Part Two: Things to be thankful for

I was reading The Secret Life of Bees when she called. At first I thought she was just calling for a last check-in, details, all that jazz. And then it became abundantly clear. There is trouble in my beloved place. So much trouble that I am not going back. I held it together while we talked, shoved the lump in my throat down. When we hung up I yelled.

A few days prior, when I had first heard of this trouble I had told my mama, “If I don’t get to go back I’m going to be devastated.” And I am.

A small part of me is relieved. If Kristin and Sarah can’t go back, why should I? Part of me is relieved that for the three of us, that summer place was sacred, in a way. It is untouchable now, but we all lived that glorious experience together, once.

I grieved being away from the place and the people last fall. And then I decided to go back. And I do believe God was in that decision. And now I must grieve again.

I get attached to places. I know that’s not good, but it is. It was the willow tree, the grove of trees, the scratchy grass, the ants, the fence even. The city too, I knew my way around. I knew the gist of how it worked, what to expect. I knew to take the number 19 bus and where to get off. I knew how to take the tram to the forest. I knew where to get the cheapest ice cream, and where to get the rich chocolate flavor I like best. I knew where the flower street was, and where to buy tomatoes. I suppose I still know all of these things, I just can’t get to them.

A huge reason to go back was simply to show the refugees that I cared enough about them to be there again. They hate that place; it’s like prison to them. It means a lot to them when someone is willing to return. Now, I don’t know if it will be possible, for them to know I’m back.

If I had known, back in October when I signed on to another summer, that Debrecen was out of reach, I do not know if I would have returned. In that regard, I feel as though God has tricked me, though I know that is not the case. I do know that God will use the circumstances or have something better in his plans.

But I feel as though the carpet has been pulled out from under my feet and there is a gaping hole under it.

However, there are many things in this situation to be thankful for.

I am thankful that she called to tell me, instead of letting me find out through and email, or at training.

I am thankful that she fought for me.

I am thankful that she values my service, my willingness.

I am thankful that R gets to go back, even as that also makes me jealous.

I am thankful that there is T, who is older and experienced and that at least some refugees in Debrecen have the opportunity to learn this summer.

I am still honored to feel this pain, to have gotten to experience something so heartbreakingly wonderful that this change of plans is so difficult and painful.

I was really looking forward to the team this summer, but going forward, I am thankful for the opportunity to be on an all female team. Though I know it will have its challenges, I’m excited to be able to share a deeper level of vulnerability with my team.

I’m thankful that God has trusted me with this painful experience. I know there is a lesson somewhere in it, and I am thankful that He is in control and constant. I’m thankful for His steadiness as He takes me through this. I’m thankful that He wants to use me this summer, even though it’s not in the capacity that I was expecting. I’m honored that He would trust me with this hardship.

I am thankful to feel even a millionth of a fraction of what displaced people feel. I wanted to live there. My goal was to live there for a year. I decided to make that place home for the time I was there so I could fully live in the present. So in that tiny, tiny, not even comparable amount I feel like a displaced person.

It sounds dramatic, I know, and I would never say that to a refugee. And I know what they feel is a million times more important and worse. But it is a taste and I am honored to have it.

In the same vein, I am not going back because I am a woman. And though for a different reason than so many other women in the world, I ache to not be able to be there for a reason completely out of my control. I am not wanted there just because of who I am. It is no one’s fault— we do not fight against flesh and blood, after all. But it hurts all the same. And again, in other parts of the world it is so much worse, but I am honored for this taste, to be part of the world’s community of women in this hardship that is life. A millionth of their pain is still a piece. I am still in this. I am not immune to the pain, to the experience of not being enough. I’m honored to share in a piece of it, even though, (thank You, Jesus) it is a small piece.

I knew it would be a completely different experience this summer, no matter what. But now, it is as if I am signing up for a different trip entirely.

It hurts. Deeply.

I wonder if my experiences last summer prepared me for this summer. My dear friend Sarah, who also went last summer, said to me that maybe it will even be more difficult, but that I will learn even more and change even more.

I know more now. I know last summer’s experience will help. I feel as though I’ve walked through the fire once already— that is no exaggeration. It was incredibly painful and difficult. But it was beautiful too. And the small moments of beauty outweighed the long days of struggle and frustration.

I mean, obviously, I decided to go back.

I ache deeply.

But I know God has a plan for me and for this trip, and I know His plan is better than mine, that He withholds no good thing.

I know all these things. I know that places shouldn’t matter. That most of the people would be different anyway, that the experience would be completely different. I know I serve a loving God. I know I want God’s will, because it is always better than mine, even if I don’t find out how until Heaven. I know I do not live for myself and to love God well I must die to my own desires. I know that this story isn’t about me. I know that God is always good, always strong, and always loving.

I know all these things. And there is comfort in these things. But if I am to be honest, and I am, I am surrendering only because I can do nothing else. If it were up to me, I’d be in Debrecen, sitting under the willow tree drinking orange juice (the color, not the flavor) with S and F and their mothers, being frustrated at the men’s stares and remarks. If it were up to me. But God. He reminds me of these good things. I do trust Him, and I am excited to see what He will do.

Thank You Jesus, for loving me though I am unlovable.

But at the end of it all, I am still so thankful for the privilege of last summer. To share in the suffering. To witness and experience, and be.

It was an honor.