Contemplating changes

As you all have read on our blog a number of times, our service here in Germany/Switzerland has always had an indefinite time table. By the nature of being volunteers, we make commitments one year at a time. So we only ever know what the length of one year will bring, and anything after that is a great big blank unknown.

I won't waste time here talking about what it is like to constantly live in a state of temporariness. That's a whole other blog. But as we wait to hear back from the eight or nine doctoral programs that Andrew applied to, and we see this current stretch of commitment drawing toward some kind of close, I bounce between excitement and just plain weariness.

I am thankful that I am a person who, in some ways, thrives on change, since in life -- particularly my life, it seems -- change is the one thing we can depend on.

Don't get me wrong; I like my stable, dependable routines as much as the next person. At the same time, I can get bored quickly when, overall, life becomes too repetitious. I've noticed that generally takes about two years for me. After I've been somewhere about two years, I begin to itch for a change of geography, or at least a solid trip somewhere new.

Yet, as I continue to move every two years or so, that powerful pull toward the new and the novel is increasingly counterweighted with a yearning to put down roots, to just stay put somewhere and make a life right where I am.

After living in our village for just over two years, I've really seen what a slow process it is to make a place for yourself, even in a tiny town. It's taken two years for certain things to begin happening. For instance, a woman in my English class thought to invite me this week to a special prayer gathering at another evangelical church in town, which took place this afternoon. I was glad to go and pray for a particular country with about 40 other women, most of whom I didn't know, but some whose faces were now familiar. It felt good when I made eye contact with several women whom I've regularly passed on the sidewalk, and to see a look of recognition light their faces as they gave me a warm smile and a nod. It's the little things.

Also, a week ago, Andrew and I attended a memorial service for Ernst, the man who ran a leather workshop on the main street of our village and whom we'd been getting to know better each week as we stopped in his shop to chat on our way here or there. He passed away November 30 from kidney failure. It was a special time for us to join other members of the village whose lives had been touched by Ernst and remember his gregarious personality and always happy face.

It's taken a long time, it seems, to begin having these kind of opportunities to be part of this community. So, I am much less naive about how much more time and effort we would need to really become a part of the village life here in a meaningful way. It makes me wish we could stay forever. Two years can seem like a long time, but here, it feels like we're just getting started.

So, on days like today, when I'm particularly tired for whatever reason, the thought of moving yet again and starting all over just makes me exhausted. When you're this tired, it's probably not a good idea to dwell too much on an unknown future or a major upcoming change. But for a few moments I let my thoughts stray to where we might end up next. At this point, anywhere in the world seems like it could be a possibility. And although in the past year I've begun letting myself dream about serving the church in missions long-term, it's hard to imagine having the energy to start all over again in Africa, or Latin America, or even another part of Europe.

Today I had a few moments of questioning if such a thing would really be a good idea. Can I do this all over again, now that I know how hard it can be and what it really takes? Will I be able to cut it starting over in another entirely new culture and language and geography? I thought of the different small things I sacrificed to come here; things I thought weren't a big deal at the time, but which over the past two years have become an increasingly big deal, things I miss a LOT more than I thought I would. If I am without those things here, in Germany, in another location I'd certainly be without them and without a lot more things that I enjoy and feel like I need, whether I do or not.

Can I make another move like this? I wondered.

No, I realized in my temporary tiredness, I can't imagine doing this again. Not without God.

I can't imagine doing any of this without the Holy Spirit, and without knowing that God is leading me on this journey, and that He is working all things together for our good. Because on the most difficult days, when you're the most exhausted and you just don't know how you can go on, that is what gets you through. God's strength, which is a kazillion times greater than our strength, holds you up; and His peace, which assures you that you can trust you haven't made a mistake -- that you're right where He wants you -- puts to rest any doubt that you've gotten yourself in over your head through some naive decision of your own to move to another culture.

So, I put those thoughts and doubts to rest as I get some some rest myself. I try not to dwell on this kind of thing when I'm tired. Yet, in doing so today, God simply reminded me that I'm not doing this on my own, and that none of it is up to me. He won't put me in a situation that He won't give me the strength to work through, and wherever He puts me, it's right where He wants me. And that's the only place I want to be.