A Pair-o-ducks

I have had the following conversation at least once a week since returning from Zambia:

Person #456 “So, how was Zambia?”      

Me “It was the hardest experience of my life. *dramatic pause* But I wouldn't trade it for anything.”

Person #456 “What made it so hard?”

Me “Everything made it hard.”

Person #456 “But I thought you had a good time? Your pictures looked so happy!”

Me “I did have lots of really good times.  But there were lots of really bad times too.”

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                On the first day of my week of missionary debriefing our counselors put two rubber ducks on the table in front of us.  One was a happy little duck.  The other one was dirtied by permanent marker, and he was not a happy duck.  This imagery was to help us grasp hold, and remember that our missionary experience was full of paradox.  (Get it? Pair-o-ducks?)

                As each of us looked back on our missionary experience we could clearly point to moments of ugliness and brokenness, while at the same time we could look back at some of the most meaningful and joyous moments of our lives.   The paradox is that these dynamics cannot be separated.  Our ugly duck moments were intertwined with the happy duck, and our pair-o-ducks created turmoil of emotions as we reflected on our experiences.

                When I first returned from Zambia I was bombarded by meaningful people asking me about my “trip.”  (TRIP!? Try two years of my life!!)  Reeling in the pain of the stress I had experienced, I dreaded the moment people brought it up because it meant I had to remember.  And yet, Zambia was the only thing on my mind and the only thing I wanted to talk about.  Paradox.

                 The return of a missionary to their home country is compared to experiencing the death of a good friend.  Although technology has allowed some minimal communication with my Zambian friends, this analogy has been true for me.  Two years of life, relationships, and memories have been completely disconnected from my current reality. I left my heart in Zambia, and yet my mind and body were so weary that this was a necessary sacrifice.  Paradox.

                 “Surely, Lauren, you received more than you gave.”  Although I understand, and appreciate this sentiment having experienced it during short-term missions, this was not my most recent experience.  I poured myself out, and ultimately was sucked dry by the confrontation of endless demands and needs mixed with disrespect for my sacrifices to meet these needs. Purposeful, life-changing, meaningful ministry happened while I was in Zambia.  And I certainly gained beautiful friendships, learned immense life lessons, and was shaped and grown in new ways.  Yet I was also taken advantage of.  Paradox. 

                The thought of returning to Zambia is on my mind and heart every day, and yet the thought of returning also brings deep feelings of panic and fear.

                Each night, as I lay down to sleep I anticipate my dreams which will inevitably take me to Zambia for the night.  Lifelike, vivid interactions with my friends reflect my hearts longing, and the nightmares reflect my hearts wounds. 

                I have learned to embrace this paradox, rather than to battle it.  After writing the previous blog I received meaningful emails from fellow wounded-warriors, complete strangers who had related closely with my painful experience.  One of these new friends said, “Zambia is a scar I wear with pride because it is who I was and formed who I am today.” 

                My experience in Zambia broke me.  It has been a year since leaving, and the longest period of time in my life where I have not been actively engaged in ministry.  The wounds were deep.  And yet these wounds have formed in me new vision and passion for missions and concern for missionaries.  It’s a scar I am learning to wear with pride.

                And in the midst of this, my joy-filled pain has drawn me closer to another, much bigger, paradox. 

                The Son of God, Jesus, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, came to live among us.  And he loved us.  And he experienced pure joy in that obedience.  And yet, he experienced rejection. Abandonment. Hatred.  And physical torture.   And I believe if an angel asked Jesus, “So, how was Earth?”  Jesus would likely respond, “It was the hardest experience of my life… but I wouldn't trade it for anything.”

                “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.” Philippians 3:10

   I want to know Joy.