Navigating the Bumps in Life

One of my favorite things in the whole world is to ride on the back of a motorbike down the red dirt roads to the villages of Cambodia, between rice patties and trees and children and cows, the wind against my face and my eyes feasting on the landscape. This is the stuff of poetry.

And then there are the bumps.

After all, they are dirt roads. The small bumps make me slide forward in the seat little by little, until it’s finally time to get readjusted. Then there are the bigger bumps, the ones that make your body weight shift upward (like when you accidentally hit a pothole and fly up off your seat…except not quite that big)—and those are the ones you can use strategically. You can use the jostle to pop right back into position. Or you can ignore it and just stay really uncomfortable. If you ignore it long enough, I'm sure you could probably lose your balance (but don't worry, I've never done that on a motor bike!).

I’ve been thinking lately how there are a lot of bumps in life, and how I’m in the middle of one right now. There are bumps when we move, when we change careers, when we begin or end relationships. Sometimes we expect them, and sometimes we don’t. But in either case, we have the choice to use them strategically or to ignore them.

The thing about these bumps is that they don’t really have much to do with the horizontal direction you’re heading. You can be on your way anywhere: you can be on a straight stretch of road, you can be on a blind curve, or you can be approaching an intersection. They have to do with your positioning vertically—how you’re sitting on the bike that’s beneath you. How you relate to the thing that is always with you, no matter where you go.

I’m in the middle of a bump. I have the chance to evaluate how I’m relating to what's always with me—myself and Jesus.

Am I where I want to be with Jesus? Am I engaged in the kind of relationship for which He has made me? Am I delighting in Him, and am I believing He is delighting in me? Am I seeking Him, listening to Him, loving Him, obeying Him? Am I overwhelmed by His presence, His love?

And am I where I want to be as a person—am I mentally and emotionally and physically healthy? Am I forgiving and showing grace to myself? Am I anxious or depressed or buying into perfectionism? Am I taking care of myself?

Here I am, with the choice to inventory and let go of the things that are weighing me down, to reposition and make sure I am in the place I want to be with regards to my God and myself. In her book Packing Light, Allison Vesterfelt (one of my favorite blogged) writes,

“You have wants, desires, needs, and ideas. These are all things you ‘pack’ with you for your journey. You might not even know you’re carrying them, but they’re in there. You’re walking around with a heavy suitcase” (p. 252).

I want to use this bump strategically. I want to toss unnecessary baggage off the back of the motorbike, focus on and enjoy the thrill of adventuring with Jesus, and make sure I’m in good shape internally.

And when this bump is over—well, perhaps the best thing about bumps in the road is that they remind us that we can reposition at any time, really. We don’t have wait for a huge unsettling event in our lives to check our internal well-being and our relationship with the Lord. All it takes is a little intentionality and we can slide right back to where we’re supposed to be—or a little closer, at least.

We may not always have the choice of avoiding bumps in the road, but we do have the choice in how we respond to them. Wherever you are in life, I pray your bumps afford you the joy of repositioning and enjoying a fresh perspective of yourself, of your surroundings, and most of all, of the Lord.

What are some bumps you're facing in life right now?

Are you anticipating bumps on the upcoming road, or have you just come through a bumpy stretch?

How do you usually handle bumps? 

Beyond the Smiles

I remember her lying there. The bare metal bed frame. Her hair pulled back behind her head. The blood on the floor. The coughing and then the bright red vomiting as her thin frame twisted and shook. And the pool of blood grew.

This woman had no family. In this Cambodian hospital, family members are the ones who bathe, clean, clothe, reposition, provide food for and feed patients. They are the ones who faithfully stand at the bedside and move plastic fans back and forth, back and forth, creating air movement in an un-air-conditioned building and preventing the ever-present flies from landing on the sick. 

This woman had no family. 

Her eyes were closed, her body weak. There was nothing with which to clean up the crimson puddle. “Wait,” they told me. “The cleaning lady will come later with the mop and bucket.”

I remember the moral dilemma when a doctor told me they had no more blood to transfuse for this woman. The need for blood, the safety concerns if I dared donate, the fact that even with several transfusions this woman may not live because we could not correct the bleed at this facility… These are the moments that pushed me to the end of my rope again and again until eventually, when I came back to the States, I felt I had completely lost the rope a long, long time ago.

Yet, as Bethany Williams writes in The Color of Grace, “when our level of desperation becomes greater than our pride, true healing can begin.”1

It has been in the pride-swallowing desperation following those experiences that I have discovered true healing. 

