In That Strange, Empty Room

 Last August, I was privileged to be part of a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Thirteen of the Faith Mission staff were assigned a student. Then we hopped on a big bus and went on a five day tour.

Okay, wait. It wasn't quite that simple. :-) 

Twice a year, Faith Mission Home initiates what we call Program Trip. A small group of staff - typically the ones who have served there the longest - are invited to go. Then, they are assigned to a student for the entire five days. A repertoire is formed, and the group meets daily for three weeks to practice. Once completed, the group travels to several different churches to share what they've rehearsed.

The tour is by no means an attempt at performance; we were far from professional! Instead, it's an opportunity to sing about heaven and the love of Jesus with our special needs students and to raise an awareness about what we do at Faith Mission Home. Those who go on Program Trip focus less on music notes and harmonizing than they do on simply singing their hardest and having fun with the students. It's a jolly, jolly time. And I don't think the level of authenticity can ever be outdone. 

Last August, it was my turn to go. Some approach Program Trip with trepidation, but I was extremely excited. I had seen live streams of previous trips before I even considered going to FMH, and I had always thought it looked adventurous. To actually get to experience it felt like a genuine honor. 

I was not fully prepared for the level of intensity that faced me. There are multiple aspects about a trip like this that make for potentially difficult circumstances. 

> As a staff, I was technically "on duty" every single hour of those five entire days. No breaks. No space. In my case, there was only one night that I didn't share the same room as my student.  

> Schedules and routines are the the foundation of how FMH operates. It's what makes our students feel secure and happy. And when things are unpredictable, they are too. It can be a challenge to keep them happy and calm in the middle of craziness. 

> Not only are the staff responsible for themselves and their things, they are also responsible for the student and all their things. It takes traveling to the next level. The rush to get ready before a program is doubled because you AND your student must be dressed, combed, and presentable. Often, our students do not hurry very well. There's a tricky balance to walk making sure you have enough time and pushing your student to hurry without working them up. 

>Program Trip is meant to be a fun time for everyone. But when your student isn't making good choices, it's hard to know how to navigate those challenges. And during the middle of that, neither of you are having much fun. 

But regardless of the challenges, we were excited and ready. Suitcases were loaded, seats were filled, roll call was given, and all thirty-three of us pulled out the lane while the rest of Faith Mission Home waved us off. And thus began five days of adventure that I will likely not get to experience again. 

There were moments of sheer happiness. Like when we would stand in front of a whole church full of people loudly singing "... if I were a kangaroo, you know I'd hop right up to you ... but I just thank you, Father for making me me." and watching our students, fully embracing their unique needs, thank their Father for making them just the way they were. We often started a program sensing that our audience was just a little out of their comfort zone and not really sure what to expect. But as we sang and smiled enormously, we had the privilege of watching them slowly relax and fall in love with our students. That was definitely my favorite part of the whole extended weekend. 

There were moments of much laughter. Like when one of the students asked our hostess if she married our host. (And if she fed him with a spoon.) And during a time of singing on the bus, Jolan sang "Did you ever see a gloomy cow who always was in pain?" instead of a "gloomy grump". The only night that my student and I slept in different rooms, she woke me up at some dark hour convinced that there was a bear in the house. (Bless her heart, I use to worry about those things too.) I also laughed out loud the morning I was using the detachable shower head to wash my student's hair while simultaneously balancing on the edge of the tub and using one foot to adjust the water temperature. How unconventional! I loved my life. 

But I also spent many moments in unexpected overwhelm, exhaustion, and tears. My student does not thrive in an unpredictable environment. And she quickly became manipulative, disobedient, and very hard to relate to. The first couple of days went fine, but the further into the trip we progressed, the more exhausted I became. I was being confronted with issues multiple times an hour. Not entirely sure how I was supposed to handle every situation but unsure of who to reach out to, I struggled silently getting closer and closer to the end of my rope. 

Three evenings into the trip, I was done. We had several hours of free time at the church we planned to sing the next day. I took my student to the church nursery and told her to take a little nap. She was starting to wear out at this point, and I needed some space. 

As soon as she was settled, I fled to the emptiest room available and collapsed into a puddle of tears. I just didn't know if I could do it anymore. I didn't know if I could handle one more confrontation. I didn't know if I could handle putting her to bed again that night. And it frustrated me because I WANTED to. I wanted to love her. I wanted to have the patience it took. I wanted to give her grace. But I had just reached the end of my rope, and I didn't know if I could do it anymore. 

The rest of the trip went as smoothly as possible. All ended well, and we arrived back on campus very happy and tired. Some of the girls were angels and came to my rescue. Sara and I switched students for one night to give me a break, and I had some help in dealing with my ongoing issues. 

