But It’s Hard

Sometimes it's hard

To find a new metaphorTo say the same old cliché'Cause whatever I'm sayingHas been said beforeAnd it's hard

I could call it a battleI could call it a marchI could call it a road long and coldThere's a light in the distanceAnd He's waiting there for meBut it's still hard

Jesus, He told usThat it wouldn't be easyAnd boy, don't I know that it's true'Cause easy was raising a man from the deadBut being humble seems harder to do

And it's hardTo get out of this messAnd it's hardTo drop my pride and confessThough I know all the lingo and all the clichesIt means nothing if He's not in control

Jesus came down to save meBut what does that meanDoes my life really show that I know?If it don't change my behaviorThen it don't change a thingAnd it's hard

'Cause when I open my eyesAnd see my own helplessnessIt makes all the difference, you see'Cause the lingo is lost in the light of His graceThe cliches have new meaning to me

And it's hardTo get out of this messAnd it's hardTo drop my pride and confessThough I know all the lingo and all the clichesIt means nothing if He's not in control

There's a light in the distanceAnd He's waiting there for meThere's a light in the distanceAnd He's waiting there for meBut it's still hard

(“Hard” by Jordan Putt)

Sometimes it’s Hard

Emilianne and I sat down in a pastry shop in Rurre to get out of the rain. The whole experience felt oddly American, even with three options of cake in total. Biting into a piece of baked chocolate heaven that was therapy in and of itself, she turned to me and asked, “How’s your heart?”

I paused. I searched for a word, but it didn’t take long. The only thing I could think was, “Tired.”

Everything about me is tired.

Phrases like, “Void of feeling,” and, “I don’t understand why I feel this way, but…” spilled out from both of us in the next hour. It’s been a long past few weeks and it finally caught up to us.

“Even my faith feels tired,” I said. “I know the right answers; I’ve encouraged others with them. But sometimes it’s hard to tell yourself and really believe it.”

Sometimes it’s hard.

Call it a Battle

I have the most joy living here at Familia Feliz. Even when I’m not giddy happy, there’s a lingering joy. Maybe it’s the kids. Probably them, but it’s definitely God. To be living my purpose, that’s joy.

Steven from Southern’s SM department asked us how we were doing. I replied, “Tired, but happy and peaceful.”

Emilianne told me on that coffee shop couch, “Katie-Jane, you just radiate peace. Everything about you has set the tone for Las Lilas, and now I think of peace when I think of that house.” Words I don’t deserve. If only she knew sometimes.

But I am at peace, even though life’s chaos is constantly ramping up. Maybe peace is the feeling I am feeling.

But sometimes I’m not a peace-maker.

“If it don’t change my behavior then it don’t change a thing,” is one line from this song that slaps me every time. For having had to rely on God for so much in the past seven months, this semester seems to have seen a personal regression. My otherworldly patience is long gone, my tolerance for nonsense all spent. In knowing Spanish, I seemed to forget my desperate need of God. In having freer mornings to rest, I seemed to forget to turn to God for energy. And it caught up with me.

Impatience was my biggest character flaw fear I had before coming; I was such an impatient person. How was I supposed to live with eight kids (LOL how about seventeen now) and teach school and sabbath school and be expected to maintain patience?? My girls’ prayers definitely include asking for me to have patience sometimes (though it’s usually Maribel teasing). But they know.

Another battle I’m having that comes from being tired is dismissing kids too quickly. While there is much liberation in realizing you can tell a kid no, I’ve become trigger-happy with using the word that I forgot existed for the first months I was here. I now say no before some kids finish their sentence. And I actually hate it.

A sneaky little thought has crept into my world: But what about me? What about my space? What about my time? What about my rest? What about my resources? What about my budget? What if I don’t want to?

It’s hard to be selfless and humble when you’re tired.

Call it a March

It’s March. Almost April. And time just keeps marching on.

“The weeks go by like seconds, but the days go by like months, and before I get a chance to breathe a new one has begun” (“Untitled Hymn/Give Me Jesus” by Jordan Putt). Facts.

“Emilianne, I don’t want to leave! But I have to rest. And the only way to rest is to leave.”

I know that’s false. Maybe to have space to physically rest yes, but spiritual and emotional rest are available wherever you come to Jesus. I just haven’t laid anything down for awhile.

Call it a Road Long and Cold

“We came with such lofty goals,” Emilianne recounted. “Now I just put my head down and work.” And I, too, have found myself (on emotionally taxing days) thinking, “Well, at least I painted this house, fundraised for the new kitchen, and had connections that funded the new gate.” I’ve tallied up the monetary total of my time and said, “At least I gave that.” As if material things were why I came. My “lofty goals” shouldn’t shift from spiritual relationships to a dollar sign. *sigh*

“You just start to suck up all the wrongs,” Emilianne poetically observed. All the hurts, all the injustices of their stories, all the jabs the kids throw back in your face, all the failures you make. Before you realize it, that’s what’s filled you up for the day. No wonder it’s hard to pour out love when you’re full of other things.

