Over The Brick Wall

"You're right on track. It's around month four and five that you generally hit a brick wall."

Sitting across from our base leaders on their recent trip to our town, we recounted the events of the last few weeks. Lots of head nodding sympathy returning to us. They were right, we hit the brick wall full on and it hurt.

Our terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days were compounding. My repeated illnesses draining what little energy we had left. I'd stopped worshiping and writing, the very two things that call me back and recenter my heart. I started having dreams about quitting language school and would wake up happy, only to emotionally crash at the realization I hadn't and wouldn't quit. The fact was that life would remain hard for some time to come and we were plum worn out.

"Why don't you take a month off, Anisha? Let your body heal completely and maybe cook some American food? You are doing well with your language. Later if you want to study more you can do another unit, or could even get a tutor in Wamena."

Sometimes you are running so fast that the wall just comes out of no where. Sometimes you need someone from the outside to see clearly for you.

As we recover from the dizziness of a full on collision, the truth comes back into view.

Expectations of what I think I should be capable of are deceiving. There is no shame in resting.

In the wake of abandoning full time classes, my body is finally beginning to feel whole.

I find myself enjoying my family more. My son's day to day behavior has even improved.

Relationships with local friends are more fulfilling. I no longer try to sneak past the open door hoping not to be seen because my brain is too tired to struggle through another conversation.

After five months of being unable to cope with the stress of cooking in a new country, I made pizza from scratch and was able to improvise on the ingredients we can't find locally. The idea of preparing a meal no longer induces panic.

I'm writing again.

I'm worshiping again.

I am enjoying language learning again.

Next week I'll start back with relaxed tutoring sessions on Tuesday and Friday mornings. Without a defined curriculum and the freedom to direct my own learning the tight ball of anxiety in my chest is disappearing.

My wise Mama recently wrote, "You are in Papua for more than this." Yes. We did not come to only burn out emotionally and physically. We are meant for more and sometimes we just need to take a step back and remember the bigger picture.

There is no shame in resting. We'll make it over this wall.

True Friends

"What is 'syg' an abbreviation for at the end of her text?" I asked my teacher, reading aloud a text message from a Papuan friend that I didn't completely understand.

It's hard enough to work out the straight Indonesian words, but can you imagine trying to figure out text message abbreviations? Yeah, that's a whole other thing.

"It means 'honey'. It's something women use for their true friend." he responded and I couldn't control the sudden eruption of joy.

I threw my hands in the air and gave out the most satisfied, "Yes!" of my life.

Amused, my teacher smiled and commented, "That makes you really happy, huh?"

"So much! I always wonder if the friends I am making here really like me, or if they are just being polite to the foreign lady. I always wonder if I am really making true friendships."

It was all joy overflowing for the rest of the day. Even now, thinking about my Papuan friend who I very much enjoy spending time with and realising she also genuinely enjoys my company, it's beyond meaningful to me.

I used to struggle hardcore with rejection. Fearful of not being accepted, even to the point of walking by a group of laughing people and concluding that they must be laughing at me. I constantly wondered what people really thought of me and mostly determined I was not all that likeable, fun or interesting.

Then I met Jesus and read His words about me. I began to understand that my identity lies in Christ and to trust Him even with my personality. I am the way that I am by design, not by some failure. As these truths rooted deep within my heart the fear of rejection largely became a thing of the past.

Then I came to Papua. Navigating a culture very different than my own and trying to make friends with limited language, that old fear of rejection came creeping back.

As I sat in class, beaming from ear to ear, I realised I'd given way to a fear long since conquered.

The truth is, my identity as a loved and cherished child of God doesn't change with my location. It doesn't change just because I dont understand the cultural cues around me. It never changes.

I breath easy again. Feet once more planted firmly on the unshakeable rock of Christ's love for me. Secure in the knowledge that this love that heals and sets my heart at peace, exists not just for me, but for the whole world.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 8:38-39

Used Up Words

It's hard when the novelty of being a westerner wears off. I've used up all my words and any new conversation is tedious. The neighbours have seen in my home. They see how we dress everyday and see what we eat. They've heard our tone of voice when happy or upset and know our weekly schedule. Our daily habits no longer as interesting, our interactions reduced to "Good morning" and a friendly wave.

I told my teacher I'd run out of conversation and he simply replied, "Yes, but you still have to try. You are getting better."

Humph.

I am so eager to learn. Eager to move past the surface level conversations and talk about deeper things. I want to connect and build real meaningful friendships.

But when people stop trying to talk to you because it's just plain difficult and takes forever to communicate anything - What's a girl to do? Even a girl who is eager to learn?

Ben, Isaiah and my frustrated language lacking self attended church on Sunday. Everyone smiled and shook my hand, but offered no conversation beyond the usual "Happy Sunday!"

After the service we stood on the church patio enjoying snacks and smiling awkwardly when my one English speaking Indonesian friend came bounding towards us. "You're back! How was Wamena? Did you like it?" We began offering answers in English and she interrupted, "When can we speak more Indonesian?" Ben and I looked at each other, "I don't have more Indonesian." I said with a shrug. "Well, everyone here wants to talk to you, they just don't know what to say!"

Wait. What? People still want to talk to me?

"Really?" I asked, not quite believing it. "Really!" she responded with a smile. And I quickly went over to Ibu Gembala to ask for a ride to the woman's Ibadah on Monday. Through limited words and mostly hand gestures I managed to arrange a ride.

People still want to talk to me. It's amazing, but she was right and so was my teacher. "You still have to try. You are getting better."

So I reach back into my brain and try to put my few words into new sentences. At the Ibadah I stumble through the sharing time and even add a request prayer. The women, staring at me with huge smiles, almost will the words out of me.

Turns out that even my neighbours, who had given up trying to talk to me, are still interested in conversation. I just needed to listen to my teacher and stop complaining about the words I don't have. Difficult or not, I needed to try again with the words I do have.

And you know what? I managed to arrange a trip to the salon this week with Ibu Gembala. If there was ever a perfect place for building relationships with local women, I'm pretty sure the salon is it.

Ben Came Anyway

I hate sports. I'm uncoordinated, slow, and weak. Worst of all though, playing sports makes me feel very insecure.

Language learning, now that's my thing. I can "feel" the meaning of the words and they stick easily. I don't mind messing up because after all, "you have to murder it to master it".

Ben is good at sports. He's coordinated and fast and all smiles.

He hates scripted afternoon language practice. The words take longer to learn and the awkwardness of not being understood is so uncomfortable.

But here's the thing. If someone said to me, "Go live in that country and help those people. Oh and you have to play sports everyday until you are great at it." I would say no. Plain and simply, I would not go.

Ben on the other hand, came anyway. It's tough and discouraging and frustrating. Sometimes it's the awfulness of insecurity.

Ben came anyway! I am so blessed to have him. I wish I was more like him.