Song in the Darkness
It's been a while since I've written an update on this blog. I'd like to say it is because my life has been so full of excitement that I haven't found time to sit down and write. And in a way, that is true. The weeks in between my last blog post and this one have offered some good times for our family. We enjoyed a wonderful and much-needed vacation, we found out that our third little baby is a BOY, and we had the opportunity to enjoy a visit from some dear friends. But when you get down to it, perhaps the more honest reason for my lack of communication is that life these days has been hard. Sometimes SO hard. And not maybe for any particular reason, not for any new or unique struggle. In the short time that we've been living in this country, I've realized that some of the greatest difficulties are the day-to-day ones. Yes...it is a privilege living over here, doing what we're doing. But it's not romantic. It's not glamorous. Most of the time, it's just plain hard. And sometimes I feel like I'm wasting my life.
This may sound odd...especially considering the fact that us living overseas, doing what we're doing, is portrayed as a good example of not wasting your life. But let me just say this...moving halfway around the world did not come without a cost. And often, that cost seems to hard to bear. I have an amazing husband, two precious girls, and a little boy on the way. In so many ways, I am blessed among women. I am SO happy with my life. And yet...the day-to-day struggles of navigating a new culture and learning a new language, of loneliness and fear, of taking on new roles while still desiring old ones, of wanting the best for my children yet so often doubting whether the best is what I'm giving them...it's just all so overwhelming that oftentimes I'm not able to truly enjoy the blessed life I've been given. This is a precious season, and I want to embrace it with joy, not despondence. Am I wasting this wonderful life the Father has given me in a place that tempts me to despair?
The answer, of course, is no. But so often, the aching of my heart responds to this question with a yes. And in the midst of my tears, I declare to myself that I am not cut out for any of this. I am so weak. I have nothing to offer. I'm not what I'm supposed to be...the best wife, the best mother, the best cross-cultural worker, the best daughter of God.
But grace.
Thankfully, there is grace.
In conversations with some dear friends this week, I was reminded that my still being here is evidence of the Father's grace. I know how to get home, and at any time I wanted, I could board a plane and leave this hard place. But by the grace of God, I'm still here. By the grace of God, I haven't abandoned everything. Because in my flesh, I would abandon it all. If not for Christ, keeping me and causing me to persevere, I would not be living here or loving my husband and children or desiring for truth to be told. It is all grace.
I am weak. But He is strong. I can do nothing. But He has done everything. The good work He has begun, He will complete. He has not and will not abandon me.
Yes...there is a grieving that happens, in forsaking one life for another. And right now, I am still grieving. But it is not without hope. Even on the days when I cannot feel the hope, there is hope...because I desire to hope. And that desire did not come from me.
I am SO thankful for the people the Father has placed in our lives who point us to truth and remind us to persevere, to cry out to God in our weakness, to rely on His grace. There is a song by Andrew Peterson called "Carry the Fire" that has been such an encouragement to me since we left our home in the States almost a year ago. When I listen to it, I find myself picturing my husband singing it to me, because more than anyone, he has been the voice in my darkness, calling me to remember truth.
Here are the words:
I will hold your hand, love
As long as I can, love
Though the powers rise against us
Though your fears assail you
And your body may fail you
There's a fire that burns within us
And we dream in the night
Of a city descending
With the sun in the center
And a peace unending
I will, I will carry the fire
I will, I will carry the fire
I'll carry the fire for you
And we kneel in the water
The sons and the daughters
And we hold our hearts before us
And we look to the distance
And raise our resistance
In the face of the forces
Gathered against us
And we dream in the night
Of a king and a kingdom
Where joy writes the songs
And the innocent sing them
I will, I will carry the fire
I will, I will carry the fire
I'll carry the fire for you
Oh, sing on, sing on
Oh, sing on, sing on
(Light up the darkness)
Oh, sing on, sing on
When your hope is gone
Sing on
And we dream in the night
Of a feast and a wedding
And the groom in his glory
When the bride is made ready
I will, I will carry the fire
I will, I will carry the fire
I'll carry the fire for you
Oh, sing on, sing on
Oh, sing on, sing on
(Light up the darkness)
Oh, sing on, sing on
When your hope is gone
Sing on
I cannot listen to this song without tears. In so many ways, it gives words to the anguish and yearnings of my heart. Because in the end, in the midst of all the struggles and lies, I want to sing on. Even when my hope is gone, I want to sing the song of hope and victory and rest. And on the days when I cannot sing, there is a Father who sings over me.
