It's a house we enter in
And then commit to never leave.
These are the opening lines to one of my favorites songs, "Love is Not a Fight" by Warren Barfield. I've been playing it on repeat for the past few weeks. It's funny to me, how I can get stuck on something like this song before I even fully understand it. This past week, the song has taken on new meaning for me. My best friend left. And then two other dear friends left. But before he left, and before they left, we went to Orhei.
You see, I though loving this place meant I would like everything about it. I would learn to embrace the smell of cow manure that occasionally fills the air. I would stop noticing the trash piled along sidewalks and plastic bags stuck in trees. That my heart wouldn't sink when I realize the man standing over me in the rutiera is completely wasted. But as every parent who's ever cleaned up after a sick child knows, it's not the sickness you love, it's the sick one.
I really thought after B left, life wouldn't be that different. After all, he'd been out for weeks at a time before. The projects still rolled in, Dan still came in and taught me new things about Moldova, and the rest of the staff still came in and out, but my office was suddenly empty and quiet. It took me a few days to realize what I was feeling. It's called loneliness. New admittance for me. It seemed like that week no one was around. Suz and I were passing ships in the apartment, and skype was kinda quiet for a few days. I realized how hard it can be to not have someone to converse with about all the random little things. I had conversations, but it never felt like they were very substantial. Then Sarah and Jesse left, and with them went the rest of my security in having strong Christian friends here.
My perspective was a little dramatic, because I do have other friends here, and there are some very strong Christians here. But the people that understood firsthand an intern's life in Moldova were gone. When B left, I suddenly felt the full weight of a burden that had been less conspicuous when someone else was here to help carry it. Not just the weight of our workload, but the burden of balancing two lives, the fast-paced, pressure-driven lifestyle of America and the slow, unpredictable challenge of life in Moldova. The weight of being here and now, and of thinking ahead. The drive to make a difference, and the fear that all our work may be laid to the side when we leave and rendered completely ineffective. The wonder of the lessons God has taught us here in the safe distance from American chaos, and the hope that He has strengthened our character in such a way that we'll be steadfast when it's time to return. It was B's time to go test out his faith in a new way. It's Jesse's time to embrace her new stage of life as engaged! It's Sarah's time to get ready for the next step God calls her to.
And it's my time to wait.
It's hard, because I'm starting to discover what direction I'd like to pursue career wise. I had a lot of doubts about what will be next, and God's promises of a future and a plan beyond what I can imagine washed over me in a cleansing flood. Like a wave embraces the shore and then quickly slinks back into the sea, leaving the sand to wait for the fullness of a high tide, I've tasted the sweet promises of a future and yet had the excitement retract back into the future as I wait on the shore for the fullness of His promises. It's not the shore's job to move, but to wait steadfastly for the coming tide.
Then the Lord spoke straight to my spirit through a verse in Psalms.
I was reading a portion of Psalm 37. A couple of verses are highlighted in mine, because they bring a lot of hope and reassurance. I just happened to stop on one of these and then decided to go back and read more of the passage. I'm going to share these in reverse order, because that's how I read them. God designed me; He doesn't think my mind is random.
Psalm 37:5 "Commit your way to the LORD; Trust in Him, and he will act."
There's my hope for the future. What's before that?
Psalm 37:4 "Delight yourself in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart."
Ok, before that?
Psalm 37:3 "Trust in the LORD, and do good; Dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness.
This verse has become my verse of the moment. As I prayed for love for this place, I knew Moldova is where I'm called to be right now. Despite the struggle with loneliness and the eagerness to begin my future, I knew that this life, this work, is what I'm called to do. For the next six months. Not until I feel like going home, but until I have fulfilled my commitment.
I don't want to waste my time here. I don't want to just "make it" until September. I really don't want to become embittered and insensitive to the need here and to the beauty here.
This was my answer on how to do that: "Dwell in the land." Not camp out. Not hang on. Dwell.
"Befriend faithfulness." Faithfulness is about to become my close friend. This is where I've been called. This is where I've been placed. This is where I'll dwell. In faithfulness to all I've been called to and in faithfulness to the One who called, I will abide in this place.
So lock the door behind you,
Throw away the key.
We'll work it out together,
Let it bring us to our knees.
Love is a shelter in a raging storm.
Love is a peace in the middle of war.
And if we try to leave,
May God send angels to guard the door.
No, love is not a fight,
But it's something worth fighting for.
"Love is Not a Fight" by Warren Barfield
I had a friend speak some deep truth into my life this week. He quoted John Perkins and said, "'We all want the miracle, but you can't have the miracle without the love. No love, no miracle.' Love well Emily." What's love? Pouring myself out here. Being sincere in my friendships with those that are here. Being fully and deeply committed to what He has set before me at this moment. It's not easy. It's not all fun. But it's worth the fight.
"And now these three things remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love."
1 Cor. 13:13
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