to get from Point A to Point B. But a moment arrives—for everyone, everywhere—when they realize their map is woefully inadequate. The map isn’t even to scale. The distance seems insurmountable. And they didn’t know there would be terrain like this. They don’t have the gear to handle it. They’re short on supplies. And they thought they’d have traveling companions.
Instead, surrounded by people, they are hiking alone.
The journey is theirs to make. And when it’s time to cross the mile-wide river? The raft is theirs to build.
I’m not going to lie. Moments like those are excruciating. But I honestly don’t know which was harder for me: coping with it myself or watching my husband throw his pack beside the trail and freeze.
We’d been through trauma and tragedy before we arrive on the field—before Boyfriend-Who-Is-My-Husband and I were even married. We’d handled it.
Together.
Suddenly, I wasn’t a team mate or even a support. My role vacillated between competitor and burden. Nothing I said or did helped. Silence and prayer should’ve been my sole tactic; my angry bushwhacking of my own trail was hardly subtle.
And our little Giant was haphazardly tossed back and forth between us.
Perhaps the biggest challenge was realizing that—when the language barriers, the mounting pile of cultural mistakes, and the general absence of anything diverting and relaxing got to be too much—there wasn’t exactly a sanctuary. Home equaled work, too. The office was there now. No more Daddy leaving for work and coming home to be with family. Frequently, Daddy was home but not to be disturbed. Blurred boundary lines became battlegrounds, and our marriage sustained injury after injury. We fought for our own selfish rights. We fought to protect the ministry. We fought to guard our son’s heart.
Six months out, we realized we weren’t going to survive. We kept our difficulties quiet, ashamed to admit we were failures. Surely, we would be judged for our lack of perseverance. People might even question our call.
One night, broken and crumpled on the floor, we sat, the door barred to shut out the expectations of others. So far down that I had carpet in my teeth, we asked God what He wanted of us. Our conversation, hoarse-voiced and teary, proved to be a game changer. We realized that He wanted us to do marriage as He’d designed it. Exactly. We wanted to honor God in our marriage and family first and foremost. If that meant packing up and getting counseling, we would do it. Whatever it took.
And if we could remain on the field and draw up a new treaty, agreeing on better, more biblical boundary lines, then we would.
You know what happened? God picked us up off the floor.
BWIMH committed to lead us in love, scheduling time to play and relax with us during his week packed with ministry. And I committed to make him and his ministry mine. I’d honor and respect his schedule and do everything I could to provide the space and quiet to do his best. During the winter months, it was complicated. But worth it? Oh yes. My journey dovetailed with his where it could, and I followed close behind enjoying our own time with little Giant when it was tough to keep up.
Psalm 3:3 says, “But You, O LORD, are a shield about me, My glory, and the One who lifts my head.”
When our packs get too heavy, and the hike is too grueling, it’s okay to set the packs down for a moment, because the Lifter of our heads is always near. He has a design that equips and supplies the sojourner. He will infuse us with strength for the trek.
And His map doesn’t tell lies.
The reality that ushers in change–ushers in Holy spirit wisdom. Well said ( and well-directed use of writing frustration!)
Thanks, Marcia. God’s design for marriage was best all along, but we each had to get to the point we were willing to follow him completely. I think before that moment, we hadn’t considered our God-given roles so willingly. But what a difference it’s made!
Poignant and beautifully written, Bethany. I am the richer for having read this.
I so appreciate that, Cynthia.
SO–this is a time of life that I often want to forget and at the same time never want to forget. This was a moment when I felt angry. Angry that missions wasn’t the glorious thing they said it would be. Angry that we were thrown into it and told figure it out yourself. Angry that there were now expectations placed on us that would somehow translate to whether or not we were good Christian soldiers. There were so many frustrations and no one, not even my beautiful wife could help me. I had to do this. I had to make this work. Then one night through her words of sorrow and grief the Holy Spirit grabbed hold of me. The Lord reached into my heart and squeezed. The icy fingers of fear wrapped around my spine and I knew. I knew that I was not who I thought I was. Here was the beginning of surrender. Here was where theology met the everyday. It was here where I began to really understand I needed a savior who could keep me, hold me, strengthen me, nurture me, console me, lift me from the mire. He showed me that before this I was happy to let him save me, but I would do the rest on my own. It was the least that I could do right? No. I needed to trust. I needed to press into Him. I needed to LIVE life and not DO life. And I needed the giver of life and His steadfast love. I laid myself bare before His feet and allowed Him to shine His truth into every dark corner of my soul. I have been there ever since. I still have struggles but they are not just mine anymore. I still have a little fire in the home, but it will not burn out of control anymore. I have learned, like Moses, that unless He goes with me I will not move, I will not lead.
Boyfriend-Who-Is-My-Husband, I am ever glad He is with you and that you DO lead. And how wonderfully! I would follow you anywhere. It is a pleasure to pour my life into you and your ministry, UNTO CHRIST. Thanks for reading and commenting with gut-level honesty.
“Carpet in my teeth”…profoundly able to relate to the anguish in these four words…thank you Bethany (and Pastor Rob)for your transparency and faithfulness. ♥
We comfort others with the comfort we ourselves have received . . . 2 Corinthians 1:3-4
Your blog just blessed my heart and soul…how heartwarming that you are vunerable enough to ‘bear-it-all-soul-spirit’ for the world to see and perhaps…save a marriage! May God bless you, Bethany, as you continue with inspired writing!
Thanks, Sheri. That’s why I write.
Beautifully written and I thoroughly enjoyed!
Glad to hear it!
Thank you for sharing and teaching so many others what marriage is about Bethany and Son-in-Law-That-I-Love. You bless my heart and I thank God for you! Love your gutses! Mom
Mom, thank YOU for being such a great example. I may not have always acted like I was paying attention, but I watched you and learned a lot. And you are SO cute! Love your gutses back.
Gutsy….And as always we love your guts! Dad
Hey, everybody! My dad read my blog! Woohoo! 🙂 Seriously, thank you for the compliment. I love YOUR guts.