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

Why I Eat Raw Ramen

Uncooked, dry, straight from the package. I break off bite-size chunks and crunch away. It’s a wonderful snack.

People think I’m weird for eating Ramen this way. But let me explain why I do this. Travel back in time—just a few months—with me.

We all gathered around the polished wooden table outside the house. Cambodian students sat around me, their white shirts and blue skirts and shorts damp with perspiration. We laughed and played UNO, and I learned how to say colors in Khmer, and they told me stories about their day at school. Another student joined us — and she brought with her a pack of Ramen. 

The students’ faces lit up, and they hurriedly tore open the package and began breaking off chunks of dried noodles, occasionally dipping it into the silver packet of salty flavoring. They were thoroughly enjoying themselves.

Then a student turned to me, and handing me a piece of dry Ramen, she motioned for me to dip it in the flavoring. Continually touched by their generosity in the midst of material poverty, I did…and it was delicious. And my heart was full.

My heart was full.

This is why I eat raw Ramen. Because in that moment, we had no air conditioning, we had no hipster-coffee-shop-environment, and we had no fancy options for entertainment like the movie theater or a mall. 

But we had each other. We had laughter and connection and meaningful (albeit broken) conversation. We had community and we shared. They welcomed me into their lives joyfully, and we shared our hearts, our hurts—and our Ramen.

I eat raw Ramen because it takes me back to a time when I had the privilege of sitting around the table with English students and church members I came to love more than I thought possible. By eating dry Ramen, I bring a little bit of the simplicity of Cambodian life into my American routine, and I remember the things that are truly important. I remember to value laughter and connection and community and honesty and sharing. I remember to invite others into my life and am inspired to be in a community in which we willingly and gratefully share our hearts and our hurts.

As I sit on my bed and eat raw Ramen tonight, I invite you into that community as well. Let’s learn from each other and take time to appreciate each other’s presence. Let’s share our hearts and our hurts and our dreams. And our Ramen. I promise I’ll always share my Ramen with you.

This post is dedicated to the English students of Love Cambodia Center in Kratie, Cambodia, whom I had the pleasure of teaching during the summer of 2014. They stole my heart and I couldn’t get it back, even when I came back to the States. As I prepare to return to visit for a week, I am reminded how much they taught me about life and love. Please pray for these students as they courageously go against the grain of their culture to seek Jesus and know His love.

Why I Won't Go to Africa to Help with the Ebola Crisis

As a nursing student, each month I participate in a small-group, interdisciplinary ethics meeting with nursing students, medical students, a chaplain, a nurse, and a doctor.  Last week the topic for discussion was the ebola crisis; the question posed was, “Would you go to Africa to help with the ebola crisis?”  Some people said no, with the reasons ranging from “I don’t feel qualified” to “I don’t want to go in blind – we don’t know enough about the virus and how it’s transmitted.”  Some people said yes, they probably would go, because as healthcare professionals we are to help and care for people.  I said I would consider it. 

After some discussion and after others in the group had elaborated on why or why not they would go, the doctor who was facilitating turned to me.  “Allison, you said you would consider it.  Why did you say that?”

My heart started beating fast, and my face was warm.  Not because I was nervous, but because this topic gets emotional for me.  I began slowly and almost made it through my reasoning without my voice quivering and giving away my emotion.  You see, I learned a lot about caring for peoples’ health needs in other countries this summer.  You may have noticed I have been absent from blogging for quite a while, and that is because when I came home from Cambodia in August, I had much more to unpack than dirty socks and underwear.  I had a summer full of memories in a foreign hospital that was severely under-resourced in many different ways.  The past few months have been a season of emotional unpacking, wrestling with the “why’s” of seeing preventable suffering and death, and questioning God’s goodness.  This summer I felt completely overwhelmed by the sickness and brokenness in the hospital, watching a beautiful people group made in God’s image lay on metal bed frames in sickness and suffering.  I have never hit my breaking point and then been pushed past it so many times in my life.

But God is faithful.  After some nudging from a counselor, I explored the “why” questions that so bothered me about this summer’s experience in the hospital.

