Speaking Silence

You’ve heard the saying, “silence speaks louder than words,” right? I’m coming to realize how true that is. In Counseling and Psychological theories, silence is sometimes your harshest and most effective weapon. Silence can mean, “I think you’re wrong but you can’t handle that rebuke yet,” or “please keep talking in the hopes that you come to hear the misconceptions in your speech.” In conversations, silence can mean disinterest, lack of attention, or even offense. Silence among friends can be positive and negative. It could mean that the relationship is so deep, so familiar, that no words are needed. Long lapses of silence can mean hurtful things like, “I don’t have time for you,” or simply that the friendship is coming to a close. I, unfortunately, have been on the giving and receiving end of this. I haven’t written on this blog for awhile. Even that silence can speak volumes; “I don’t have anything to say,” “I’m busy,” “I don’t think anyone would be interested in hearing this.”

Sometimes the atmosphere that is created from silence can be so good. Do you have those moments? Mine is in the car after a long day at work with multiple interruptions of, “Lydia, I have a question...” sometimes I get into my car, start the engine, and before putting it into gear, I reach for the knob that most people crank up, and I turn it down. Silence. Sometimes that silence literally settles onto my soul like a cool cloth on a fevered forehead, or a balm on a burn. It relieves. I’ve also had the opposite reaction to silence. I could be sitting there, knowing a time of silence before the Lord is what is needed, and suddenly every muscle in my body decides to revolt, and before I know it, I am standing at the sink doing dishes. I don’t have a great love of doing dishes, so you can imagine my surprise when I realize I would rather being doing this chore than sit in silence. 

But today I read something that reminded me about the power of silence. Thomas a Kempis, a canon regular during the late 1300s writes, “O Jesus, splendor of eternal glory and comfort of the pilgrim soul, I am voiceless before You, but I will have my silence speak to You.” (Kempis, 1984) Two things amaze me; firstly, that he had such an understanding of God’s glory as to invoke speechlessness. That’s the kind of reaction that shows he got it, he understood Who his God was. Secondly, that the only form of communication he had as a finite man in response to the glory of his infinite God was silence. To Kempis, silence was the only way to convey the message of awe that words were too weak to carry. 

This tells me two things. One, that silence as a form of communication is highly undervalued, even though it tends to be overused by mankind as forms of punishment, manipulation, or avoidance. That’s our tendency and our teaching. Secondly, that we need those times of silence, but that we go about it all wrong. Have you come across those admonitions of silence before? I have been guilt-tripped, muscled into, and drop-kicked by this notion of required silence. And what’s worse is, it mostly leads me into a cycle of poor performance and more guilt. My soul was made for silence before the Lord, but my body revolts. So, here’s what I’ve learned from Kempis and his sentence on silence; truly seeing Who my God is, leads to my expression of silence. Silence may need to come first at times, but I believe the norm is meant to be more of a response than a decisive act. 

Ok, maybe a real life scenario would help wrap this up. Say I hit one of those moments; I’m sitting in my chair, feeling the need to simply be silent. At the same moment, I also recognize the foot twitching that usually leads to the sudden sleep-walking type symptoms of subconscious avoidance through dish washing. I could force myself to sit in that chair and twitch away while the mantra in my head plays the broken record of, “Be still, be silent. Be still, be silent.” But, what if I turned all that energy into simply remembering? I love it when the Psalmist wrote, “These things I remember, as I pour out my soul: how I would go with the throng and lead them in procession to the house of God with glad shouts and songs of praise...Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God.” (Psalm 42:4-5b) He was remembering how it used to be, and his meditation on God’s goodness and past grace caused him to be content and hopeful for the future. The power of remembrance is an amazing catalyst for the power of silence. That act of remembrance of what God has done and Who He is has a higher success rate of bringing me to my knees in silence, or to my feet in rejoicing than the hammering words, “Be still, be silent.” I am still called to be still and be silent, but in response to what? My duty, or my God? Yeah, I think I’ll pick my God.

Every Thought Captive

What would it be like to think with every thought, every sensation, every tick of the clock of God's involvement in it? This morning I was a "good" Christian and bowed my head before eating my bowl full of Raisin Bran. Before I even completed the "Amen" I found my spoon in my mouth and my teeth crunching. My mind had already checked off prayer and gone on to the next thing. After profuse repentance I began to wonder, what if my senses were trained to be reminders for things like this? What if, with every bite of breakfast, I was reminded of how God's plan was involved? From the flavor of the cereal, to the way my tongue and brain were made to register it, to how it nourishes my body, and how God provided for it to be in a blue bowl purchased from Target to be set on a free table provided by a friend? I think my eyes would tear up, my gratefulness would overflow, and my brain would explode. 

