It is a Good Hurt

I walked around most of the day yesterday with a lump in my throat, and a tightening in my chest. Up until this point in the process of moving my family, my life, to Africa I have not allowed myself to dwell on thoughts of loss. Yes, from time to time such thoughts have surfaced and caused me to catch my breath and get teary eyed, but up until yesterday I have squelched them quickly. I stamp out the embers immediately for fear they will ignite the fire of loss and I will be consumed.

I have a friend I, "do," life with here. I will not call her out by name, because she is just that shy. She is gifted, yet humble. Beautiful, yet unaware. Generous, but anonymous. Everyday for the past six and a half years our lives have become woven together. It has been an easy give and take, an effortless companionship. She is no more than 70 feet away from me at all times; a luxury in which I have become reliant. Lately, I have become overwhelmingly aware of the fact that this luxury will soon become a memory.

Our friendship came softly, and sweetly. It is the type of relationship that is born out of necessity, and availability. For years we have stood outside and watched our children play together. We have loved the others' children like our own, we have prayed for them, watched them grow, and delighted in their accomplishments. I cannot count the number of afternoons we have spent sharing our struggles, pains, worries, hopes, and opportunities. We have borrowed from each other eggs and sugar, but more importantly we have borrowed strength and support when the other was lacking.

Yesterday, my friend needed me and I was there for her, just as she has been there for me countless times. As I left her house yesterday the lump in my throat grew, and I had a physical pain in my chest. I pushed it down all day, all evening, and then the loss crept up on me as I was getting ready for bed. I sobbed. I shook. I hurt.

I was in this condition when Richard found me. He collected me in his arms. He inquired, and all I could get out was her name. He let me cry, then he gently whispered, "this is the good kind of hurt." I spun my head to find his eyes and insisted on an explanation. He went on to tell me that the pain I was feeling was the result of doing life correctly with people. Something would be horribly wrong if I did not feel this sense of loss, and he was right.

I am mourning the loss of people in my life. I have begun this process now, and I am allowing myself to feel the pain. I am not going on a missions trip. If God allows, the next few decades of my life will be lived out in Africa. I feel the loss for my children, for myself, and for those we are leaving behind. However, I am so thankful for the fact we have invested in the types of relationships that afford us the opportunity to mourn. It is a privilege.

Today, I choose to rejoice in the fact that I was given friendships when I needed them. I choose to have faith that the Lord will provide me with friendships in such timely ways in my future. Today, I lay my friendships on the alter and say, "thank you." It hurts, but I am so thankful it is the kind of hurt that one day our Creator will say was, "GOOD."

Mommy, Whose Eyes Do I Have?

Mommy Whose Eyes Do I Have?
Mommy whose eyes do I have? Do I have yours, or do I have dad’s.
Son. You have my eyes; they are just my eye’s shape and size.
Mommy whose nose did I get? …I got your nose too I bet!
Son. Yes, you got my nose, you got my nose and my long toes.
Mommy, whose hair is my hair like? And where in the world did I get this spike?
Son. You’ve got my hair too. It will be with you your whole life through.
Mommy, did I get your height? Will I one day be quite a sight?
Son, yes, I believe you will be, very tall in your anatomy.
Mom, do I have your heart, did I get from you this part?
Son, you have a heart all your own, and over the years oh, how it’s grown.
You have a heart that is kind, and sweet,
A heart that loves all the people you meet.
Your heart is good, fair, and strong;
A trait that will keep you as you go along,
Son, in many ways you are like me,
But in the ways that matter most, you’ve been given gifts from the Holy Ghost.
It is up to you to do right or wrong, but I know you son, and I know your heart;
And I pray that you will never depart,
From a path that’s true and right, and leads you home to me each night.


MRH
For my Son. My leader. My Firstborn.

The Cracks in This Pot

I do a science experiment with the boys every week. This week the purpose of our experiment was to find out why the bubbles in soda cling to the side and bottom of a glass, and what happens when we dip a strip of paper towel into the glass of carbonated beverage. The children's procedure was to observe what the bubbles did, and then record their findings. My job, was to tell them why.

The reason why the tiny bubbles cling to the surfaces is because the carbon dioxide in the soda immediately seeks out the microscopic pores, cracks, or imperfections in the glass and paper towel, and the bubbles form in these places. The gas is trying to escape, it is seeking out oxygen, and it is clinging to every surface that offers this opportunity. It was a chemical reaction between two gases, but it prompted me to think about the cracks in my own vessel, and how I believe they have allowed the, "bad stuff," to escape.

You see, I am a very cracked pot. My Potter has had to pick up the pieces and glue me back together many of times throughout my life. This is not easy for me to admit. From the outside others may not see my cracks, my broken parts, the things I have survived that have without a doubt left their marks, but they are there. However, my Master, my Potter, my faithful Creator, has always been there to help me put it all back together.

As odd as it may seem, I am thankful for my cracks, my impurities, my lessons learned. They allow the ugliness inside me to escape. They give ventilation to the sinfulness of my soul, and remind me just how reliant I am on my maker. I am stronger because of my cracks. My weak spots are still weak, but when I am willing to allow Him, my Potter uses them to make myself and others stronger.

In a few months I will be packing up my life and everything I have ever known, and traveling to Africa to begin a new life of ministry there. I do not know what my Potter has in store, but I do know that the cracks in me have allowed just enough of the sin out to make this a possibility. If I had never fallen down, if I had never been broken, I would have never seen the faithfulness of the Master's hand on my life. I am able to proceed because HE holds me in HIS altogether perfect hands!


"And yet, O LORD, you are our Father. We are the clay, and you are the potter. We all are formed by your hand." Is. 64:8

Valentine's Day Challenge

We are inviting you to take part in a special Valentine's Day Challenge. Wouldn't it be rewarding to show your loved one that you love him/her by helping share the love of Jesus with hurting people in Africa? Instead of giving away a material possession this year, please consider giving a gift that has the potential to last for an eternity. If you make a donation to our ministry with MAF in Lesotho during the month of February we will mail you a certificate with the name of your loved and the amount you are giving in his/her name. To take part in our Valentine's Day Challenge all you have to do is email us at rharrell@maf.org with your name, mailing address, donation amount, and who you would like to make the donation in honor of.