First, why did God let me see what I saw?  What was the purpose of seeing the suffering, the deaths, the tears of family losing a loved one to what I knew was a preventable disease?  The cold reality is that the suffering would have happened if I had seen it or not.  So why did God choose for me to witness it?

The answer came quietly one day while I sat weeping and remembering the patients I had seen.  I was sitting alone – because the weeping was easier alone, and no one in the world knew exactly what I had experienced, seen, observed, worked in.  I felt desperate and detached much of the time with my emotions and memories and grief.  It was too big for me, and it overwhelmed me.  I could not comprehend the suffering or the health disparity between developing countries and the United States.  As I sat on the floor with tissues beside me, I asked over and over again, “Why? Why did you let me see that?”  And the Lord answered.

Because I am there.  I am there in the hospital.  I see the suffering, and I grieve.  Yet I am bigger than all the suffering and all the good.  For years you have marveled at My love because your mind cannot comprehend it.  Now, you marvel at the amount of suffering that exists and My ability to grieve compassionately for each and every person.  I am bigger than all of it, Allison; the suffering is too deep for you to grasp, and so is my love.  On both ends of the spectrum, I am bigger.  I hold both things in my heart: intense love and intense care for the suffering.  You saw these things because I am there, and I have invited you into this part of my heart, too: the part where I see each person’s suffering and pain and grieve for them.

Leading up to the summer it was my prayer that each day I would know the Lord better at the end of the day than at the beginning.  He granted that prayer.  I never would have asked to be ushered into this part of God’s heart, but He chose to bring me in anyway. 

And I know Him more intimately for it.
 

The second “why” question I asked was, “Why does suffering like this happen at all?”  I knew the church answer: because humans sinned, and the world is broken.  But when the images of beautiful Khmer people hurting and memories of suffering came back to haunt me, this answer was far from enough.  I believed God was sovereign.  Never did I doubt that.  But since He was sovereign, why did He allow this suffering?  I only saw an inkling of what goes on in Cambodia, much less the world.  He could not let this happen and still be good.  He was sovereign.  He could do something.  So I sat there on the floor praying through tears again, asking why, and rejecting the answer that it was just because of sin.

Again, the answer came quietly. 

Because you – the world – need Me.

How was this different from the answer that the world is broken due to sin?  The explanation is simple.  My answer – “we sinned and the world is broken” – ends with us.  It ends with our sin and our brokenness.  It ends with frustration, helplessness, and hopelessness.  The answer the Lord gave, though, did not end with us or with the consequences of our sins. 

It ended with Him. 

This world and all that it holds – the evil, the suffering, the good, the joys – is not about us and our brokenness.  It is about Him.  The Lord’s answer was one of hope: it ends not with us but with Him.
 

Back to ebola.  My voice wavered and my heart pounded and my face flushed because talking about healthcare in other countries stirs up strong emotions.  It brings back memories that will never be erased from my mind of people dying and ill who could have been alive and well. 

The reason that I would consider going and would not just go to Africa is because seeing people suffer and die in a developing country is extremely hard emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.  When you know just as much as physicians about medical care for a disease, and you still do not know what to do to treat someone…that is one of the most helpless and overwhelming feelings that exists.

I would consider going, and I have considered and prayed about going.  Yet for now, I will not go to Africa to help with the ebola crisis because my heart is not ready for it.  After a summer in Cambodia, I am still recovering.  Maybe in the future I will go (and I believe I am called back to Cambodia in the future), but for the time being, I have to let my heart finish grieving and healing. 

Perhaps when we talk about going to Africa and the reasons we would or would not go, we are mistaken about the hardest parts of being there.  Perhaps the hardest part would not be the fear of contracting the virus or not feeling qualified to treat a patient. 

Perhaps the hardest part would be the grieving it would demand from our hearts. 

Should we shy away from this kind of grief?  No!  As I said before, I know the Lord more intimately for it.  Should we prayerfully seek the Lord as to whether we should go or stay?  Yes.  For whichever way He leads, I believe this:

We will know the Lord more intimately for it.