But the whole reason for this story is what I learned in that strange, empty room which quickly became a witness to my tears. One of my goals before we even loaded the bus was to fully embrace my student for who she was and love her unconditionally all weekend long. It didn't matter what she said or what she did or how she acted; I was going to love her. And after our ongoing struggles wouldn't stop, I discovered that I was failing miserably in every attempt to meet my goal. 

I spent many minutes in that room. Furiously journalling. Desperately praying. And humbly reading 1 Corinthians 13. And in those broken moments, I was reminded of a truth so profound that I finished the rest of the trip with a mindset I hadn't started with. The next day, while we were traveling to our next destination, I sat on the bus and wrote it all out to help me finish processing what had happened. 

Then, as Sonya tends to do, I forgot about my great lesson amid the fast-paced lifestyle I live. A whole year later, as my Photos app is flooding me with year-old pictures, it hits me. I suddenly remember that I forgot a great truth. So I return to my old written archives. 

Here is what I find. 

This week, I've been thinking a lot about love. What is love and why is it so hard? Where do I find love when I don't have any left? 

I asked myself most of these questions, yes. But I mostly threw them at God. I was sitting alone at a table in an empty room of an unfamiliar church trying to hold myself together and failing miserably. All my emotions were quickly melting into a liquid form, and I wasn't sure just yet if I wanted to cry in the middle of foreign territory, hours removed from the comfort of my bedroom. 

My student was in the church nursery resting. She thought it was simply because I had asked her to. But the real reason was because I was the one that needed the break. I was done! So there she lay behind the closed door. And here I sat furiously scribbling thoughts and feelings and questions into a journal for God to look down from heaven and read. 

And when I had written to the point where I became overwhelmed by how much I could never capture in a journal, I quit. I opened my Bible to 1 Corinthians 13 and began to read. 

"Though I [do all these things] and have not love, I am nothing." Ouch! God, I know all these things. I knew them months ago. But I feel like I'm failing! 

"Love suffers long ..." I want to, God! You know I want to. But I'm afraid I haven't suffered long today. At least in my heart. 

"... and is kind." Have I been kind today, God? I tried! I tried really hard. But maybe I was too firm with her sometimes. Maybe I could have done better.  

"Love does not envy ..." How many times have I fleetingly wished to be one of the other girls? I know they've had struggles, but at least they're having fun. If this is love, am I doing anything right?

"... does not seek its own ..." Oh! That hurts. 

"... bears all things ... endures all things." Okay. God, if this is love, I've done everything wrong. If this is love, then love is hard! But why? God, why is love so hard? I am impersonating You to the students. I'm actually doing so poorly. I'm a failure, God. I'm done! I just don't think I can do this any more. I need so much help!

I felt like a failure. I had purposed to genuinely love her and make it a fun time for her. I had purposed not to be embarrassed that she was my charge, but to embrace it. I wanted other people to see love for her in my eyes and on my face. That was my goal. From day one. And from the first day of Program Trip, all my lofty goals were severely beaten, battered, and bruised. Now we were two days in, and I felt that my goals had barely been accomplished.

Some of my tears were from self-pity. I admit it. Some of my tears were from frustration. Some of my tears were undefined, as women's tears are ... But most of them were from sheer defeat. The more I read over those verses, the more I realized that I didn't have pure, genuine love. I wanted that love. Badly. Desperately. But it was so hard. 

And then He spoke. 

"You are a vessel. Of yourself, you are empty. You will never be able to have enough of this I Corinthians 13 love. You will never be able to find enough of all the good things you desire.

You need to remember that I have everything you need. Actually, I have more than you'll ever need. Daughter, you must remember that as a vessel, you are filled by Me. You pour out what I pour in. None of it is your own. 

I don't expect you to search so hard for love. I don't want you to stress so much about finding this love. I don't want you to feel defeated.

My child, all you have to do is ask. 

I genuinely love your student. I love her as much as I love you. And when you ask, I can fill your empty vessel with this same love which you can shower on her. Don't go looking for it in your own life; you won't find it. Come to me. Come to me empty so you can leave full. Stop trying so hard to do it yourself."

Sometimes it overwhelms me that the Creator of the universe is also a Wonderful Counselor. I realized my small, self-centered view. I realized that I had been trying to do everything alone, somehow hoping God would bless by heroic efforts. 

Love IS hard. All good things come with a price. We ultimately see this in the life of Jesus. But if we forget that we are just an empty vessel waiting to be filled, love will become a Mt. Everest that is impossible to conquer.