True healing, I found, requires courage—and learning what courage is. Courage isn’t going without water heaters and microwaves; it isn’t forcing my eyes open to watch drivers navigate the wildly crowded streets of Phnom Penh. It isn’t becoming comfortable riding on a motorbike or even eating fried crickets and silk worms.

Courage is living the story that is happening beyond the smiles, beyond the Facebook posts and beyond the Instagram snapshots. Courage is struggling—hard—and being vulnerable with others about those struggles. Courage is walking into a counselor’s office; courage is asking for help. 

Courage is learning to acknowledge grief and wrestle with suffering, being willing to embrace my humanity, and humbling myself enough to recognize I'm in over my head. In that moment in the Cambodian hospital, standing at the bedside of a dying woman, I felt helpless and defeated. What had eaten away at me for years was shoved in my face: I was not enough. This time courage meant wading through years of lies to find the truth that although I am not and never will be enough, I don’t have to be.

True healing, I found, happens in the presence of Jesus. 

I can never do enough, say enough, sacrifice enough, love enough; I can never be enough for Cambodia, for those around me, or for myself. Yet when I relive that moment in the Cambodian hospital remembering that Jesus was present, too, I find that He is enough.

As healing happens within, grace creeps into the relationships with those around us. We don’t have to be enough, for God is enough. When we believe this truth for ourselves, we can extend grace to ourselves for our imperfections and failures. When we believe this truth for others, that they don’t have to be enough either (for God is more than enough for all of us), we can extend grace to them. True healing embraces Truth, brings forgiveness, and overflows with grace.

Healing is a process, and it requires humility and perseverance and sincerity. It is not easy. But the freedom on the other side is well worth the work. For me, it has brought freedom from the pressure to please, perform, and perfect. I am free to feel and to fail and to forgive, to be the imperfect me He created me to be.

If healing happens in the presence of Jesus, what glorious news that Jesus is Immanuel, that Jesus is here with us! And He is enough. His sacrifice is enough for our sins. His love is enough for our souls’ deepest needs. His compassion is enough for our grief. His strength is enough to catch us when we fall. His presence is enough to heal. He is enough.
 

Deepest gratitude to my wonderful counselor, Lynette, who continually ushers me into Jesus’ presence and who walks with me in this healing process. I am truly thankful, from the bottom of my heart…

1) Williams, B. (2015). The color of grace: How one woman's brokenness brought healing and hope to child survivors of war (p. 29).

In Over My Head

These lyrics to “In Over My Head,” a song by Bethel Music, recently caught my attention:

Then You crash over me and I’ve lost control but I’m free
I’m going under, I’m in over my head
And You crash over me, I’m where You want me to be
I’m going under, I’m in over my head
Whether I sink, whether I swim
It makes no difference when I’m beautifully in over my head1

I’m not sure there’s any better way to describe the transition in life right now. I’m preparing to leave behind a stable job with wonderful coworkers, move out of the coolest house I’ve ever lived in, and say goodbye to a city I just came to know and love. These are inevitable when it comes to the move to Cambodia.

People don’t talk about this part of missions much. It’s the part that some people point to and say is crazy or even stupid. It’s the part that the “missions-minded” (why is that even a distinction among church members, anyway?) often gloss over in their enthusiasm that the Great Commission is being fulfilled.

It’s the part that is a hundred nitty-gritty, contemplated decisions about leaving people, places, jobs, and what seems like security. It’s the part that means accepting that we aren’t in control but we’re free—we’re free when we let the Lord crash over us and our lives, stepping away from the comfort of the shore until we are way in over our heads. 

Helpless, powerless, struggling. Isn’t that what “in over our heads” means?

These are words we don’t like to talk about. In fact, these are words we as the Church often deny. To say that ministry is beyond our ability sounds like heresy to these Southern-Baptist-raised ears. Isn’t this what we were made for?! Of course it’s within our ability!

Yet the reality of missions—and ministry, and life—is this: if we think it is within our ability, we are dangerously deceived and in for deep disappointment. Interestingly, a confirmation this is the right thing to do is that every morning that I wake up and think about moving, I am driven to my knees. Thoughts of moving and ministry make me so aware of my inadequacy that I cling to Jesus more and more desperately.

For me, one of these inadequacies lies in the reality that moving involves taking a huge risk with mental health and depression. My well-oiled coping mechanisms will shift and change, and I will be challenged to find new ones in Cambodia. 

