After our summer mission trip to Peru in 2006, our calling was clear. We were to move to Peru as missionaries, which we did in September 2007. However, as I wrote last week and detailed in another earlier blog post, our time as full-time missionaries was cut severely short, and we came back to the States at the end of 2008.
Our full-time ministry days were over, but our connection to Peru was one that could not and would not end. Alex remained in contact with the head of NCM and traveled to Peru from time to time on assignment. Finally, he began leading mission trips there again in December 2012, but the door for me to return to Peru was closed until the summer of 2016.
July 20th was no ordinary day. It was the day before Alex and I were leaving for ten days in Peru, and I was running around crazy trying to get everything prepared. Our friends were getting ready to watch our two youngest children while the third was staying with my mother. And in the midst of the chaos, my heart was spinning with emotion.
“Should I stay? They need me!”
“Should I really go? I thought I put Peru behind me.”
After all, it had been eight years and three babies since I had been there. I had buried it so deep in the ground that I was ready to walk away from Peru and missions altogether for a while and make our family our sole focus. Alex was stepping down as Short-Term Missions Director at our church for that reason. I wondered if I should really awaken this issue again. I had every reason not to.
I arrived in Lima that July with a heaviness upon me that dragged my soul so low, you could tell just by looking at me. For two years the darkest wave of depression (unrelated to Peru) had crippled my very core, as event after event made me question whether living was really worth it anymore. And suddenly as I got off the plane, stinging memories flooded my mind. Part of me felt like I was coming home to Peru, while part of me felt like I was returning to the scene of a crime. I desperately longed to see old friends and familiar places in Lima, but I was overwhelmed by my own senses taking in stimuli that echoed of past pain.
As I gathered all our luggage filled with donations, we met a team from The Prayer Room Church from Houston, Texas, at the airport. Together we made our way to Pat’s Place and settled in for the night. Already I couldn’t contain my emotion, and tears repeatedly welled up and were swiftly wiped away before they could be noticed by anyone. For the first few days, I only half-heartedly participated in the group events. I was mostly distracted by those memories I found around every corner, every street, even every room at Pat’s Place. So much had changed; so much had stayed the same. Emotion wanted to explode within me, but I kept pushing it back down, keeping it all at a distance so that my heart couldn’t become attached again.
Halfway through the trip, Alex and I had dinner with the new owners of Hope House (an orphanage for girls that we often worked with), Elmo and Kat Compton (no relation but what a coincidence!), who did not yet know the history of the House. As we shared the history, they began to share their dreams for Hope House. And I found myself crying for joy that God had appointed such an amazing couple to fight for His best for this home. What a blessing for both the girls and the staff of this orphanage!
I had one other reaction to this news that I did not expect. Anger. And jealousy. “God, You are blessing this couple (and their almost five-year-old son) with this awesome opportunity to serve in Peru, but You didn’t bless us (for very long) with the same! Why, God? Why NOT us?”
I was heartbroken all over again. This time I couldn’t keep the anger at bay. This was not a reaction I wanted, as it was a night of joy and triumph for Hope House. But I was honest with God about my anger and confusion, and I let it be.
When we got home that night, the mission team was all gathered on the first floor of Pat’s Place just outside my bedroom. I just wanted to go to bed, or at least be alone, but the team seemed to be flowing in the Holy Spirit, loudly laughing, singing and praying. Before I could escape to my room, team members grabbed me, sat me down, laid hands on me and began to pray for me. I am told that they prayed for me for about an hour and a half. For a good bit of that time, I felt nothing. When someone asked, I said I felt dead inside. This made them roll up their sleeves and pray harder! They prayed for a breakthrough in my own spirit, past all the deadness and pain that I had striven to deny these last eight years. They prayed for healing and Truth to enter in and fill my heart with joy. And they just kept praying, until finally, one team member embraced me, and the praying around me became louder and louder. Suddenly, the floodgates of emotion were open and pouring forth! I let the pain of the apparent death of my dreams pour out of me as I wailed and cried out to God myself. And slowly my mourning changed from darkness and heaviness to joy and light! I began to laugh instead with the kind of joy that only God can give. God was, indeed, healing the brokenhearted.
The most important messages I received from the Lord that night was that God had never left me and that my dreams were not really dead. I wasn’t sure what that all meant just yet. Nevertheless, that night is a night I will never forget. The next morning the Lord woke me up before my alarm clock to spend some time with Him. He reminded my heart of how much I loved Peru and the joy it gave me to serve the people there. The next few days I worshipped and prayed and served with a renewed fervor, a noticeable joy that the whole team could see. I purposefully engaged with our work and nearly every member of our 30- person team. I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of hard, dirty work, as well as our times of play, touring the city, sightseeing and shopping on our free day.
Soon enough, it was time to leave again. Now my heart began to wonder if and when I would return. The tears certainly flowed when we said goodbye to Pat’s Place and headed to the airport. Something in me had changed. I no longer wanted to be done with Peru. I wanted so much more. I prayerfully pondered what God had in mind as we flew home.
To be continued…
The Art of Choosing True Life 