by Elizabeth Carmichael

About a month ago, I wrote a prayer update to my supporters which was all about why it is so hard to write a prayer update.  I collected some questions from a friend and built my update around what she was asking.  Then, after each section, I answered three more questions—for myself and for my readers.

"Why is it so hard to report about this subject?" and "What do I think I am supposed to say about this subject?" and "What is the truth about this subject?"

I just wanted those who so faithfully support my ministry to feel invited into my thought process and struggles about writing and reporting on life.

One of the questions was “What is everyday life like for you?”  In general, this is such a hard question to answer because life looks different every day, but also seems a bit mundane in other ways.  Things that are normal for me, might be exciting to readers, but I’ve lost the “fresh” perspective that makes me want to write about those things.  There is another reason, this question is hard.  Everyday life here is heavy—everyone faces trauma everyday, at a level that is not unique to them, but is unique to most Western Christians.

For example, the day after I wrote that update, a lady came over to my house.  We have walked through the abuse of her husband, his imprisonment for stabbing a random stranger, his mental illness, her poverty, sicknesses of her children, her husband’s death and her move of her whole household to his brother’s house, where she will probably remain for the rest of her life.  When she came over that afternoon, she felt free and safe to mention to me,

“I beat my youngest child last night with an electric chord.”

Wow.  My mind was spinning.  I had to make sure I was hearing her correctly.  I was livid.  She mentioned it so casually, and, although, she was reaching out for help and advice, she had also come to grips with the fact that she “didn’t know what else to do” and he needed to “be taught a lesson.”  Essentially, she was feeling hurt because, in the grief of his little heart, he blamed her for his father’s death and he was also battling childhood depression (not eating, refusing to go to school or to play, etc).  She had been taught to beat a person with an attitude problem, so that is what she did.

I felt grieved and defeated—wanting to shake her!  Ironic, isn’t it?

I said strongly and loudly, “That.  Was.  A.  Sin!  You must NEVER do that again!”

But, then, I sat across from her, took a deep breath and slowly told her about how Jesus took beatings on her behalf and is fully capable, willing, wanting to forgive her of this and every other sin if she will turn to Him.  It was a long, hard talk.  It was exhausting.

And that was just one of those daily interruptions in the course of every day life that I have such a hard time holding on to and laying down on paper.  It is also the kind of thing that happens so frequently that I find it difficult to write up happy go lucky stories about the carefree or funny sides of life.  Those parts of life DO exist.  I just have such a hard time capturing them or celebrating them when I know this other stuff is also ongoing behind every metal gate and mud wall.

Another conversation that happened recently is incredibly disturbing, but, again, reveals how life just goes on but secondary trauma can easily ensue.  In the past week I have been struggling with a strained neck.  So much that it is bringing on some migraines.  I asked a young woman I know to come over and massage it to see if that would help.  So, here is this professional woman, trying to help me relax, lecturing me about spending too much time at the computer, telling me to take deep breaths…..and, then, suddenly she says, “Did you hear about the carful of women who were raped yesterday just outside of town?!”  Really?!  This is our conversation?!

A group of men and women had been traveling home from a wedding and were pulled over at an illegal checkpoint.  The men were beaten and locked up, and eight women were raped.  One did not live.

So, the conversation progressed to what my dear friends thinks should be done to people who do that kind of thing (the language and imagery of her contentions were not pleasant)….and, my little massage just went on until 30 minutes were finished.

When she left, I had to sit and review our talk in my mind, and just take it all to the Lord.

Living in this place, we don’t know how to NOT talk about the trauma that inundates……so, sometimes, I chose just to stop sharing at all.  This must not be the way. Please pray as people who live in hard places of the world struggle to share, reach out, connect, and even open people’s eyes to realities they might rather not see.

On the other hand, sometimes everyday life is great.  Yesterday, I got to teach my friend how she will breastfeed her baby for the first time when she is born in about a month!  I don’t usually get to do that!

A friend wrote me recently with Psalm 84 on her heart for me.  She said “Build your nest close to the alter.”  There was something about it that just melted my heart and made me cry.

I may be actively “building” in life, but I have a place, near the alter, under the wings of One who gave everything for us to live.  I have a choice of where I do this work—I can do it with a heart far from Him, depending on my own efforts, or I can draw near.  His nearness is our good.

Enjoying the nearness of Him with you,
Elizabeth Carmichael