Temper Tantrum

I was recently sharing, heart-to-heart, with my small group about how God and I are not really speaking right now... we're more in a screaming match, which made a few people in the group laugh. I'm pretty sure they were laughing because, like me, they know God doesn't scream back when we yell. He more... allows the tantrum to fizzle out and then calmly explains.

That's very true, but I was still mad and (as one friend put it) "throwing my toys out of the cot." I was angry and yelling because I was hurt. It's that time of year. There are certain times when (if you've moved away from family and friends you can relate to this) you just miss home. I miss it more than I ever thought I would and Boo seems to be dead-set on making me cry at least 3 times a week, which is another frustration unto it's own. But it's the holidays. People are posting pictures on Facebook of heaps and heaps of boots by their front door and snow-covered landscapes out their kitchen windows and toddlers enjoying the snow. It makes me miss the sights and smells of Christmas at home, just like whenever the kids' birthdays roll around, I miss being able to have the voices of family members singing "Happy Birthday" with all our friends here. I was hurting that this is one more Christmas without. Without my Grams and Gramps or brothers and sisters or cousins and aunts and uncles and all the rest around and frustrated that (this may sound really petty, but it's the truth) the first Sunday of the Advent season we didn't light a candle. There were no Christmas songs sung. In fact, I was pretty sure I was going to melt into my pew like butter in the hot sun. Basically, I was having a small pity-party that certain things didn't LOOK or FEEL like they would back home... I was even yelling about the lack of annoying bell-ringers outside every store. Logically, though, why would they? I'm living in South Africa where things are different. Sometimes, though, when you're homesick and pregnant, logical isn't your first reaction.

So I'm sharing with dear friends this struggle that I'm not willing to give up, even though I know I'm wrong. I shared how I just desperately missed being in church where I knew everyone and things were safe and comfortable. We picked our church here because the worship leader, the pastor and the people were all so warm and friendly and welcoming. It's a real, honest-to-goodness, community of families. Problem is, we still don't know all the families and when we're praying for Sister Suzie's grandson Kevin who is sick, everyone else seems to deeply feel this need, and we're not sure who Suzie is and are pretty sure we've never met Kevin. I feel those moments deeply because I used to know all the Sister Suzie's and which of her kids was the parent to Kevin. I understand that, in time, we'll learn all those connections and be there to celebrate marriages and births and graduations with the best of them and we'll also be there to share in times of need and deep hurt. But again, I was already mad and missing family, so my anger then sort of vomited over into everything else. Ever have one of those moments where you can't really sort out what you're upset about or where it's coming from, but you KNOW, for sure and for certain, that you're upset and it spreads onto every aspect of your life until you're mad about the color of your hair and the way the rain is falling?

But God was faithful, even in my fit. I received a few key emails and comments from people that just made me remember that we're gone, but not forgotten. And then, church on Sunday was Thanksgiving Sunday. It's a time here for everyone to remember what they have to be thankful for and a large offering is taken as a demonstration of that thankfulness. As part of the service, the church brought up the three couples who work for the Church of the Nazarene at the Africa Regional Office. There was also a special song sung for us and those who teach or work or volunteer in the church. For most people in the States, it's an older song that has passed it's prime. I haven't heard it in a good number of years, but it really spoke to me. It's that one where the verses talk about a Sunday School teacher who led a child to the Lord at eight, and who gave money, even when there was none to give, to the missionary speaking at church. The chorus says, "Thank you for giving to the Lord. I have a life, that was changed. Thank you, for giving to the Lord. I'm so glad you gave."

I remember the first time I heard that song sung. Tim Hanson, who (among so many other things) taught a group of unruly and often obnoxious 11-14 year-olds. He had a daughter, just my age and we'd grown up together in church. He sang that song, and choked up in the middle. I remember as a kid, not understanding why he got so emotional. But standing there, as the song was once again being sung into my life, I thought back to all the Mr. Tims and Diana Coxs and Susan Bertlesons and Stacey Youngs and Olive Thomas and Orvell Easilys and Connie Patricks who helped shape me. The Sunday School teacher or piano teacher or older lady in church who saw I could use a lunch-date and conversation with someone I didn't really know up until then. The people who gave of their life, for reasons beyond me, when they really didn't have to because I wasn't "their" kid. The ones who got me here, in South Africa, where I was throwing a tantrum over selfishly wanting to be with MY family in MY state with MY holiday food. It was really humbling to realize, now that I have my own kids whose lives are being so molded and shaped by teachers and friends, how much of a sacrifice those people made in my life... how much they gave so that I could be strong enough to say, "Here I am Lord, send me" when I was asked.

I'm not saying I'll never be homesick again. I will. But I am saying that right now, I'm so thankful for people who demonstrated enough love and compassion and grace that when I needed to physically SEE what it looks like to get over my own selfishness, I had so, so many examples to pull from.