For twenty years, I had lived in a maze of confusion and pain.
My husband’s agonizing inconsistencies…his rages of anger…the degrading comments. At last, I understood. He had finally confessed to living a double life of adultery through much of our marriage. Knowing the truth somehow helped, and yet hurt at the same time. My emotions were in turmoil.
We were fresh out of Spanish language school…
And ready to start our new careers as missionaries in Mexico when my husband enlightened me. Missionary. That was what I had wanted to be ever since saying “yes” to Jesus. I was reeling with the sense of being “disqualified”…of no longer being missionary “material”. The mission board didn’t know yet. The apprehension of wondering what everyone’s reaction would be made the heartache greater and my life all the more intolerable.
On top of all that – at the last minute –
the Mexico plans were changed and we were sent to French/Creole-speaking Haiti, instead. “Why have they sent us here?” I had wondered. Absolutely nothing in my life was making sense, anymore. I was dazed and trying desperately to cope in the strange new world that I had been plunged into. “What will become of me?” I thought. “Can I trust God?” I had wanted to be a useful vessel. That just didn’t seem possible anymore.
The heat was stifling.
A breath of cool, fresh air would have been welcomed. But going out was no relief, either. I wasn’t myself. The continual rudeness and abruptness of the Haitian children angered me. “Gimme one dollah,” they demanded in broken English, as they thrust their hands at me. It was frightening.
Mournful sounds of voodoo rituals
filled each cloudless night, as dogs fearfully howled in response to the eerie clamor. Garbage rotted in vacant lots and sewage ran along the sidewalks. Puffs of germ-laden dust rose over the stone wall enclosing our temporary residence. Death lay all around me, as well as within me. Unwanted, unloved, aimless, abandoned children roamed the streets outside the wall. Desolation and despair were everywhere.
We were house-sitting for a missionary family on furlough.
Shards of jagged glass set in cement jutted out from the top of the rock wall surrounding the property. The windows were covered with metal bars. The home came fully equipped with a motion detector. It was intended to make the place a refuge. But our interim home felt like a prison to me. A huge metal gate was supposed to slide across the entrance – designed to keep out intruders. However, since it was too heavy for me to push closed, it sat gaping open most of the time.
As I sat alone one morning…
the reality of the death of my dreams engulfed me. Lost in my thoughts, I was transported back into that day only a month before, when my plans were dashed by the revelation that my husband had tossed our marriage vows aside like yesterday’s garbage.
Suddenly, I snapped back to reality.
Forcing my weary body to move, I stood up. It was time for lunch. With one last glance out the window, I was surprised to see two Haitian street boys enter through the open gate and steal a basketball belonging to the family on furlough. We were on sentry duty to prevent that kind of thing.
I HAD to get it back.
(To be continued…Part 2 next week.)
Until next time…
God bless you bunches!
Awaiting His shout,
The MomCourager™
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