Can You Pursue Independence and Perfection?

In the pursuit of perfection, have you ever wondered if we're not called away from a Western idea of independence? We're used to the lessons of our childhood helping us to grow and develop as our own person in the pursuit of one day living on our own. We're raised to be separate, and in the best case scenario, to do it in a healthy and stable way. But the idea of perfection in Christianity seems to call us to be increasingly dependent.

Brother Lawrence puts it like this, "The more we aspire to be perfect, the more dependent we are on the grace of God. We begin to need His help with every little thing and at every moment, because without it we can do nothing."The Trinity is perfect, the closer I come to an understanding relationship with that which is perfect, the more of a contrast my own life becomes. Then I begin to see, perfection is not possible. Not in my current mindset of independence. It's one of the only areas in my life, where the more I learn, the less independent I become. 

Lessons of a Lost Name Tag

It was no big deal. It just felt like an itch you can't quite scratch, and you find it flitting across your mind as a rude interruption to your day. That was how I felt about my long last name tag. I knew I needed it for an event with work, but I could not find it no matter how many times I checked the inner recesses of my purse. I was even going to wrap up my quiet time with the Lord a little earlier just to look around one last time. It itched I tell ya'!

Just as I was about to close my Bible and check my bag for the 25th time, I felt God tell me to stay put for a while longer. He knew the timeline I was facing. He knew better than I what needed to happen that day, and as small a thing as a lost name tag was, He knew how much it itched in my mind. So, I plopped myself down for a few more minutes of silence with Him (something I still can't quite get the hang of, but I'm working on it).

After a while, I got back up to resume my search, which this time included the random closet full of winter coats. Even as my hand reached for the first pocket in my last-ditch search, I didn't really believe it could be there. So, my hand dipped in and back out so quickly that I almost missed the feeling of a small piece of metal and magnet brushing my fingertips. Instead of searching frantically during my last few minutes before work, I got to enjoy my lesson of abiding and trust by concluding with 5 full minutes of suppressed laughter as I clutched my quickly found name tag. 

What's It Going To Be Like

In a simple, brown leather journal there reads a girl's somewhat scattered thoughts as she prepares for "home" again.

"I have three more weeks here,"she writes, "and so many 'what's it going to be like' moments to come. What will it be like to step off of that plane and return 'home.' What will it be like to hear children shouting in English? What will it be like to miss Japan?"

Well, past Lydia, let me tell you. Those three weeks went fast, as your blog and journal entries will show. You savored and dreaded every moment. Your hardest time, I have to say, is when you said goodbye to those kids. To this day, their faces bring a smile and a pang of sadness, but you got on that plane, and hours later you returned "home." It was everything you thought it would be with a lot of things you weren't ready for mixed in.

The sight of your Dad waiting for you at the airport, the first time you overheard a conversation at the grocery store and understood it, the expectedly joyful sound of children laughing and playing in English as you walk by; those things you expected. What you didn't expect was the way you felt being back in your childhood home, yet so different yourself. You also didn't expect the physical toll jetlag had on your body as you tried to do all the physical activities of cooking and cleaning only to realize you couldn't feel your left arm, you were so tired. You didn't expect to be content and happy being back either.

And you didn't expect to miss Japan so much. You knew you would, but not so deeply. I feel sorry for those who listened to you, past Lydia. Sometimes all they heard from you were stories of hardships when you were sick or struggling with train schedules. When you said you were coming home they were probably relieved, and rightfully so if that's all they heard from you. You forgot to tell them that those times were only blips in the radar. No, your heart doesn't flip over at the memory of Japanese hospitals, and lonely walks to the grocery store when all you want to do is lie on your futon for a month. But past Lydia, let me tell you what you will miss the most.

You will miss the way the children ran to you every morning. You will miss their voices yelling out your name on the playground to push them on the swing just one more time. You will miss the sight of sakura blossoms as they bud and begin to fall, covering the ground like pink snow flakes. You will smile at the sound of a train as you remember your daily commute (and mistaken commutes). Sometimes, you'll miss the considerate culture as you adapt to being in an apartment again. And past Lydia, you will be surprised to know you miss the loneliness too. You learned a lot in those lonely times.

I remember, past Lydia, when you would come home to a quiet apartment, turn on the CNN podcast, and listen while you made dinner (not usually very good either). I also remember the long conversations you would have out-loud as you talked with God or read His Word to yourself. Those were hard but good times, and you grew so much.

