Exhaustion walked with me like a close companion. No, more like a fetter. Or maybe the fetter was constant fear carving exhaustion into my very bones. There were times my breath left and the world became a speckled kaleidoscope, reminding me I was still here, that I needed to breathe.
Did He hear me? Were my cries empty words lost in the sky? Why couldn’t he take the pain of anxiety away?
Exhaustion walked me everywhere, but then came a much gentler embrace accompanied with a familiar whisper, one I believed had forgotten me.
“Go,” it said.
“Why should I?” I wondered.
“Go.”
“I can’t.”
I went. I signed the papers, attended the meetings, prayed half heartedly for the people we’d soon encounter. The morning of our journey arrived in moonlight. The cold air nipped at our skin through pajama pants and light jackets. Sixteen strangers piled into four cars and we moved south, the sun greeting us as we crossed the border into Missouri and entered a long day of highway.
We encountered faces of all nations: Eritrea, Burma, Iraq, Afghanistan, Sudan. We ran with them, sat with them, listened as they told stories of family lost and found, the unknown, and the longing to return home. Each morning was a gift, the children in our complex would peer excitedly through our windows, eager to play tag, braid hair and chase bubbles. Elders watched warily nearby, curious about the strangers living among them. Slowly they opened up, their smiles filled with light, joy, hope, and hospitality.
I remember a young boy reading a book on space and asking questions about the planets, the stars, dreaming of flying among Saturn’s rings. I remember giving endless piggy backs. I remember the hospitality of an elderly Iraqi man and his wife excitedly explaining their favorite dishes. They wanted to host a picnic for us, but it was our last day among them. I hope to meet them again someday. I remember the cheeky Afghani man exclaiming, “All women from Iowa, very beautiful,” in his thick accent and playful smirk. He was the lady’s man of the group. I remember the community, the fellowship. I remember peeling dozens of potatoes and listening to the LOTR soundtrack. It was…incredible. All of it.
A landslide of emotion rolled over me as Dallas disappeared from view. My heart was full yet broken. Something had changed. A wall had been broken somewhere. Where was it? It took a week for me to discover it. A wall in my heart once decorated with fear of certain people had been demolished, a new foundation being laid, rooted in love and boundless compassion. The holes in my soul left by anxiety were gently being filled with something more powerful. God had answered my prayer. It wasn’t in the way I originally wanted Him to, but His plan was far more elaborate, far greater. He may not have taken the anxiety away, but he taught me how to fight it.
