Unraveling Slowly, Part 3

How God is confronting my isolation

Tina called to check on me on my way home Friday. She let me unburden my messy thoughts. She told me she was there for me, whatever I needed. I never expect that kind of follow through, and it meant more than I can put into neat words.

Another coworker had stood outside with me before I left and gave me the gift of laughter in the middle of pain. She made jokes about flying overseas to help me kick booties. It was ridiculous and kind and exactly what I needed for a moment.

Then a young girl at work reached out and told me she had seen me upset in Tina’s office. She said she was praying for me, that she was there if I needed to talk, that she was a sister in Christ willing to listen.

That is what God keeps doing. He keeps placing people in my path who refuse to let me retreat into the bunker.

And that is hard for me.

I could not sleep

After the party on Friday, after the kids were in bed, after the house went quiet, I could not sleep.

Earlier, I had sent Melissa the refusal letter. There is a six hour time difference, so around 3 a.m., she messaged me. I was still awake. We talked a little. I shared how despondent I felt. We scheduled the 9 a.m. call. She told me, “Don’t give up!!”

That morning, before the call, I reached out to Joanne. She prayed over me. She prayed with the kind of steadiness that does not try to fix it, only covers it.

God keeps putting people in place to not let me do this alone.

The Crushing Weight of Disappointment or the Lesson I Did Not Ask For

Saturday morning I spoke with Bob and Melissa, our sponsors.

We met on Zoom around 9 a.m. and went over everything together. The refusal letter. The options. The requirements for the Minister of Religion route. What the Certificate of Sponsorship must say. What needs to be adjusted. What can be done from their side. What can be done from ours.

This is the first visa they have ever had denied.

We are all learning as we go. And we are all devastated.

They had been preparing for our arrival. They were hoping we would be there very soon. We were hoping we would be there very soon. It is not just our timeline that got interrupted. It is the timeline of every person who has been walking beside us.

And there are people caught in the waiting with us.

There is a couple who are graciously going to stay in our house while we are on mission. They gave their dining table and couch to their children because we were leaving ours behind for them. That happened in August. Most Mondays we meet at their house for Bible study. It is a folding table and folding chairs. Every time I see that setup, it reminds me that my excitement and momentum created practical consequences for people who trusted us.

They do not complain. They have been gracious and loving and encouraging. But I see it. I feel it. And I have a serious aversion to causing anyone grief.

This refusal has brought up that old feeling of being unwanted. That old conviction that my presence is costly to other people.

Scripture says:

Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.
Galatians 6:2

I can teach that verse. I can live it outward. But receiving it is harder. Letting people carry me is harder. The child in me still believes she must earn her place.

Why it is hard for me

I have always been able to narrate my childhood as though it happened to someone else. I can describe it from a distance because I had little control over most of it. I can talk about that abused kid, that disadvantaged teenager, that reckless young woman, and I can offer her compassion because she is in the past.

Being vulnerable about what is happening right now is different.

When the pain is current, I feel burdensome. I feel exhausting. I feel like I am taking up too much space. So I run. Or I shut down. Or I shove it down so deep it stops having language.

I can show irritation and anger. I can show passion for a cause. But the moment it gets close to the soft center of me, the walls go up.

That includes my husband.

Calen has been beside me since January 2007. He married me on December 24, 2008. Our anniversary is coming up on 17 years. And still, being vulnerable is difficult. Not because he is unsafe, but because vulnerability was never safe when I was young. It still feels like exposure.

I am terrified that if I stop being everything to everyone, the unloved child will step out, and everyone will see what a fraud I am. That I really am nothing more than where I came from. That I do not belong in rooms with people who feel secure, people who are safe enough to expect to be loved, people who do not flinch to ask when they need help.

I have never felt irreplaceable in anyone’s life.

I have felt useful. I have felt productive. I have felt like I can earn my place by carrying the load. And I have gotten so adept at seeing everyone else’s needs that my ability to see my own has atrophied.

This visa refusal landed on that old bruise and made it throb.

But God is not letting me isolate.

He covered me in North Carolina with our small group. He is covering me in Texas. He is forcing me into community even when every instinct in my body wants to handle it alone.

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.
Psalm 147:3

I do not know what the next step will be yet. Administrative review or a new application. Either way, we will have to move forward, and it will cost something.

But I know this much.

We are not done.
We are not forgotten.
We are not unloved.

And God is still faithful, even here.

In all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.
Romans 8:37

Candice - until we have more information, this is it for now.