I'm only quiet when I'm processing, and a two month absence from blogging accurately indicates that I have been processing something rather massive.
I'm working toward moving to Greece after I graduate. So much of this possibility is unclear--when I would go, how long I would stay, if it is even possible. The short story is that the Petrous, a dear family I visited twice on mission trips to Athens, invited me to join Dina in working with women leaving sexual slavery. Everyone I have talked with about this opportunity has been overwhelmingly supportive, whether in affirming the reality that this is my chance to invest a long chunk of time in travel before settling into a professional life, or in reminding me that I never actually wanted to be in private practice anyway; my dreams have always skewed toward the international and missional.
Everything is still very much in the information stages, but that hasn't kept me from leaping ahead and preemptively deciding that I will definitely go. It took me about a week, back in July, to work up to a fever pitch of excitement. Here at last was what I had been waiting for. I remembered sitting on a Seattle beach with Roy, telling him how so many of the greatest events of my life have occurred because of random connections so perfectly timed that it felt like God. This could be it again.
The first month of thinking and planning was almost entirely done in delirious excitement. This second month, well, I'm becoming more realistic. Working with women coming out of sex trafficking? While I love the idea of putting my feminism into practice and tangibly helping women who have suffered the worst forms of oppression, I am completely overwhelmed by the magnitude of the job.
One friend told me that my singleness is a gift, not only in my freedom to travel as I will, but in my emotional freedom. I can work in an emotionally draining job, go home, and take care of myself. Were I married or had kids, I would go home to more people who needed me to be emotionally available to them. This is a very nice thought, one which I clung to as evidence of this opportunity's perfection. But...a job that is that draining?
My supervisor has been having me read articles about secondary traumatization, an effect of counselors working with a large caseload of trauma victims for a long period of time in which you inherit their triggers, memories, and nightmares. I'm already terrified of rapists, clutching car keys between my knuckles in dark grocery parking lots and checking my backseat for potential kidnappers. This fear is driven from email chains twelve years ago--how much more scared will I be when sitting before me is evidence of the worst humanity can inflict upon each other? Stories of rape, violence, humiliation. How will I be able to listen to them, empathize with them, be with them in their pain and come away whole?
I don't know if it is worth it. Why should I tear myself apart to put someone else together? Of course, if this happens, I intend to be proactive about self-care. I will try to create a support system on which I can unload. I will create safe spaces for myself, and give myself as much time and quiet as necessary to restore myself. But still. There are some things you cannot unhear, some realities you cannot ignore.
Last week Mike preached on Joshua 3 and 4 when the Israelites are going to cross the Jordan River at its deepest, during flood season. Mike said it would have been nice if God had parted the waters in advance, had given his people ample time to see his power so they could trust in his provision. Instead, it took the faith of twelve men to step into the water, to begin walking into a deep river that showed no hint of a miracle. "Yet as soon as the priests who carried the ark reached the Jordan and their feet touched the water's edge, the water from upstream stopped flowing. It piled up in a heap a great distance away."
I've been excited, and I've been terrified. Now I hope to bring the two emotions together. I will continue walking toward this deep river that threatens to swallow me in sorrow and fear. I will continue walking, only because I have the assurance that if God is leading me, He will also make a way for me through the valley of the shadow of death.
Courage, dear heart.
