Kurdistan: PART 2: A Glimpse into Yesterday
In continuation to the 3 part series of the questions posted on my blog, this question was one of the more wonderful and thought provoking ones. I wanted to take the whole post to simultaneously tell a story from yesterday and still answer the question.
So here it is, the question as posted: "I'd love to hear about what the hardest part of connecting with these rescued women is. How do you relate to such trauma and pain and fear. Besides prayer and helping with physical needs, how do you reach them emotionally?"
This is an incredible topic and something that I continually think about.
Yesterday I came home after visiting three separate households. I sunk into my hammock as the day replayed in my head and heart. Such a beautiful day, visiting with wonderful ladies, but a heavy day as well.
The first house we visited was 'G' and her daughter, 'M'. They served us water and melon, busily rushing in and out of the room, finishing housework. 'M', a very quiet girl, sat alone with us for a little while, as we talked to her about life and her day. Soon her mother came in and joined. The conversation glided over the regular, "How are you?" and "What were you doing today?" questions and into a more heart-jerking subject. Tears began filling her eyes as we spoke to her. My heart ached as I watched her wipe away the delicate tears dripping down her face. Holding it together and trying to avoid an outburst of tears she offered to bring us chai.
"No, thank you," We told her, "we just want to sit and talk with you."
She responded, "Alright, but I don't want to make you sad.."
This is something common. Many of the ladies hide their feelings and their tears for fear of upsetting family members or friends. We reassured her that we were there for her, to listen to her. That crying is okay, and even good. We told her we did not feel uncomfortable, but in fact we were glad that she could share and cry in front of us. We even told her that of course our hearts are sad when we see her cry, and when we hear the difficult things in her life, because we love her and we see her pain, but its not a bad thing that we can all feel that together, that's what friendships are. To be happy with each other, encourage each other, and even cry together in the hard times. This seemed to reassure her that her tears would not be rejected but accepted with open ears.
I watched her strong front melt into a puddle of weeping. With each word she cried a little more. All the things in her heart, softly spilling out little by little onto the hard cement ground. She pulled out a bundle of pictures and handed them to us. We gently asked about the faces we were staring at. Her husband, three sons, and a precious daughter all still missing, along with many many other relatives. "When I'm alone at home," 'G' spoke, "I always look at their pictures and just cry. I can't stop thinking about them. Where are they? Are they okay, are they still alive?..."
This is another common response to such trauma and ambiguous loss. Some of the deepest pain is found when there is no closure. The constant thinking, worrying, wondering. It consumes you, eats you alive, until that's all you revolve around. I can't say that I fully understand, because I've never had a loved one disappear. Day after day they wait for news, a full 6 years later, they still don't know any more than the day it all happened. Although I can't connect personally to this, I do understand the impact it has on their day to day life, physically and mentally. And I understand the benefit of talking about it, and the danger of locking it away inside of your heart. In these situations, the most helpful thing to do is just be there for them. Listen to their worries, concerns... their tears. Listen, acknowledge and when the time is right, respond.
Sometimes i feel like the widow in the Bible who had the small jar of oil. She kept pouring and pouring and filling the other pots with oil. In my case, its not oil, but words. Sometimes I don't know where they are coming from, its like I have a bottomless supply of encouragement that God provides right in the midst of those times. My tiny jar is about empty, but somehow oil keeps coming from it. But, even with God supplying my words, sometimes He holds my tongue and allows silence to work its beautiful job. I can too quickly get frustrated with myself if silence becomes too common of a thing, but I have to pull myself back and remind that voice deep inside of me to just calm down and let the Lord work. I am so inadequate for this work, for these relationships. When I sunk into my hammock, remembering the day, I also remembered the total insufficient feeling that I fight every day. The overwhelming thought of not helping these ladies to the fullest, and feeling like the only thing I'm doing is wasting time. Then, the voice of reason comes. I know my identity is in Christ, and I am committed to doing whatever he asks of me. With that in mind, what we are doing, as small or heavy as it might feel, its not for us, but for Christ, and I can live with that.
Fast forward to the end of the visit where we gathered around and prayed for her heart to be healed, for her loved ones to be protected, for closure, peace, joy... I really can't tell you all that we said because it was a lot. I do know that I walked away with a heavy heart, even though 'G' no longer was crying and was able to smile and tell us goodbye. Even though I got to see another of her daughters before we left that we hadn't seen in a long time, which made my heart very happy. Even with ending the visit on a good and healthy note, I still had this heavy weight nestled in the middle of my heart. I believe that you can have a happy but heavy heart at the same time, because I've felt it so many times. I find that when I loose that heaviness, I need to do some serious reevaluation in my life and figure out where I am with my relationship with God. Throughout my own personal relationship with God there comes a burden for different situations, circumstances, and people. When I have a burden its often followed with a passion to do something about it. And with passion comes vision. A stair case that all starts from my personal life with God and that beautiful heaviness He places in my heart. This is possibly the hardest thing, constantly remembering to keep my eyes on God and not drown in the chaotic things around me. If I'm not careful, I can quickly slip into the dark waters of absorbing things of this world and things of insignificant value in comparison to God and His Kingdom.
I thank God for the passion He has given me for the ladies in Kurdistan. And even when my jar feels empty, I know that He fills it again. I'm continually amazed at how God can use even someone like me, to sit with, listen to and encourage the warriors of women around me. They have more strength and gusto than I ever will. They've fought hard for where they are today, there is so much to learn from them. Yet, in their broken and weakest moments, I'm so thankful I can be a shoulder for them to lean on.
-Ellie
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