“I have a practicality mindset: if I can’t order it on the grocery list, it won’t come; if I meal plan and ration our groceries, they’ll last us through the week. I’ve found myself thinking that I can’t ask for resources.” And how terrible that sometimes that includes asking God to expand our resources beyond our own!

I realized how I myself have sunken into a poverty mindset: if I haven’t seen it around, it simply doesn’t exist. I can’t ask for resources because we don’t have the budget, the manpower, the equipment on hand. I realized this when I went all first semester showering in the dark just assuming there was no electricity in the bathroom, like is the problem in most of my house. Then Charlie simply changed the lightbulb, and I now switch on the light every night. How much do I just suck up? How much is possible that I’ve lost sight of?

Light in the Distance

Foggy mornings are the most beautiful moments that I wish I could just bottle up forever. In the midst of the fog, though, I know the sun is coming, that the heat will soon clear it away and my day will be full of light.

When I said out loud that my faith feels tired, I almost cried.

I’m a missionary, a mom, an example. Admitting a tired faith feels like admitting the ultimate defeat.

“Where is the God who promises to give me rest if I come to Him? Where is the God who promises strength to carry me?”

“I saw on someone’s IG story, ‘Jesus loves you. Jesus loves YOU!’ and cried,” Emilianne said. “You know when your heart forgets stuff like that?” Yeah, mine did. “I’ve been over here saying, ‘Jesus loves THEM and we have to tell THEM!’ But Jesus loves ME.”

Last semester I felt God so powerfully and so often. This semester it’s like the tiredness has crept in so much I can’t feel anything, and it’s a void.

But then I stop. I think about that He’s actually doing. Carlo preached a sermon about miracles that have happened around here recently, saying something like, “Our problem is that we discredit miracles if we see how they were executed. Without the mystery, we don’t call it a miracle.”

God is still moving, even if we see how. God is still moving, even without the feeling.

He’s Waiting There for Me

Sierra recently lost her wallet. For days, she searched and asked and nothing showed up. In utter discouragement, she headed for her day off. I asked to pray for her, asking God specifically that if she left it in the clinic or a store that an honest person would have kept it there for her and that she find it. Hours later, she texted, “I’m now crying happy tears! I have my wallet!” “Where was it?” I asked, interested. “It was at the clinic in town. The nurse found it and locked it in her medicine cabinet for me, so all the money is still there!” Then it was me crying. After feeling unseen and unheard by God, my little prayer was answered in specificity.

Nirza is ever the personality in Las Lilas. Sunday night she was “fishing” with a stick in a puddle. It was time to bathe, and she was not having it. I went over and took pictures of the “fish” she caught in the puddle, quickly put a fish emoji on the photo to show her, and blew her mind that the camera could see the fish her imagination saw!! Then my imagination saw an opportunity. “Nirza! Let’s go see if there are fish in the shower!” We ran to the bathroom as my abandoned arepas burned on the stove. “Look! There are fish on the floor!” *take photo, add emojis, show to three-year-old* “They will DIE if you don’t turn on the shower and bathe RIGHT NOW!” Never have I seen a child scramble faster to undress and turn on cold water! (Note: I have created a monster. For days the girls will carry every container of water imaginable to my room. I am forced to take photos of water-filled cups, bowls, bags, and wet hands to show them their amazing fishing skills!)

“Hey you!” I heard Eli’s sweet little voice call to baby Abi in the other room. But she said, “Hey you!” In English! She copied what I say to the baby. To have a little copy-cat is the cutest thing ever when it’s cute, but terrifying when I think what else they see and could copy. It was her voice that called me, “Hey you! Watch what you do! They’re watching you!”

But It’s Hard

“Oh soul, are you weary and troubled?” begins my very favorite song. “No light in the darkness you see? There’s light for a look at the Savior and life more abundant and free. Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in His wonderful face. And the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace.”

I just rediscovered what my grandfather wrote in the back of my Bible before I left: “2 Thessalonians 3:13.” It says, “But as for you, brethren, do not grow weary in doing good.”

Listening to a torrential rain on my tin roof Sunday night, a verse came to mind, even as every other thought was drowned out: “My strength is made perfect in weakness.” I have never really understood the value of a God who works with weakness until I’m actually weak.

“‘Cause easy was raising a man from the dead…” God, raise the dead parts of my heart back to life. Resurrect me.

In your weakness I am strong.

In your weariness I am strong.

Love from the hard,

Katie-Jane

🤍