I consider myself an extremely resilient person. I’m not easily excitable and I’m not easily deterred, especially when I know I’m on the right track. I’m self-motivated, and I believe that I can accomplish anything with my own two hands if I want it bad enough.
I’m good at telling you about my struggles after I have come to terms with them.
am NOT good at telling you my struggles as they are happening. Probably
because I believe every good story needs closure. It needs an ending. I
like to start writing and then wrap everything up in a nice neat bow
using moving words and fancy metaphors. I like things to make sense. And
nobody likes a whiner. I don’t want to be a whiner. In fact, in our
home (RV), we have “The Three Things” which are:
Life is not fair.
Life is about waiting.
Life is hard.
one of our kids lodge a complaint about our or their situation, we
invariably require them to recite the three things. They all know them
I’m going to break my rule of no complaining this
time and tell you something that is really really hard for me right now.
We have suffered deprivations and circumstances many people can’t
properly appreciate unless they’ve been where we are. One day I’ll sit
down and write the whole story out, telling you about each and every
one. I’ve muscled through a lot of things that people consider
uncivilized, dangerous, deal-breakers, or just plain annoying. And I’m
happy to continue to do so. But there is still one thing, and no matter
how hard I try, I just can’t “get used to it”:
I want to be self-sufficient, and I’m not.
the months and weeks have worn on, I have been humbled over and over
again by the huge outpouring of love and support people have offered.
Money in my pocket. Food in my pantry. I’m not talking about “I’m
thinking of you” gestures. I’m talking about the stuff that sustains
life. I cannot afford to feed myself. I cannot afford to wash my
laundry. Sometimes, like now, I can’t even afford gas. I cannot afford
to stay in a hotel, even when it is below zero outside at night. I
starve myself so that my kids can eat. I take Keshet to bed with me on
really cold nights even though I sleep terribly. And having kids in a 30
foot RV takes a special kind of endurance. My sanity and patience is
tried by the minute.
And I’m okay with all of this
deprivation. I know how to do it and do it well. I can even do it while
smiling and being genuinely happy to continue. This life of travel
really does suit me. Until even all those sacrifices are not enough. And
then I NEED people again. And I’ve been doing it for many many months.
At first it was bothersome, but I got through it with a cheerful heart,
telling myself that needing help would only be temporary. I was
determined to stay humble. And I have learned a lot, and my faith is
stronger than it has ever been. People continue to surprise me with
their generosity and support. People say all the time that they’ve lost
hope in humanity. Not me. I believe in it more every day.
bless all of you who have been God’s tender mercies in my life. We are
always provided for. Always. When crap happens over and over, I face it
with peace in my heart, knowing that it’s going to work out, even if I
can’t see hide or hair of a solution. Over and over my faith has proven
itself up to the task. And God sends me messages daily that I’m on the
right track. But this track is taking a hell of a lot more pushing from
behind than any regular person ought to need.
It’s been months
and months and months of needing other people to pick up the slack. I’m
sick in my heart over it. It’s one thing to accept help when you see
light on the horizon. Knowing your circumstances are temporary allows
you to take the help without too much angst. But sometimes you don’t
know anything about the future. Sometimes the necessity for other
people’s charity wears out its welcome. It goes on far past comfort.
When you wake up in the morning and realize your bank account is
overdrawn because of a tithing check, for goodness sake, leaving you no
money for gas to get to your next destination, it becomes necessary to
ask for help.
And I’m angry.
I’m all harrowed up
inside. I’m tired of this thing where I need people. Of all the things
I’ve endured, am I not humble enough already? When can I stop feeling
mad for needing help AGAIN? And what if I don’t feel disgruntled over
it? If it finally becomes easy, does that make me an official “mooch”?
When Brad prays, he asks for people to “feel for our story” and help us.
To me the words sound like chalk-board scratching, and they taste like
vinegar. And I just beg God to help me get through the trial of being dependent. Because if I am STILL being forced to accept help, if the cycle is repeating, what lesson am I not learning?
closure here. Just me. Telling you the thing that hangs over my head
daily more than anything else. I don't know. But I needed to tell you. I
think, after all you have done, you deserve to know it.