Post Zambia Disorder (PZD)

I woke up early this morning for a babysitting job. Along the drive, a solitary doe stood in a freshly tilled field as the sun struck her in a way which was reminiscent of an impala.   6:30 AM, crystal clear blue skies, cool 55F air, little peoples giggles, and a yard full of chickens brought echoes of many early Zambian mornings to my mind.  10 months later, and my heart still aches for Zambia. 

When I first returned from Zambia I went to a missionary debriefing program in Colorado.  As an intern missionary it was not expected for me to be formally debriefed. After my "unusually stressful" term it was highly recommended for me to go. I spent a week surrounded by about 30 other broken and battered missionaries.  Worn and torn by the battles we had fought overseas, we shared our stories, cried, laughed, and were comforted by sincere empathy. 

As a part of our week of debriefing we completed various assessments to help us understand our experiences.  One of these was the Holmes and Rahe Stress scale.  Basically it was a survey which gave point value to the stressful experiences you had over the last year of your life. (100 points for the death of a close family member, 75 for moving… etc) It was explained that a total score of about 300 increased ones chance by 70% of having medical problems, be they physical or psychological.  Then, we were told that the average missionary lives at an average stress level of 600 points!

I “scored” 1,035 points.

1,035 points of stress.   

And that survey didn’t account for bugs, or heat, or daily boiling water, or 6:30am knocks on my door, or inconsistent electricity, internet, water, or … need I go on?

This was also only counting my second year in Zambia.  This assessment didn’t even begin to include the stress of my first year, which was plagued by the mystery illness and so much more.

I was told during that week of counseling that I was experiencing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. 

I figured it would go away.  I figured after a few months of rest I’d be better, ready to move on.

Well a few months turned into several months, and several months into now.  10 months.

Vivid nightmares which return me to Zambia plague my sleep all night every night.  Stress related anxiety has stopped me from keeping a full schedule, and has prevented me from socializing.  And yes, my current illness is likely lingering as a result of the traumatic level of stress my mind and body have experienced over the last two years.  (Doctors say it’s most likely a virus related to mono…and it just won’t go away.)

Primarily I have been emotionally hindered from returning to ministry. The thought of being responsible for a full time ministry position is exhausting.  Mostly my heart is weary from being drained by so much exertion, pouring myself out with little encouragement and significant levels of disrespect.   Although ministry is always sacrificial, and one generally is blessed through making that sacrifice; being taken advantage of for your sacrifices and disrespected in the act of that sacrifice will wound even the strongest of hearts.

My heart is deeply wounded by experiences which happened in Zambia.

And yet my heart aches for Zambia. 

The simplest things trigger that deep ache.

The sound of an African accent and dark skin accented by bright smiles stir up latent memories…

My subconscious still tries to respond to people in Tonga…

Tonga hymns and Zambian praise songs are still my soul’s inner go-to songs for comfort…

The thought of going back to Zambia is on my mind every day, and yet the thought of returning to that level of stress brings inner turmoil and panic.

-----------------Deep Breath------------------

Within the last few weeks something in my spirit has shifted.  Although the healing process began the moment I stepped onto American soil, recently I have been able to allow myself to feel the Lords touch anew, trusting him to carry me forward.  The hymn “How Firm A Foundation” struck deep into my heart, speaking words which resonated with the themes of healing which the Lord has been speaking to my heart in these last months.  The 3^rd verse specifically struck home:

“When through the deep waters I call thee to go,

The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;

For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,

And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress”

The Lord called me to the deep waters of Zambia, and yet he carried me through each day.  The troubles were and are blessed through his ministry done through my weakness, and he is sanctifying me through this distress.  And... he will call me to deep waters again... yet he will never.  No never. No NEVER forsake. 

I have been chatting with a counselor the last few weeks, and she has helped me to accept my current stage of brokenness.  She has also acknowledged that the things I am experiencing still are PTSD symptoms.  I like to think of it more as Post Zambia Disorder, and I believe that each and every missionary who returns from the field experiences something similar.  I will write more on this later, but if you have any takeaway from this blog… Please. Pray for your missionaries. There is so much happening in their lives that they can't write home about. 

I share this with you not for sympathy, but to explain where I’m “at.” This journey of brokenness has made me find wholeness in Christ in a new way.  It has also made me recognize the crucial importance of allowing oneself to grieve in the arms of the Father.  Our culture rushes grief.  We are uncomfortable with pain, and we do not like to deal with other people’s brokenness. 

I share this with you in hopes that you will  find a glimpse of peace in your own brokenness; so that in the midst of your pain you can recognize that the Lord is tenderly holding your broken spirit.

May you, “approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that (you) may receive mercy and find grace to help (you) in your time of need.” (Hebrews 4:12)