When you really make a mess of things

 

I had really messed up. Maybe you’ve messed up, too. If you’ve ever lost hope and felt desperate and then blown it, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

 

I had yelled at my husband, refused to unpack, and insisted we leave for the States immediately.

I’d yelled at God, too. “God, You got this wrong when You sent us here! What could You have been thinking?!?!”

 

Exhausted, suffering from several days of culture shock, and feeling trapped, I’d crashed into a “fight or flight” mode. Dr. Henry Cloud explains: “When we’re in a crisis and need help, our brains have instantly changed.

“When we are under threat,” he continues, “our higher brain’s ability to think clearly, make judgments, find solutions, solve problems, and calm down is being interrupted by a bath of stress hormones that take us to a ‘fight or flight’ mode.”

Dr. Cloud described me perfectly.

But my husband, seemingly unable to empathize with me, insisted we stay, pointing out he’d committed to teaching those missionaries’ kids and he wouldn’t let them down.

And he was right about that. He’d made a commitment—we’d made a commitment—and should not back out.

But knowing he was right didn’t ease my despondency.

The wilderness. I was in it—a parched wilderness. I couldn’t have put it into words that day, but somehow, deep down, I knew that despite my hollering at God and questioning Him, He was not angry at me. No, He loves us “even in the wilderness, especially in the wilderness, because he has been in the wilderness with us,” writes Frederick Buechner. “He has been in the wilderness for us. He has been acquainted with our grief. . . .

“And rise we shall, out of the wilderness, every last one of us.” (Frederick Buechner, A Room Called Remember)

That reminds me of these words of hope from Micah in the Old Testament: “My  God will hear me. . . . When I fall, I will arise; when I am in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me.” (Micah 7:7-8)

Lloyd John Ogilvie penned this prayer: “Father, help me take life’s . . . defeats as a part of a bigger process on the way to final triumph. Give me a faith that defies defeat. Help me get up and press on. . . . Nothing is more crucial than trusting You. . . . Lift me up when I get down. . . . I rise to fight again!” (Lloyd John Ogilvie, Quiet Moments with God; emphasis mine)

“We have a [Heavenly] Father who understands the weakest and most foolish of His children,” wrote missionary Amy Carmichael. She was talking about the likes of me—weak and most foolish.

“So,” Amy continued, “scattered throughout His Book, we have little simple prayers. . . .” (Edges of His Ways)

Prayers like: “Lord, hear me when I call; have mercy and answer me. . . . Do not turn away from me. Do not turn [me] away in anger. . . . Do not push me away or leave me alone, God, my Savior. . . . Lord, teach me your ways and guide me to do what is right. . . .” (Psalm 27:7-11, NCV)

Prayers like: “O Sovereign Lord, deal well with me for your name’s sake; out of the goodness of your love, deliver me. For I am poor and needy. . . . my heart is wounded within me. I fade away like an evening shadow. . . . My knees give way. . . . Help me, O Lord my God; save me in accordance with your love.” (Psalm 109:21-26, NIV)

At that remote mission center 

on that afternoon of mental, physical, 

emotional, and spiritual distress, 

God my Father understood. 

That’s staggering, really.

In the chaos of unpacking, setting up a home, and acclimating to extreme weather, He was capable of being my one stability.

While navigating through a new culture and meeting dozens of new people (as lovely as that is, as an introvert, the experience overwhelmed me), He was capable of holding me together, sending me a little dose of stamina, giving me the tiniest measure of courage—just enough to keep me going from one minute to the next.

And He was doing all that despite my inability to feel Him genuinely close or hear His voice. My deep angst did not keep Him from doing His work.

“Your faithfulness, Lord, is my peace,” writes Lloyd John Ogilvie. “It is a source of comfort and courage that You know exactly what is ahead of me. Go before me to show the way.

“Here is my mind; inspire it with Your wisdom. Here is my will; infuse it with desire to follow Your guidance. Here is my heart; infill it with Your love.” (Lloyd John Ogilvie, Quiet Moments with God)

But let’s talk about you for a minute: We all have days of weariness and discouragement. We all feel broken at times. Occasionally we all lack the will to keep fighting the good fight.

When that happens to you, when you feel alone and misunderstood, when you feel like you’ve really blown it, remember the words of Micah 7:7-8, “My  God will hear me. . . . When I fall, I will arise; when I am in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me.”

Go in peace.

 

Those who survived the bomb blast

August 4, 1976, Bogotá, Colombia: “A bomb exploded at the Summer Institute of Linguistics,* injuring five U.S. citizens who had just arrived from Peru. Several other bombs were detonated in Bogotá, including one at the Bank of America.” (Lethal Actions Against Americans) 

Will and Lee Kindberg and three of their children were the five mentioned above who had just arrived on a flight from Peru. They had completed their work as Bible translators there and had accepted a new assignment in Colombia. (Click on “We mean business. Get out, or you will hear from us again.”)

