I do not go alone.

We are officially docked in Republic of Congo! I have a blog draft saved in which I talk about how exciting it is to finally be here, and how incredible the day of arrival was... But instead, I have chosen to publish this one-- the honest one-- written the day after our arrival (Saturday, August 10th).

Yesterday was a tough rough awful can't-find-an-adequate-word-to-describe-it day for me. Two nights before our arrival in Congo I received the most shocking, confusing, horrific, gut-wrenching, heartrending news of my life. Suddenly, the thousands of miles of ocean that separated me from home felt like a million or more. Then, within twenty-four hours I was somehow supposed to stuff all of that emotion down and conjure up the opposite emotions. Emotions I had been waiting to fully express for a while-- the excitement and joy that had been building with anticipation as the ship rose with each wave of the Atlantic. And yet, as the music played and the hands waved and the colorful welcome tent on the Pointe-Noire dock came into focus, I looked for that joy and exhilaration, ready to call them out to play... but they were nowhere to be found. Have you ever been there? Knowing you should, desperately wishing you could, experience something in a certain way... but finding it infuriatingly impossible to do so?

I forced a smile and waved back, joining the buzzing conversation of excitement because that's what you do. All the while feeling empty, numb, confused, bitter, and every antonym of joy swirling around like a kaleidoscope inside me. This wasn't how it was 'supposed' to be. This certainly wasn't how I had envisioned our arrival in Congo-- Mercy Ships' first time ever there. Sometimes a forced smile can be worn for quite a while, masking pain and inner turmoil amazingly well. Here on the ship, where 400+ people live and work and eat and play and pray together, facades do not hold up so well. And for that I am so thankful. My forced smile and “I'm fine” demeanor lasted approximately 7 hours that day, and even that was exhausting. I 'called out' of work in the dining room (my temporary assignment on the ship until the hospital opens) for dinner that night and spent hours crying, questioning, reading, praying. Rinse and repeat.

I don't know if I will ever make any sense of or find a single shred of a reason in this tragedy; I am severely struggling to see where God was in it, BUT I can see Him now. I see Him in the unexpected words of encouragement, in thoughtful notes-- some paired with candy or illustrations, in packed dinners when I miss a meal, in hot tea and cookies at just the right time, and in hugs all around. My friends, whom I have only known for a month at most, have cried with me, sat beside me, and prayed over and with me. Grief is never easy, but because I cast off the forced smile and let others in, I am not grieving alone, and I do not go alone. Nor do you.

A card I was given before coming to Mercy Ships-- only God knew then how applicable it would be!!

Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you.  -Hebrews 13:5