I must have been out of my head! Honestly, how could I have even imagined that I would be able to sing at a funeral and immediately jump headlong into mission work with ten of my upbeat, enthusiastic peers?
What really happened was this: Saturday morning I spent taking my time getting everything together for the trip since I wouldn’t be leaving until after the funeral at 4. Practiced the song I was to sing, it sounded pretty good, I copied out the lyrics just in case I went blank. Got to the funeral home, it’s still okay, Uncle R. looked like he was seventy-five again instead of six weeks shy of eighty-eight. My mother and grandmother came down for the service; and so it was that three generations of women represented our family. It was interesting to see many of the faces I saw a year ago; most of them remembered me as “the sweet girl who sang at A.’s funeral” and thanked me again for that service. Off to the graveside we went on that drizzly afternoon. There was no elaborate ceremony, just a few Scriptures read and a few words spoken before my part came and it was all over.
It was the first time I had ever wept while singing to anyone. I’m really not certain how or why, but when the last chorus came I could not hold myself together any longer. For once, my mother had to come help me finish instead of vice versa. So. Draining.
The next five (or was it six?) hours of driving brought me safely to the campground where my mission team would be staying for the week. Yes, I was glad to finally arrive and to see everybody, but nothing suited me more than sleep. So sleep I did.
On Sunday, I awoke in the freezing cold of our cabin–I shouldn’t say I woke up because it implies that I actually slept–still exhausted but knowing that I had to get started on the day. For that morning we were to lead a worship service at the nursing home, and I still hadn’t picked out anything to sing (yes, even after the previous day’s trauma, I was to lead music). It’s awful for me when I don’t know what I’m doing until right before I have to do it. But thankfully on Friday night I spent a good three hours looking up guitar chords for some favorite hymns, so all that was left was to practice them. I thank God that I wasn’t alone in front of all those people that morning, because I did not feel that I could do anything, much less do it well, on my tiny share of willpower. Nevertheless, it was all over quicker than I thought and without too many bumps. But that night as the team gathered in the dining hall for a game of Apples to Apples, I found myself silently withdrawing from them, hoping that at least one person would follow me and feeling selfishly resentful when they didn’t. They don’t understand, I muttered inwardly, and even if they do, they just don’t know how to deal with my pain.
I called Beloved and spewed to him an overflowing earful of “I can’t do this” and “I don’t want to be here” and “I don’t know what I’m even doing here”. In his calm assuring way he sat in silence and allowed me to sob nigh unto exhaustion; then he picked up a shard of my broken image, brushed off the dust, and showed me how far I had carried myself away from the truth. “Don’t be sad about being sad,” he told me, “they don’t expect you to be at the top of your game right now.” But that still doesn’t help me out… I’m still not sure I’m supposed to be here! “Remember, Romans 8:28 says all things work for the good…” Will you please quit quoting that verse at me? I know what it says! “Well, I don’t really know what to tell you. But God does have a reason for you to be there. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up loving the kids you work with.” Ughhhh… I don’t even want to think about children right now. Too much energy required to keep up with them. Okay, dear. Whatever you say. Sure. How am I going to get through this week??
I don’t really have the words to describe the transformation that occurred between Sunday night and Monday morning. All I know is that when we began sharing Jesus with those beautiful three-, four-, and five-year-olds, I became enthralled with the message I was teaching. Guess what–I was once again in charge of leading music. The task which one day before seemed insurmountable was all at once incredible and doable. As I write, I am now reminded of a question a friend of mine once asked his music minister: “What do you do when you don’t want to worship God?” The reason for this question is that worship leaders must do just that, whether they feel like it or not. But the response to that inquiry is simple obedience. When God’s praises don’t just spontaneously fling themselves off of your lips, when your heart is filled with diseases of sorrow and bitterness, but you still must fulfill your duties as a leader, you must do so out of obedience.
And, as I found out, God rewards that obedience.
Never before have I experienced such joy in ministering to the little ones. Partly due to the help of my teammates, but mostly working off of some supernatural inspiration, I dropped my dreary outlook and focused all of my efforts on showing God to these children. My prayers became less of “Help me,” and more of “Help them.” By Thursday, I was actually sad to leave the daycare. I tried my best to redeem what little time I had there that day; I so desperately wanted little E. and M. to remember the lessons from the week. Yes, I was glad to have earned the trust and respect of the little dears, but I knew that they probably would forget about me within the month. Perhaps when they learn to read, they will go back and see the crayon letters spelling out “Jesus Loves You” on their coloring pages. Perhaps they will remember singing “Deep and Wide” and “This Little Light of Mine” and “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” and want to know more. Perhaps.
It was preposterous to think that I could plant these seeds on my own. It is so easy to look back now and see how God was at work through me–but I know that all too soon I will revert back to my old ways of doubt, much like the Israelites did in spite of all the awesome ways they were provided for. Lord, help my unbelief!
(For the record, Beloved, you were right. Again.)