It was midnight when the Kindbergs arrived at the guest house with Bill Nyman. Here’s an excerpt from Called to Die: 

“A small parcel in the shadows on the step caught his [Will’s] attention. 

“Oh, look,” he chuckled, “somebody’s left us a bomb.” 

As [Bill Nyman] toyed with the lock, Will stooped to pick up the package. A tiny electrical component on top began sparkling. 

“It is a bomb!” [Bill Nyman] shouted. [He] dropped the key and raced to the car for shelter. 

Will froze. Should he throw it into the street? His family and friends were there. Leave it on the steps? People were inside; but at least a door protected them. 

Gently he set the package down, then sprinted behind the car and crouched, wondering what it would feel like to have his feet blown off. 

The explosion ripped the night. Will buried his face in his hands and listened as bits of glass rained on the pavement up and down the street. “Welcome to Colombia,” he muttered, ears ringing from the concussion. (from Called to Die,The Story of American Linguist Chet Bitterman, Slain by Terrorists, by Steve Estes)

Later, Will Kindberg wrote, “My daughter, Kathy, had run across the street at Bill's warning, and threw herself on the ground in front of the house there. She was slightly cut by falling glass. I scraped my elbow when I fell as I scrambled around the car, and my ears hurt for days. But we were all thankful to still be alive.”

He continued, “One woman, leaning out of a second-story window of a house across the street, screamed to her family: "Llama a la policía!"  (Call the police!)  A few drivers, attracted by the explosion, drove up and stopped. The occupants of one car offered a seat to my daughter, Virginia, who was sobbing, and asked, 'Why do they hate us so?'" 

By God’s grace, the bomb killed no one inside the guest house.

After reading of devastation on the first floor (see “We mean business. Get out, or you will hear from us again”), you might be asking, “How could it be that no one died?”

Here’s how: Everyone was upstairs, on the second and third floors, asleep. Damage up there wasn’t nearly as bad as that on the first floor. How wonderful is that?!?

Let me hurry to point out that the upper floors did suffer damage, and people did receive injuries, but no one died.

That night, Edna Lush was in bed upstairs, recovering from surgery. Up to that point, she had been getting into and out of bed very carefully but that night, during the split-second time lapse between the blast and its impact, Edna sprung out of bed—just before the window above her bed blew out and left her pillow covered with broken glass. Her husband, Jim, recalls, “It was truly amazing that she leaped out of bed so fast.” 

Young Danny Janssen had a similar experience but, unlike Edna, he didn’t escape from his bed in time. He tells the story of his dad watching the glass blow out of the window, whole, and then explode, landing on Danny (who now goes by Dan). Today, he still talks about the scar he has on his left hand.

And then there was Bobby Wheeler, who by that time had graduated from high school. His younger sibs, Jim and Linda, get a kick out of telling the story of Bobby sleeping through the bombing. They tell the story like this:

Bobby and their mom, Peggy, had brought a Siona man, Estanislao, from his tribal home to Bogotá for medical help. Estanislao and Bobby were sharing a room for the night and when the bomb exploded, Estanislao called, “Bobby! Wake up. I heard a big noise. I think it was a bomb.”

But Bobby mumbled, “No, it couldn’t have been a bomb. Bogotá is a big city with big noises. Go back to sleep.”

But Estanislao wasn’t convinced. “No, Bobby, I’m sure that was a big bomb.”

After some back and forth, Bobby said, “Let’s go downstairs. I’ll prove to you everything’s okay.” Imagine Bobby’s surprise when he saw the front door blown in and all the other damage—and the traumatized occupants of the guest house.

In Edges of His Ways, Amy Carmichael wrote of the times we ask God to show us what to do, where to go, what to do for a living. She likened us to children who ask a parent, “Please point us in the right direction.” We ask Him, believing He has good plans for us.

No doubt Bill Nyman and his family were serving God in Bogotá because they believed He had pointed them there. The five Kindbergs, too, had spent long months asking God to point them in the direction He thought would be best for them. Each person asleep in the guest house also had sensed God pointing them toward work in Colombia.

Amy Carmichael continues, “Then He points perhaps to something very unexpected,” —like working with an organization targeted by anti-American Marxist guerrillas—"and we are bewildered.”

Bewildered! I guess so! Why would God 

send people to work in such a dangerous place?

But then, Amy Carmichael draws our attention to Psalm 139:10, 

“Even there your hand will guide me, 

your right hand will hold me fast."

God gives us many assurances of His protection, verses like this: “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand” (Isaiah 41:10, NIV).

Those at the guest house that night 

witnessed God do just that for them.