So, past Lydia, I hope that answers your questions. You will miss it all. You will want to go back while you are here, and in the beginning your heart will hurt tremendously. But you will adapt. You'll grow even more, and you'll be humbled beyond recognition. You'll grow in joy and contentment, but you'll also still miss Japan. You'll learn to balance both being present and missing the past. That's what it will be like.

That Dark Day

As an avid reader, I always love the suspense that each page turn can bring. You may be agonizing over a literary tragedy one minute, but there is always hope that the turning of a page will bring resolution, relief, and clarity to your beloved hero.

Today, as I was reading about the dark days following Jesus' death, looking out at my own grey-blanketed morning, I realized the immediacy of the disciples dread and terror. Their friend, Savior, Teacher, and living hope had just died; died a gruesome death that we can't even fathom and that no movie rating could even cover. He was gone.

I don't mean to bring up sad memories for anyone, but do you remember the sense of grief after you've lost someone so close to you? I remember the darkness, the absolute dread of opening my eyes the next morning because I just didn't want to remember that person was gone and no matter how much I missed them, how much I needed them, they weren't going to be there anymore.

I'm sorry if this brings up memories for you, but today my experienced grief showed me a new way of seeing the Gospel story. Before, when I read the story of Christ's death, and I would see the words describing the disciples pain and the women mourning, it never touched my heart fully. The reason? I know the ending. I know what the next page will bring. I know that tomorrow I will celebrate a risen Savior, but they didn't. They don't know the resolution was coming, that Jesus was more than a miracle worker. They were grieving, they were scared, they were confused, and they had no end in sight. They felt everything that we feel when grieving a loved one.

Their pain and grief was immediate. The men sequestered themselves to mourn and the women prepared what they could to give Jesus the burial they thought He deserved. And then they waited; waited for the passover to be completed before they could relieve themselves of the burden on their hearts by just simply doing something for Him. One last act of service.

They didn't know their page was about to turn.

Falling like the Psalmist

"The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when he delights in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be cast headlong, for the Lord upholds his hand."

Psalm 37:23-24

I am afraid I can recall a few journal entries that would not reflect the truth found in this verse, but I love the scene this verse paints. I can picture a man walking on a path already worn into grooves and footprints of past travelers. As he tries to discern where to go from what little he understands and can see before him, Christ comes along to travel with him; guiding him with His hand. He continues to point out which path to avoid, and which footprint to step into next.

I love how the Psalmist then points out the when of the man's fall, not the if. If the man is walking, delighting, and holding on to Christ's hand with a willingness to be led, then when he falls, the fall will not be the tragedy it could be. Because just as his body braces for the certain impact, he feels a tug on his arm. Christ is still holding firmly to his hand, and the man will not fall as far as he could have.

I Want To Believe

I want to believe that I would be that child; the one who would run to a stranger Savior, to feel the comfort of a bouncing knee, a calloused hand on my head.

I want to believe I would be that desperate father who, instead of running for a doctor, would run toward faith in a chance.

I want to believe that I would be that woman, when all else has failed, to grasp a hem of hope in the midst of a crowd.

I want to believe my choice at a well would lead to a family tree reborn.

I want to believe that if I were to choose, that my choice would lead me to the feet of Christ, and not a to do list incomplete.

I want to believe that my heart's utmost desire would be to look in the eyes of Christ with beloved anticipation for the next glance.

I want to believe that sacrifice of precious things and dirtied hair would be as nothing for the sake of serving Him.

I want to believe every word God ever said about me and to me.

But I'm not there, and my faith choices are ever before me. "I believe; help my unbelief!"

Being Back Well

Goers and Senders, preparation and reentry, research and culture shock. So many terms and special preparations. As missionaries (both long-term, short-term, and all the blurry-lined missionaries who aren't quite missionaries in between) we say, "Go Well." Do your research, be as mentally ready for the impossible as you can. For the Senders (pretty self-explanatory) we tell them to “Send Well.” Be there, be present, be generous, be ready. There's so much you can't be ready for of course. As a missionary you can't be fully ready for the nitty-gritty of the everyday: the perilous visits to the visa office, the missed trains and kind strangers, the homesickness, and the beautifully painful journey of acclimating. As a Sender you can't be fully prepared for the needs, the forgetfulness, the being left behind.

But you can think about it. Yes, you can think, and in a way you are preparing. Every book you read, every discussion you have prepares you at least somewhat for the shocks in store. You can’t fully avoid the blow, but you can brace yourself. That's what you get for being a missionary and that's what you get for being the friend of one. But that's not what I mean to talk about today. 

