She wasn’t supposed to die. Not
yet. Not Yuli.
A
mutual Indonesian friend called me with the news. I had just seen Yuli the
previous week. We’d talked about things we feared, hoped for, believed in. Life
things. As we walked through the monkey park, I tried to understand what she
was really saying. And I stumbled through my own thoughts spoken in my second
language.
My vocabulary was so limited back then—over five years ago—though
it was fear, not ignorance that halted what I really wanted to say. But no
worries, I told myself. I’d get it right another time.
And now
it was too late. No more chances to hear what it was really like for my sweet
friend to live in the shack with her six siblings and nieces and nephews and
sometimes, grandparents and aunts and uncles. No more chances to really explain
why I’d left all my own family to move to the other side of the world to live
as a foreigner, and with her, as a friend.
She
died at age 20 in a motorcycle accident. Was mourned by her whole neighborhood.
Buried among crumbling tombstones that nearly tripped me and my 9-month
pregnant belly.
Three
weeks later, my first baby was born. And I buried the guilt behind new mommyhood
enjoyment.
The
guilt emerged a couple months later when a well-meaning friend made the
off-handed comment that I should’ve said more to Yuli. That I’d missed my
chance.
I nodded at her words. I felt she
was right. I’d feared. And I’d failed.
Weeks
later, we went back to the States for a six-month break after a 3 ½ year-term
in Indonesia. And as I met with friends and family and ate pizza and watched my
baby grow into winter clothes, and tried to remember to drive on the right side
of the world again, I tried to figure out what to do with the crushing guilt.
So, I
did what I always do when I don’t know what to do. I walked. And walked. With
my baby strapped onto my chest, and with views of the Colorado mountains ablaze
with yellow Aspens, and with the crunch of the Indiana winter beneath my feet
and with my nose filled with the scent of the Texas spring flowers, I walked.
And thought. And talked to God.
And He did that amazing thing that's always hard for me to grasp. He reminded me that He isn’t in the business of pushing guilt on my shoulders. Instead He pressed grace into the broken places of my
heart.
And though He didn’t let me see all the answers, He stuck with me
through my doubts.
I returned to Indonesia. To the
messiness of ministry. To the heat and the pressure and the diapers and the hopes and the
disappointments. And I continued to walk. And talk. And listen.
I don’t have all the answers. And
sometimes my heart aches with the unfairness of so many things.
But He
continues to teach me what I really need to know to serve with joy in the messy places, whether those places are in my home, in my neighborhood, or on my team. What I need
to truly believe in order to walk the truth in the midst of confusion. And what I need to remember in
order to embrace life in my own heart.
Next time, I’ll share more with you what
I, specifically, learned in order to be able to serve with joy, vision, and
purpose in the midst of all the messy realities.
photo credit, Dreaming in the deep south
My name is Dr. Ikhine, I have practiced magic for a very long time! I have the experience and expertise to cast the most powerful white magic spells and guide your life to success and happiness. My psychic abilities to analyze your case and to cast a patented spells will give you the fastest and best results possible! With every single love spell I cast, it's an army of positive and powerful energies that rises to win the battle for you email: Dr. Ikhine via agbadado@gmail.com or WhatsApp +2347038832903.
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