The Joy of the Lord

That was my verse going into our trip to Liberia.

"The joy of the Lord is my strength." (Nehemiah 8:10)



I knew it would be difficult. I knew we would all hit our limit in all sorts of ways. And I knew that we could not do it in our own strength.

I'm not always right, but this was not a hard one to predict. It was hard. We did all hit our limits in all sorts of ways. We could not have done it on our own.



We got through, and we made wonderful friends, and had such valuable time as a family of six. We didn't snap under pressure and flip out. We didn't fall apart, get nasty, or ruin our testimony. But to be quite honest, I was disappointed with how I felt some of the time during our trip. Maybe I'm being really hard on myself, but I just ceased being me about halfway through our 4 weeks. I just dried up and went into survival mode, and stopped being filled with joy. I did what had to be done. I met each crisis that came up and tried to do what I could to work through it. I dealt with the critters and the sickness, the sweat and the heat, the constant issues of all the children... but it wasn't fun to me. I didn't wake up each morning thinking, "Oh goody, another day!" Uh, no. I woke thinking, "God, if you don't strike that chicken dead, I will do it myself. ...and, Oh man, another day... get me through Lord."



We enjoyed SO much of our time, but I just cannot explain to you how different life is there, and how much of our time was spend dealing with some sort of chaos or crisis. Each day toward the end of our time felt like a week... each hour like a full day. I can't explain it. It just felt like that. I didn't think of it in terms of being homesick. I mean, I didn't miss my house or car, washing machine, or even my bed all that much. I could handle living in Liberia... God gave us the kind of personalities not to get too freaky about the basics. But I missed my routine, having some sort of say over what happens. I missed taking care of my own household and being able to play by my rules. Mostly, I missed peace and stillness. I desperately wanted a quiet room~ without the possibility of intruders of any kind. It just didn't exist there.



So, here it is, 3 weeks after getting home, and I'm finally ready to talk a bit about the hard stuff. It has taken me almost this long to get over the chaos, and by that, I mean that I am now able to think back on things and not feel stress. I let it all go once I was on the plane home, but I needed 2 full weeks to not think about it much at all. That must sound insane to most people. It would've sounded insane to me before this too. It's true though, only in the recent days have I been able to think back on things and find there were so many wonderful moments each day, not just moments to block out because they were filled with emotional or physical or spiritual stresses. Whether it was parenting some difficult behaviors (constantly), helping 2 American kids to cope with Africa, helping 2 Liberian kids to cope with America coming their way, becoming a family of 6 overnight, dealing with the joy/craziness of 200 children who observe you like you are in a zoo enclosure, being hot and sweaty all the time, trying to meet the needs of so many people, trying to accomplish something to help them, trying to listen carefully and understand others despite the language barriers... or whether it was another type of chaos like praying to stay alive in the van, whose brakes were not fully operational yesterday, and yet now are in the said van which is careening down the road with plenty of traffic which merges with the honking of horns, not traffic signs... it could be tense in moments, especially when you pick several of these things and deal with them at the same time... which was always the case.



I won't ramble on and on anymore. I just understand how it feels to go into the "just-get-through-it" mode. I am not proud of that. I wish that somehow, I could have truly shone with the joy of the Lord. I know he was my strength. There's just no question. But I wish I could have felt less robotic in the last weeks. It was a little like I was switched off... and the flow of compassion and patience dried up and fell off of me and rolled under the bed (with the dead mouse) and wasn't seen again until I sat down in the plane on the ride home.

It scared me a little. A lot, if I'm honest. Would I be this kind of mom to my 4 beautiful children one day? The kind of mom I don't want to be; who's always uptight and freaky about something? The kind who tells her kids what to do, but has stopped listening?

It took me a while for the Lord to convince me that if I let him carry me, things will be just fine. (Not easy... but fine.) The many chaotic things we dealt with constantly in Africa will not be there to deal with one day when the kids come home. I will need Jesus everyday. I do not doubt that for a moment. Even if I forget my desperate-ness for a minute, my need for Him will be quite as real as ever.

I just so want to do this mothering thing well. I have tasted the fruit of raising my kids to know Jesus and obey him... and I desire so much to show the same kind of life to Kelvin and Hawa one day. But that takes hard work, and constant awareness, and love, compassion, patience, and seeking to obey God in how to deal with each situation... and patience, and more patience. It's so not easy.
And, it will be a whole new kind of difficult to do these things with children who have been raised apart from me for almost 6 and 8 years.

Anyway, I rambled when I said I wouldn't. Sorry.

The point? The joy of the Lord was my strength in Liberia. Even when I didn't feel joyful, it was my joy to be his daughter that brought me there in the first place. It was his joy that filled my heart with love and passion for people a world away from myself. It was his joy in seeing our family altogether that bonded us and makes me smile as I sit here. And certainly, this joy that originated from him, and was passed onto me, was my strength each day, all day, every day... even when I didn't feel it anymore physically... it sustained my spirit and held me together. It must have... because I'm still standing. :)

Thank you, Jesus. You're so good to me.