Tonight my heart aches. Just because it hurts, doesn’t mean it’s a bad kind of ache. Maybe as humans we are too good at “escaping” the pain that we’re supposed to let ourselves feel every now and then.
A little over an hour ago a strong wind was whipping dust around outside my window. Occasional cracks of thunder and sparks of lightening added to the flurry as I stood from my comfortable, couch haven to shut out the noise with a pane of glass. In the moments that followed, I had a decision to make. I could either pop in another ten yuan, “quality recorded” movie and escape the loneliness that threatened to smother me on this Saturday night, or I could spend some time in quietness with the only one perfect enough to fill the aching places. Not without some effort, I chose the latter.
Water For Elephants had just finished playing and I powered the television off. Sitting down in front of the much more high-definition screen that is my window, I opened it slightly and turned off all the lights. Taking in the sights and sounds of the weather episode before me, I let the feeling of isolation start to flood toward me like a wave. For some reason, loneliness in a foreign country surrounded by mountains is compounded about ten times. But before the feeling could consume me, I began to dialogue with my Creator.
I told him everything. I told him that sometimes it seems like I’m all alone. I told him I wasn’t “qualified” to be here. I said I didn’t know how I could ever really reach my students or the people around me with a love and hope beyond what they now know.
My mind flashed to my new friend, Don. Just this morning she was telling me how much she wanted to interview for a job at a hotel because it would be an opportunity to practice her English on a regular basis.
“I don’t want to spend all my time working at this store,” Don lamented with a hint of desperation, “but that’s what my husband thinks I should do.”
Don and her husband own a tiny shop that sells random items like cigarettes, bottled water, yogurt and alcohol to students and locals. Her husband is a Majiang addict, spending ample time playing the popular Chinese gambling game, a “man’s game.” I have yet to find a game around here that is just for the women, other than the “Let’s work hard all day” game.
Seven days a week their store is open until late into the evening. If Don isn’t taking care of her child or doing laundry, she’s at that little store, selling yogurt and cigarettes. This is a girl who spent five years on her own in America as a nanny and speaks English well. She has the ability to be doing a lot more and she feels tired out from the role of mother, wife and shopkeeper that is her daily life.
I want to tell her that there’s more. I want her to know that she is so significant. I long for her to embrace the truth of a creator, both infinite and personal. But it can’t happen over night. True, genuine relationships are built on trust and consistency. So, tonight I’m asking the Creator for patience, strength and grace. Grace to do what is beyond my own power and to love outside my own means.
The storm has calmed by now. For the first time tonight I’m noticing glimmering specks in the sky. Looking out at the vast medium blue that canopies the earth, the specks of light are rather spread out. Nonetheless, their presence completely changes the scene. They make it much more spectacular, they make it beautiful. It doesn’t matter that there aren’t very many of them yet. In fact, as the sky’s hue travels down to deeper shades on the color spectrum, they appear more brilliant.
May I be this. May the few who live here and stand for truth penetrate the darkness, however dark it may be. Even if it takes time to offer real hope to people like Don and even if it feels lonely for a minute, may the glow of our specks become stronger as the night goes on, changing the landscape around us brilliantly and permanently.
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