“Be still, my soul; the Lord is on thy side.

Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.

Leave to thy God to order and provide;

In every change He faithful will remain.

Be still, my soul; thy best, thy heavenly Friend

Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.”

Be still, my soul.

My soul is restless. My soul is fighting. My heart is grieving for our Boys more than ever these days and my mother’s heart for them is growing more than ever these days.

Be still, my soul; the Lord is on their side.

Do we trust that our God is good?

Do I trust that God is good, even to our Boys, even now- at this very minute as they rock back and forth in their beds?

Do you trust that your Heavenly Father is working on your behalf?

Do I really and truly trust that God is working on behalf of our Boys and He is keeping His promise to be their Father?

Be still, my soul; the Lord is on their side.

The Tuesday before I left for Switzerland we had just finished up our morning at Romaniv and the time had come for us to hop in the taxi and head home.

Sweet Dima, one of our highest functioning boys in the Isolation Hall began to ask his usual questions.

“When are you coming back?”

“Are you coming on Friday?”

“Is Jed coming on Friday?”

“Is Mama Nina coming on Friday?”

“When are you coming back?”

“Will you come tomorrow?”

Dima gets very fixated on when we are coming back and who will be present on the team. He gets super excited when we answer “Yes, Dima, we are coming on Friday. Jed is coming, I am coming, Nina is coming. We can’t come tomorrow, but we will come on Friday.”

He needs to hear those words. He needs to know.

Well, last Tuesday I had to stray from the normal response. I told Dima that I wouldn’t be coming on Friday because I had to go on a trip. There was no use of explaining Switzerland or fundraisers or supporting churches, I knew Dima wouldn’t understand. All he could understand is that I said no, I wouldn’t be able to come on Friday.

Dima was so unhappy. He didn’t understand. He kept asking why, and I tried to explain.

If only Dima had known. If only Dima could have understood WHY I wasn’t coming on Friday. I was traveling far away on his behalf. I was going to share with people who love him from afar. I was going to share about him and to be his voice. I was going there for his good. But all he knew was that I wasn’t going to show up on Friday.

Be still, my soul; the Lord is on my side.

Be still, my soul; the Lord is on your side.

Do you trust that He is good?

Do you trust that your Father is working on your behalf?

Do you trust that He is working for your good?

Be still. Trust. I know how much I love Dima and want only good for him. How much more does your Heavenly Father want only good for you? Vastly, infinitely more.

God is working on our Boys’ behalf in ways I can’t even see. His love for them is endless and perfect.

Be still, soul. God’s got this.

“Be still, my soul: the hour is hast’ning on

When we shall be forever with the Lord.

When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,

Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.

Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past

All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.”

From Jed

After leaving MTU today, I just had to walk.

My brain was going a mile a minute.

I just finished teaching a seminar on Vicarious Trauma (the cumulative impact of hearing many traumatic events in the lives of the people you help).  It is a serious issue for those who work in the Helping Profession.

I also attended the funeral of a deeply loved pastor who was integral in the work MTU started throughout the Zhitomir region.

As I walked through my new city, the place we will call home for at least the first year of our lives in Ukraine,
I was trying to reconcile a  part of the training I deliberately skipped over.

I hadn’t planned to skip this part, in fact, I intended to spend some time on this theme.  But as I looked out at the teachers, counselors, therapists, nurses, and staff I could not tell them that a sign of Vicarious Trauma was connected to their ability to see the world as a good and safe place for themselves and those they love.

Now, before I get too far down this road, I believe this world is full of amazingly good things and good people and safe families and safe environments.

In the US, our biggest business is pain avoidance.  We prescribe, self-medicate, anesthetize and pasteurize our lives from as many problems and as much pain as possible.

At the drop of a hat we start to blame God, country and anything around us when our lives become anything less than ideal.  I’m speaking at myself here.

How could I tell these people, who not only see so much suffering, but experience it too, that the world is a good and safe place and you have a serious problem if you think otherwise?  They would laugh me out of the room.

I wasn’t ready to talk about this part of Compassion Fatigue (aka, Vicarious Trauma).

I needed to go for a walk and think about all I have been experiencing on this trip to Ukraine.

“God, help me to understand this culture and people.  Help me to see the world through their eyes and support them as they work with the most vulnerable in their community.”

After a cup of coffee and some quiet time I had a clear thought. A sign of Vicarious Trauma fatigue is the inability to see the good that is around us and trust people in our lives.  It’s a slight change from the “everything’s coming up roses” worldview that is easy to have when you are hiding behind a shit-ton of missiles and medication.