* “In the early years of what would later become, in part, Wycliffe Bible Translators, linguists trained during summer breaks from college at a school named Summer Institute of Linguistics, SIL. . . . In later years, SIL and Wycliffe became partner organizations. SIL worked on foreign fields doing linguistic and anthropological research and work, including Bible translation, while Wycliffe worked in home countries to recruit personnel and provide support services for those working overseas.” (Chapter 3, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir.)

When you have a desperate need to spend time alone with God

I have a hunch you’ve experienced life spinning out of control—maybe a time when the opinions and wishes of those closest to you pulled in one direction and then yanked you the opposite direction.

And in the midst of all that, you had your own opinions and wishes and plans and dreams. Life can get ragged, can’t it?

That’s where I found myself at the beginning of my memoir, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go. Dave was certain we should move our young family to Lomalinda, a mission center in the wilds of Colombia, South America, but I strongly opposed that.

Here’s an excerpt from Chapter 1:

  The worst part of moving to Lomalinda, the part I couldn’t bear to put into words, was separating my kids from their grandparents, aunts, and uncles. The thought of that crushed my soul. Matt and Karen were part of those folks. And they were part of Matt and Karen, and of me, too. We defined ourselves within our family circle. Children thrive when surrounded by relatives who nurture, love, and shape them. With all my heart I believed yanking out our roots and moving to Lomalinda would hinder my children’s well-being, and that conviction made me the most obstinate.

  Dave subtly persisted. But so did I: Please, God, don’t make me go!

And as if that conflict wasn’t bad enough, my mother fiercely disagreed with my husband and, uncharacteristically, in sheer panic, with the profound protection mothers always feel for their kids, she pressured me to side with her.

It would’ve been easy for me to take her side because, after all, I agreed with her. But my heart told me my loyalty had to remain with my husband—and that was wrenching because everything within me rebelled at Dave’s plan.

The strain between Dave and me continued for weeks, even months. Life went on pretty well, but we avoided talking about moving to Colombia, and I knew Dave had not budged a fraction of an inch.

In truth, my heart was broken. Shattered.

I wrote this in Chapter 2: 

Those were numb days. I looked west at my Puget Sound and Olympic Mountains, and east at Lake Washington and the Cascades, and tried to imagine living in a place without their timeless beauty.

  But even more painful, those days I looked at my parents and Dave’s through different eyes—stinging eyes. And I looked at our brothers and their families, and I tried to picture living on a faraway continent where all those precious faces would be only shadowy memories—for me, yes, but especially for my kids. How could I agree to leave?

Eventually, a holy discontent with the situation overcame me. Something had to give. I longed for relief from the stresses and pressures.

   I needed clear direction and, at a time like that, religious platitudes wouldn’t cut it. Pat answers and black-and-whites—useless. I longed to enter a still place and hear what God had to say—not Dave, not my mother, only Him. And I sensed Him saying, “No hurry. Take as long as you need.”

   Despite my duties with busy kids and husband and home and ministries, I found a thin place where my heart stayed alert, listening for God night and day. (Chapter 2)

I yearned to hear God’s still small voice, to dwell in a quiet place where I could hear His ongoing whisper. I needed His wisdom, His direction. I wanted take comfort in His presence.

And Amy Carmichael writes this reassurance about praying to God our Father, “. . . there is no need to press Him as if He were unwilling.” (Isn’t that a lovely, comforting reminder?) And indeed, I did feel welcome and safe in His presence.

I prayed something like David did in Psalm 27: “Hear me as I pray, O Lord. Be merciful and answer me! My heart has heard you say, ‘Come and talk with me.’ And my heart responds, ‘Lord, I am coming” (verses 7 and 8, NLT).

Like David wrote in another psalm, I said, “Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him.” He continues, “Truly he is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken. . . . Trust in him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge”(Psalm 62:5-8, NIV).

Lloyd Ogilvie reminds us of our “primary commitment to put God first in our lives.” He says, “A constant surrender of our minds to think God’s thoughts and our will to do His will will give us the moment-by-moment discernment about what we should do.” That’s what I wanted.

And so, I prayed and set my heart to listen for Him—to listen to Him. I lived out one of my favorite passages in the Bible, Habakkuk 2:1, “I will stand like a guard to watch. . . . I will wait to see what the Lord will say to me” (ICB).

Perhaps today your life is in turmoil, stretched and pulled

almost to the breaking point.

Maybe you are at a fork in the road, like I was—

at a pivotal point, a defining moment.

Hear the words, “Come away, my beloved”

(Song of Solomon 8:14).

Step back—even if only in your heart and mind—

from the noisy crowded busy life all around you

and be still in God’s presence

and know that He is God (Psalm 46:10).

Pour out your heart.

Be intentional about watching and waiting,

for as long as it takes,

to hear what the Lord will say to you.