by erika haveman
There’s a first time for everything, they say. It was on this trip I took last summer that I experienced a first.
I do a lot of travelling for my job as a missionary. Checking into flights, dealing with ticket agents, going though security screenings, answering customs questions are all very normal and cause very little anxiety nowadays. There’s always a reason for protocol and there’s always a civilized way of dealing with things. Unfortunately I had a not so civil experience in mid 2017 that led to a break down in a bathroom stall where I could not stop crying.
The tears had already started as I made my way through US Customs. I suddenly had little care for my entering the USA, only the second time on my newest visa which could be an occasion for my nerves to be on high alert and for anxiety to make my heart pound. However, I was so upset that I had no concern whether or not I’d get a border guard who was going to give me a hard time. Thankfully the gracious US customs agent must have seen the tears welling in my eyes as it became increasingly difficult for me to answer her simple questions and she let me through with no issues.
The tears were probably a combination of several things. First, I’d had a very distressing encounter with a United ticket agent (to which I vowed I’d never fly them ever again, only to get on a United flight later that year, which was a redeeming experience). Then I’d anticipated a goodbye at the airport from my sister, brother and dad who were coming to pick up the car I’d driven to Pearson (in Toronto). Tragically they were incredibly delayed because, of all insane things, a bear jumping in front of their car on the way to the airport, ruining the front end, cracking the windshield and setting off the airbags. Before I got the phone call about the bear incident I’d gotten 1 hour of restless car sleep in a sketchy parking lot, my first shut eye in almost 24 hours. Not to mention I was coming straight from a beautiful, emotional wedding of a dear friend and I was on my way to officially moving to Montana after 18 months of, essentially, couch surfing and living out of a suitcase.
I’ve had long nights before. On more than one occasion I’ve been awake for 35+ hours due to flights and travel. But this time was different. I was a basket case of emotions and wept more than I have probably in about 9 years. What kept the tears flowing in that bathroom stall was not the stress of the awful ticket agent (they had miscommunicated and I suffered), the lack of goodbye from my family (it wasn’t there fault a black bear decided to say goodbye to the world on the hood of their VW), or finally moving to Montana after months of waiting (or was it?). What really got me was the realization that following Jesus can be really, really tough sometimes.
I would never exchange the exciting (and at times dramatic) life I have of following Jesus just to go through the motions of the predictable (I wrote about this a year ago here). Certainly at the same time I am no saint for following Jesus and finding things a challenge. Recently in one of my blogs I made brief mention of John 15:18-26 and John 16:33 where Jesus is talking about how life as a disciple will be hard because life was hard for Jesus.
I was in Taiwan in late 2017 leading a Biblical teaching team. It was rewarding to see so many familiar faces I had met and ministered to in 2016, as well as build relationships with new people and ministries. Personally, though, the outreach really stretched me. There were some things that happened world’s away with dear family and friends that made me feel helpless, lonely, and isolated. There was nobody to talk to – or so I felt. I have a tendency to believe that nobody wants to listen to me when I struggle, so rather than impose my sore heart on someone I choose independence. This isn’t a healthy reaction, and I know it and no doubt it will be a reaction I’ll be continually challenged to outgrow. But the isolation made leading really hard and near the end of my time in the beautiful country I felt done.
I stood on the edge of the ocean one night (anybody else find standing on the ocean a sacred space? More sacred than bathroom stalls in airports, anyways). It was watching the waves of the Pacific crash on the shore that made me whisper the similarly painful words to the heavens I had offered on the morning I wept at Pearson.
“Jesus I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to be done. I’m so tired of feeling this way. Can you send someone else? Can you not bring me back here?”
Again I let tears slowly trickle down my cheek. As I let myself go I let the pressure to be perfect slip away. When the tears subsided I felt the gentle voice of Jesus tell me I would do this more. He told me I wasn’t done. He told me it’s okay to feel that way. He told me He wasn’t sending someone else and that I would go back to Taiwan. I took a deep breath and let a few more tears fall.
Breaking down, in bathroom stalls or beside oceans, is one of the best ways to give up when we’ve had enough.
Often where our tragedy and our surrender meet we encounter hope.
As we push open that stall door, tear stained face and all, we realize that we can’t stay broken. Jesus came to heal the broken hearted, whose hearts probably broke as a result of living a life faithful to Him. He is the epitome of provision and hope.
So go ahead, break down. Jesus is just waiting to show you His hope and give you the strength to make it to tomorrow. Maybe your hesitant to believe this right now. But hey, there’s a first time for everything, right? Why not make this your first for today?
the rambling missionary 