A Sifting of the Soul

I had absolutely no idea.

I came to Singapore for an adventure, on a summer whim. Yes, I prayed and pleaded beforehand and felt assurance about uprooting and making a new home 10,000 miles away from safety. I was getting to literally live my dream of teaching overseas on some tropical island where the average temperature is 88 degrees every day of the year. I wanted something new and this was it. This was big, but I felt sure.

I had no idea.

I packed and sang laments about packing, said my goodbyes and boarded a plane with nervous anticipation. I navigated international airports and eventually made my home in a little patch of city named after the queen. The buildings were tall and the people cold, but I was unscathed. I was going to make it because this was an adventure and I was living my dream. My days were filled with little ones in the year of potential, child, insecure and transition. I was fighting to stay above the surface, but isn’t this how every first year feels?

Then, it happened.
In the thick September air, amidst wails, he snapped. Glasses thrown, shouts of despair, was he really trying to end it? Did I have the strength to hold him? Save him? Where was help when I needed it? What is going on? Stop! Stop! I can’t do this! You need to stop!

He stopped and I cried.

That night, in the messy and vulnerable, someone new showed up. He made me smile and forget about the numbing day. For months, he was there, assuming, caring and helping me forget.

Then, one day on the sidewalk in the patch of city named after the queen, he stopped caring and I cried.

The classroom filled with child and potential began to crack at the seams. Anger exploded, more shouts, more confusion. With men in far off places, the boys began to bend and break and shatter into a million little pieces onto the carpet. I scrambled to pick them up, to mend the broken places, but I was tired and could not do it all.

The tears came again.

And this was just the beginning. Hurt on top of hurt flooded the raw spaces. These last 16 months have been packed full of "why, Jesus, why?"

I’m still on the island and still searching.

But, I cling:  
Do not be scared. Do not give up. I, myself, will fight for you just as I have done before. In the wilderness, I will carry you, as a father carries his son, until you come to the place I have waiting for you.