My roommate Taylor (who is also a nurse) had a patient once who was paralyzed from the neck down. Taylor came home struck by the patient’s utter dependence: if she wanted a sip of water, she had to ask; if she wanted to change the channel on the tv, she had to ask; if she wanted to turn the lights off, she had to ask. A discussion on the patient’s needs led me to consider: is dependence something that is learned, or is it something that is recognized? We say we want to learn to be dependent on God. But maybe we have it wrong…

Maybe we are always dependent on God. Maybe we just don’t recognize it.

In Colossians we read that Jesus “is before all things, and in Him all things hold together” and in Acts that “in Him we live and move and have our being.”2 We cannot take a breath without Jesus, for it is through Jesus that our very cells hold together. We don’t just need Him spiritually. We need Jesus to exist. 

We are all in over our heads.

It isn’t the act of moving that makes me need Jesus more. But the step of moving makes me more aware of my need, reminding me I’m already in over my head here in the States. This, I believe, is a step in the right direction.

Daunting and uncomfortable as this step is, ”whether I sink, whether I swim // It makes no difference when I’m beautifully in over my head.” Sink or swim, fail or succeed, struggle or thrive, it makes no difference when I am more overwhelmed by Jesus than ever before. Really, all is success if I find myself deeper in Christ than before. And so maybe thriving and struggling aren’t polar opposites, after all.

Whether it means moving overseas or intentionally breaking comfortable routines Stateside, may we be a people who step out in faith and recognize how helpless and incapable we are, may we live in a state of being overcome by Christ’s adequacy and love, and may we be a people who recognize that being in over our heads is truly the most beautiful place to be.

1) https://bethelmusic.com/publishing/in-over-my-head-crash-over-me/ 
2) Colossians 1:17; Acts 17:28. NIV.

A Need and A Means

I have a friend who once told me about an experience she had in nursing school. A nurse she was working with for the day was caring for a patient with cancer. One of the patient’s parent’s had died from cancer, the couple had no money, and the patient wasn’t doing well physically. One nurse went down to the cafeteria and bought them chili cheese fries because the couple was craving them. Another nurse found her wallet and handed the couple a $20 bill—all the cash she had with her. Later, all she said to the student (my friend) who was with her was, “They don’t have. I do. So I give. It’s as simple as that.” In other words, “They have a need. I have the means to meet that need. So I meet it.”

It’s as simple as that.

A need.

A means to meet that need.

Action.

And the need is met.

There are many variables and a long story behind this decision, but at its core, it is a choice to follow the Lord’s calling to meet a need with the means He has provided. It is with great excitement I share with you this decision: my friend Amy and I will be moving to Cambodia for six months. She leaves in November, and I leave in January.

It is with great excitement I share this. And fear. And nervousness. And trust.

The process to move has been anything but simple. For those who have journeyed with me this past year, you know how I have struggled. How I witnessed suffering and death in the Cambodian hospital, how the trauma that happened to my heart and soul from seeing those things broke me, how I am relearning who I am and who Jesus is. This is not an easy decision to go back.

Am I scared? Yes.
Am I thrilled? Yes.
Broken and weak? Yes!

Yet the Lord says He uses the weak; He perfects His power in weakness. 

The needs in Cambodia are overwhelming: physical needs for food, clean water, clothing; system-wide needs for education, healthcare, justice; emotional needs for healing from genocide less than 50 years ago; spiritual needs for knowledge of Jesus, explanation of the Gospel, discipleship. In moving, we know our weakness, and we know we cannot meet their needs. We do not have the means. The truth is, we are just as broken as they are. 

Yet our God does have the means. He meets our needs daily, physically and mentally and emotionally and most of all, spiritually—bringing us out of spiritual poverty and reminding us that we are His. He wants to meet the Cambodians’ physical and mental and emotional and spiritual needs, too. For His love and His riches and His abilities are more overwhelming than the most overwhelming needs.

There is great need in Cambodia.

We have a God who has the means to meet all of their (and our) needs and more!

He has called us to action, to bring His name to the nations.

And their needs will be met. Not by me, not by my friend Amy, not by you, not by any missionary or NGO1 or visionary or strategist. Their needs will be met by Jesus. He is, as someone told me recently, the real power source. He is the One who transforms hearts and minds and communities and villages and systems and provinces and countries.

And believing this for Cambodia and all the world, we go.
 

I would love to share with you more about how the Lord is leading and moving! If you would like to receive updates, join us in prayer, or hear more about this journey, please let me know. I would love to chat with you!

1) NGO: non-governmental organization