Each month, I go to “the forest” . . . a dry, mostly treeless place north of Tulear and outside a small town called Ankililoaka. In October, I had the chance to go to the “deeper forest”, where I finally discovered why they call it the forest. Beautiful, majestic baobab trees surrounded the village I stayed in, while scrubby, wild vines and trees filled the road to this village.
Since March, I’ve known people from this deeper village, and have been meeting with them regularly to craft stories in their dialect. However, this was the first time for me to be able to visit them in their home. Seeing their smiles when I arrived there was incredibly special.
It was a difficult trip for me, though. This village has no access to water. The closest water is over an hour walk, and this is a heavy burden on the people who live there. We happened to be in the village at the same time as a medical clinic from Tana, and the illnesses that people arrived with were appalling at times (and the doctors’ ability to treat patients in these conditions nothing short of miraculous).
One reason this trip stood out among the others was that it gave me the opportunity to hear much of the history of faith in Christ in the village. I was there with my pastor that I work with, as well as a woman from the US who has been involved in this work for a long time. Hearing how they began, with much prayer, research, tentativeness, and patience, was humbling. Throughout each day, we were visited by long-time friends of the pastor and this woman. It seemed that often, whenever they shared their hearts, they shared pain, grief, and problems with no solutions.
I confess that before this trip, I guess I still thought “missions” meant that warm, sweet feeling I get when I hear believers singing Malagasy worship songs I’ve learned too. I find that when I face real problems, like poverty and hunger, adultery and false doctrines, Satan’s deceits, sickness, and injustice, I shy away. I don’t know what to do. What can I possibly offer to people who daily suffer in ways I’m only just starting to see for the first time?
The truth is, I still don’t really know the answer. I’ve been sort of a mess since I got back from this trip. Guilt is always my first response to anything, and that’s a big part of what I’ve been feeling . . . but then that leads to an even deeper sense of guilt: how dare I take other’s suffering and throw myself a pity party about how it affects me! If my response to what I’ve seen is limited to pain at my own guilt over it, then my last selfishness is greater than the first.
And the reality is, of course I have nothing to offer them! I am not the Suffering Savior! I will never know why I was born into such blessing and ease, or why God’s grace has seemed to hem me in all my life. But they aren’t looking for me. May my feelings of inadequacy only make me all the more determined to introduce them to the One who has suffered all, felt every pain and grief, and all for them, that they may have life, and have it to the full, forever and ever!
And all the while I am agonizing over my life, trying to figure out how to process what I’ve seen, paralyzed by guilt, the church in this deep forest village is thriving. They face incredible hardship, but they are overcoming! They are sharing the Gospel, studying and learning, and crafting stories for others to hear. They are learning how to truly love one another, and to serve those around them. Maybe if I could take my eyes off myself for just a moment, I could catch a glimpse of how God is working, and maybe join Him. I’m discovering deep down I sort of still believe the lie that this is all about me. But the suffering of the world, and the progress of the Gospel, are so much bigger than my part in them. This is NOT my story, whatever I may sometimes be tempted to think.
I think right after this trip, the only way I could have appeased my guilt would have been to stay there forever, just to disappear into the great black hole of need . . . a big part of me wanted to do this. My boyfriend made an interesting comment. He said that I will always be trying to lose myself in places where I’m not called . . . wow! This is basically how I’ve lived the last 4, 5, 7 years! And he’s right. It’s not the losing myself that is necessarily the issue . . . it’s losing myself for Him, and not to ease my guilt or satisfy some kind of martyr complex.
So, may this grain of wheat fall to the ground and truly die . . . but may I decrease so that Christ alone can increase . . . and may I do it in the way that He wants. Though I still struggle with what kind of lifestyle changes this last trip may have precipitated, I do know this: I’m going to take my eyes off my own guilty self, and even off their suffering, and fix them on Him. And then, may He teach me to see as He does. May He break my heart with what breaks His. And may He take all I am and all I have, and pour it out however and wherever He desires, as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to Himself. Then that offering can be the pleasing aroma that is the knowledge of Him in any place. My friends in the forest are that precious, pleasing aroma to Him . . . let me learn from them.
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