I want to talk today about a book. Not just any book, but one that doesn’t exist. You'll find books, blogs, missionary memoirs, and movies full of mission concepts: How to Prepare as a Missionary, How to Raise Friends Not Funds, How to Support Missionaries and what "missionary" actually means. You'll see titles on shelves like "Reentry," "Answering the call," and "Senders." Like I said, you can't ever be fully prepared, but you'll come as close as possible with these under your belt and on your shelf. Unfortunately, there is one book title you will not find. Maybe it's because there is no catchy way to phrase it, or maybe because we Westerners value acclimation so much, but you will not find a self-help book entitled, "Being Back Well."

I know it sounds boring, but man do I ever wish there was a guidebook with that title. Maybe one of the main reasons it doesn't exist is because the reentry stage seems to end once you step off the plane back in your "home" country. After all, you're back to the familiar, right? At the very least you should be back to normal after a few months, but this does not seem to be the case. And for those who aren’t considered long-term missionaries, the struggle can be very different. Don’t get me wrong, there are some great resources out there for this type of thing, but it seems to be mostly geared towards long-term missionaries who, after years in a remote jungle, return to their home country for a few months of rest or perhaps as a permanent change. Reentry for them is intense and long. They have firm feet in both cultures and possibly refer to both as home interchangeably in conversations. They relate to both, have knowledge and history of both, customs and norms in both. They have memories and roots in both.

For the short-termer, or even those we don't consider "missionary" either because it was a job and not ministry that pulled them to another country or because they simply wish to work and go to church in another country, for them the struggle is a bit different. The roots are a little looser, their identity is more disjointed, and both places seem an odd mix of foreign and familiar. The struggles are not worse than the long-termer, just different.

Hence, my desired book title; "How To Be Back Well." If it were written, it wouldn't sell many copies, but it would be invaluable to us who are either one of those loose-rooted trees or as the friend of a confused returner. Wouldn't it be nice to simply look up in the Table of Contents a chapter on restoring friendships, and then turn to chapter 12 where you will find all the information and case studies plainly laid out for you to peruse and apply? Once you were done reading that helpful chapter, you would leaf through this treasure of a book and you would find entries such as, "Fear Of Forgetting" and "How To Express Yourself."

 Now, for a moment you would pause because here you would read about the “Exploding Missionary” who turns conversations to their foreign experiences with the words, “Well, in such-and-such-a-place we would…” You would recognize in yourself this same desire to leak out your stories on people and how this desire would be so strong at times, that simply shutting your mouth seemed the best option lest you open the dam and everything came rushing out at once. The author would lay out for you in descriptive language all the feelings that fuel this potential Vesuvius of speech; how much you wish to be known yet feel so distant and how it isn’t wrong to want to be known. The chapter would then take an unexpected turn as you read the words, "What about them?" "What about them", you would wonder. You would read later on about turning those desires into your own actions. "You want to be known?" The author would say, "Then try to know others." Hmm, convicting thought, and so you would fold over the page corner to meditate on later. 

You would then see that the book continues with chapters on the everyday life: how to get through those unexpected moments of missing your “other home”, and another section on how to understand and be understood. You would find lists of questions to ask yourself and others. There would be diagrams and social maps to help you re-acclimate yourself. You would quickly skim over this section of course, thinking little of its usefulness seeing as how you grew up here. Why in the world would you need a map? When the changed culture and your out-of-practice social skills come to light, you will find that you do need it, and when you do, you'll remember to go back to that helpful chapter 23 you naively skimmed over before. 

The last few pages would be dedicated to final thoughts on prayer with titles such as, “How to pray for friends both here and there.” There would also be a section on identity. Yes, you knew that was coming. “Where Are You Camped?” would be the next words that catch your eye. The author would unpack the danger of identity dependence: I am a Goer, I am a Sender, I am a Returner…and you would realize that your identity is placed in the wrong camp. You wouldn’t be downcast for long as a few pages later you’d see testimonies from others who have struggled through the same thing. You’d see a section on why God wants your identity in Him and not in the circumstances. “You were made to stand on a rock,” the author would write. “So why then would you insist on residing in the sand?” You would realize that as wonderful and painful as the experiences were, they do not define you and your grip begins to loosen and your spirit settles down a bit as your eyes continue to skim the encouraging words on the page.

Finally, your eyes would grow tired and your brain would become full. You’d close the book, glance at the price tag and think to yourself, "Best $12.99 I've ever spent." You’d nestle it into your bookcase right next to those helpful tomes on fundraising and culture shock, and then you’d step out the door a little better prepared then when you stepped in...mentally at least. After all, you can’t ever be fully prepared.