{This is kind of a long story, but bear with me...}
Today has been one of those days.
Our fourth day without running water. The water in this town runs on two pumps, and one broke last week, so because we live at the upper end of town, there hasn’t been enough water pressure for the little water there is to make it up to us. And since it happened over the weekend, my helper (who’s really good at washing dishes without running water) wasn’t coming. By last night we had pretty much used up every single clean dish in the house, and the smelly, slimy mountain on the kitchen counter was really starting to get to me. Plus, no showers or laundry, so other things were starting to smell too.
So… last night, after three days with no water, James drove down to the street pump several blocks from us that’s dribbling out a trickle, and spent two hours filling barrels with water and laboriously dumping it through a funnel into the huge vats in our basement. This gave us enough water in our taps to do an hour-and-a-half’s worth of dishes and have a quick shower each… then our taps ran dry again.
By this morning, we were literally down to one 5-litre bottle of drinking water, plus half a bottle of tap water to use for dishes, hands, etc. We put a bucket of dirty canal water in the bathroom to flush the toilet with, and started using our outhouse for the necessaries!
Besides all of this, relationships on our foreign team here have not been stellar lately, and yesterday a conversation did not go well, which was discouraging and frustrating for both James and I.
Also, lately in the back of my mind is the constant nagging thought, What if, after we leave this company in August, we can’t create another visa option to come back next year? What if I have to go through another exhausting complete-country-transition with a newborn, like I did after we had William? What if these next 9 weeks are all I have left with my local friends here? What if… what if…
With all of this going on in the background, I snap all out of proportion at my house helper this morning over a tiny thing, leaving me in tears of repentance and her in tears of… I’m not sure what. {This happens right after I’ve just finished trying to tell her the story I read this morning: Peter walking to Jesus on the water, and starting to sink after looking around at the storm… following it up with “Yeah, I really want to learn to depend on Jesus more like that, even when my situation is really difficult…” and so I’m now having intensely guilty feelings about “ruining” my witness by snapping at her...}
I can feel my veneer crumbling. As the tears start to fall, I’m apologizing to her for losing my temper, but I’m having major trouble getting my own emotions under control, and I can’t understand exactly why she’s crying. Is it only because I snapped at her? I know I’ve been snapping more frequently, and even though I apologize each time, I really have not been easy to live with. Maybe this is the final straw for both of us? When I ask her, she doesn’t answer.
This is the first time I’ve completely crumpled in front of her, and I’m thinking hopeful thoughts about vulnerability and increasing the depth in our relationship, when she says she doesn’t want to work for me anymore. My heart sinks. Is this a manipulation tactic? Does she want me to grovel and beg her to stay, and keep profusely apologizing in order to preserve the friendship? Is that what her local friends do when they lose their tempers? Well, the reality is, I lost my temper this morning because she made another executive decision about something without consulting me, and that’s been happening more frequently too. Even though she’s my friend, I do pay her wages to help me in the ways I need help (not in the ways she thinks would be helpful), and today her latest assumption was the straw that broke the back of this camel.
I try to probe deeper about her tears. She’s got her back to me, soaping up dishes at the sink. I’m stirring apricot jam on the stove, sniffing, big tears dropping into the pot, praying furiously for wisdom. She stays quiet a long time. Finally, she quietly says she’s afraid of getting pregnant again herself because (like me) she was emotional and easily angered while she was pregnant, and she’s afraid of being that way again. Oh, great. Definitely helps the guilt trip I’m already putting on myself. This sudden fear of pregnancy, from the girl who had a miraculous baby after two miscarriages, and is longing to have another child?
Can it really be fear of pregnancy? Is it just that I’ve finally really hurt her feelings, but she just won’t tell me? I model honesty. I share more reasons for why I’m crying, real reasons. I open up. She doesn’t say a word. Is this Central Asian-ness? Is this just her personality? Why won’t she talk to me? We’ve usually been honest with each other up til now… Lord, give me wisdom! I’m really blowing it here!
Despite all my best efforts, I can’t get her to talk more to me about how she’s feeling. When it’s time for her to leave, I pay her for last week and today, tell her to take the day off tomorrow, and walk her to the gate. On the way, I keep telling her, “The most important thing is for us to understand each other. Please don’t go home thinking I don’t love you, or that I want to throw away our friendship. You do understand, don’t you?” She nods affirmative, but I’m unconvinced. No kiss goodbye, no smile or wave. She walks off down the street, still wiping her eyes. I close the gate behind her, feeling completely helpless. I make it back up the stairs into our veranda, and melt into a puddle.
“I can’t do this, Lord!” I wail inside. “Why did you pick me, anyway? I am so sinful! So broken! So foolish! So helpless! I can’t see into anyone’s hearts like You can - I’m like a blind person, fumbling around with the most precious treasure in the world, trying to give it away to people, and all the time tripping stupidly over my own feet!”
I am like Peter, exactly. Sinking, sinking - knee-deep, thigh-deep - eyes wild and rolling, soul filled with howling wind and mountainous waves.
I sit and cry, let the tears ache out of me. The boys are still rolling around somewhere in the house - they certainly haven’t made today easier, bickering all morning, poking at each other, taking advantage of my distraction to break all the rules. I’ve snapped at them too this morning and felt guilty about that, especially in front of my helper who hardly disciplines her children at all and probably thinks I’m a complete ogre.
And you know? Some days are just like this.
I call my husband in tears, and he lovingly listens and speaks Truth: “Jesus understands… He forgives you… we all have bad days… I’ve snapped at workers too, and had to apologize… I think part of it is certainly a spiritual attack…” That part often does become clear when everything happens at once: water outage/team difficulties/local relationship difficulties/parenting challenges/summer heat/mosquitoes/difficulty sleeping…
We are getting wiser about identifying attacks. But it still doesn’t make surviving the onslaught - how about winning? - any easier while it’s happening.
I don’t have any solutions. I just share this story to let you know that I have bad days too. It’s not all pesto and smiles and gardening. It’s hard, really hard, and I know you have days like this too. Well, you’re not alone. We’re not alone, you and me. Jesus is ready to reach out his hand and grab us out of the water, the minute we ask Him for help.
Thank God the preciousness of His gospel does not depend on the broken, desperate vessel it’s conveyed in… In fact, I think it’s through our cracks that His light can shine.
But we have this treasure in jars of clay,
to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.
~2 Cor 4:7
*****
Have you had a bad day recently?
What happened? What did you do?
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