Jesus came announcing the Kingdom of Heaven was at hand.  The right to rule over sickness, death, sin and darkness had begun its reign on earth.

He didn’t stand afar off and point at all that was wrong, Christ came and made wrong things right.  He became one of us and took the full weight of all our bad so we could walk in freedom and goodness and life.  See Isaiah 53:5.

As helpers, our job is to be like Jesus.  To stand in the places where the pain is most severe and cry out for God’s Kingdom to come and when we see healing and wholeness and life and freedom we celebrate it as a sign of God’s Kingdom here on earth.

We must take care of ourselves so we can serve from the overflow of God’s presence and power in our lives.

I had the honor of speaking at MTU’s morning devotions and I shared from Mark 7:31-37 as model of care for those who work in the helps field.

Read the passage and think of Jesus’ actions more like sign language than a mystical ritual.

Jesus honors this man by taking him aside.  He tells him, through sign language, that he is going to heal his ears and speaking. He looks up to the Father, so the deaf man would know where the healing was coming from.

When it’s all said and done the entire community said, “Jesus does all things well!”  Or translate, He does all things completely.

Our work as helpers is usually partial healing: bandaging, counseling, listening, soothing, containing, informing and befriending.  But, as Christ followers, we can appeal to His finishing work and say;

“Father in Heaven, make your name great!

Just like it is in Heaven, let it be here on earth; In my life and in the families and people I serve.

Give us this day, everything we need to live lives of freedom in you.

Let us be forgivers, people who give out love and kindness freely and without reservation, as we have been forgiven and loved much.

Papa, let me learn the lessons I need to learn without going through the fires of temptation.  Don’t let me be so self-focused that I miss your sweet comfort that guides me in the way of peace.

You take all the glory today and I will bathe in the warmth of I life lived near your heart.

Amen.”

Pardon the stream of consciousness blogging, but the main purpose of this blog is to document the journey, and sometimes I just have to spit out my thoughts as they come so I can look back and remember.  

So, back in September, we sold most of our worldly possessions.  Then in October, we moved in with Luke.  Then came the Holidays.  Then came emergency surgery for me.  Then came now.  

With the emergency surgery came loss.  We lost our little baby that day.  I wasn’t going to blog about it, but it’s all part of the journey, and I know someday we’ll look back and see God’s hand in it, so I guess I feel like it’s important to say a little something about it here.  God’s grace and His hand have covered us so completely the last couple of weeks as we’ve grieved the loss of our baby.  We still grieve, and I know that road may be long, but I don’t doubt His great love for us.  I don’t doubt His plans for our family- every member of our family- even the precious one in heaven.  I don’t doubt the promises He made and I know He will complete the work He started. 

Wonderful friends brought us meals the past week and a half as I recovered from the surgery.  One friend from church shared pizza and some beautiful words of encouragement.  She said that God is going to fill the empty space in our hearts with a dream.  

It’s already happening.  I’m dreaming about Ukraine.  My heart is broken anew for the little ones who waste away.  I grieve for their lost childhoods.  I ask Jesus to linger at their bedside and speak tenderly to them as they sleep.  I pray for great change to come in Ukraine- hearts to soften, more believers to rise up, greater faith.  My heart is broken for my baby, but in that brokenness, God is reminding me of what else breaks His heart.  He’s filling up the empty space with His dreams.    

I know the enemy would have loved to use our great loss to derail us.  No way.  Not happening.  My heart aches for my baby, but my spirit aches for Jesus.  Wherever He is going- that’s where I want to be.  In my human mind, I don’t see how anything good could come from our loss, but in my spirit, I know better.  I have to trust that He sees and He knows.  I see how He has perfectly orchestrated His plans to bring us to this place.  He has prepared Jed and I for this since we were children.  Our baby has never been beyond His grasp.    

Passion is rising, hope is rising.  The pain is there- sometimes so strong it feels suffocating, but hope still rises.  I refuse to be derailed.  I choose to be changed by this and my heart to be molded by this.  As one friend encouraged, I’m “riding the wave”.  I’m not muscling my way through the grief, but riding the wave.  Trying to rest my soul and mind, doing my best to let God minister to me in the way He knows I need it.   

I’m looking forward to the day when I can look back at this and see how He carried us through.  
He truly is good.  He truly is loving.  
He’s got our baby, and heaven looks brighter to me because of it.