This may sound odd...especially considering the fact that us living overseas, doing what we're doing, is portrayed as a good example of not wasting your life. But let me just say this...moving halfway around the world did not come without a cost. And often, that cost seems to hard to bear. I have an amazing husband, two precious girls, and a little boy on the way. In so many ways, I am blessed among women. I am SO happy with my life. And yet...the day-to-day struggles of navigating a new culture and learning a new language, of loneliness and fear, of taking on new roles while still desiring old ones, of wanting the best for my children yet so often doubting whether the best is what I'm giving them...it's just all so overwhelming that oftentimes I'm not able to truly enjoy the blessed life I've been given. This is a precious season, and I want to embrace it with joy, not despondence. Am I wasting this wonderful life the Father has given me in a place that tempts me to despair?
The answer, of course, is no. But so often, the aching of my heart responds to this question with a yes. And in the midst of my tears, I declare to myself that I am not cut out for any of this. I am so weak. I have nothing to offer. I'm not what I'm supposed to be...the best wife, the best mother, the best cross-cultural worker, the best daughter of God.
But grace.
Thankfully, there is grace.
In conversations with some dear friends this week, I was reminded that my still being here is evidence of the Father's grace. I know how to get home, and at any time I wanted, I could board a plane and leave this hard place. But by the grace of God, I'm still here. By the grace of God, I haven't abandoned everything. Because in my flesh, I would abandon it all. If not for Christ, keeping me and causing me to persevere, I would not be living here or loving my husband and children or desiring for truth to be told. It is all grace.
I am weak. But He is strong. I can do nothing. But He has done everything. The good work He has begun, He will complete. He has not and will not abandon me.
Yes...there is a grieving that happens, in forsaking one life for another. And right now, I am still grieving. But it is not without hope. Even on the days when I cannot feel the hope, there is hope...because I desire to hope. And that desire did not come from me.
I am SO thankful for the people the Father has placed in our lives who point us to truth and remind us to persevere, to cry out to God in our weakness, to rely on His grace. There is a song by Andrew Peterson called "Carry the Fire" that has been such an encouragement to me since we left our home in the States almost a year ago. When I listen to it, I find myself picturing my husband singing it to me, because more than anyone, he has been the voice in my darkness, calling me to remember truth.
Here are the words:
I will hold your hand, love
As long as I can, love
Though the powers rise against us
Though your fears assail you
And your body may fail you
There's a fire that burns within us
And we dream in the night
Of a city descending
With the sun in the center
And a peace unending
I will, I will carry the fire
I will, I will carry the fire
I'll carry the fire for you
And we kneel in the water
The sons and the daughters
And we hold our hearts before us
And we look to the distance
And raise our resistance
In the face of the forces
Gathered against us
And we dream in the night
Of a king and a kingdom
Where joy writes the songs
And the innocent sing them
I will, I will carry the fire
I will, I will carry the fire
I'll carry the fire for you
Oh, sing on, sing on
Oh, sing on, sing on
(Light up the darkness)
Oh, sing on, sing on
When your hope is gone
Sing on
And we dream in the night
Of a feast and a wedding
And the groom in his glory
When the bride is made ready
I will, I will carry the fire
I will, I will carry the fire
I'll carry the fire for you
Oh, sing on, sing on
Oh, sing on, sing on
(Light up the darkness)
Oh, sing on, sing on
When your hope is gone
Sing on
I cannot listen to this song without tears. In so many ways, it gives words to the anguish and yearnings of my heart. Because in the end, in the midst of all the struggles and lies, I want to sing on. Even when my hope is gone, I want to sing the song of hope and victory and rest. And on the days when I cannot sing, there is a Father who sings over me.
The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.
a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.
~ Zephaniah 3:17
Lavish and undeserved grace...indeed how sweet the sound.
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