Spanish Blog: My Summer In Paraguay

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All I have to do is close my eyes and I am there again – curled up on a thin mattress with my arms wrapped around a similarly thin pillow in an effort to help it support my head.  My whole body trembled as I sobbed uncontrollably.  Surprised by the wave of despair that had suddenly taken control of my being, I tried so hard to be quiet and keep the girl in the bunk bed next to mine from knowing that I was crying.  It was useless, however.  I knew she must have heard me. 

 

 

With this realization quieting me slightly, the thought occurred to me that even this situation could be used to bless the fifteen-year-old missionary girl.  God had taught me a lot about vulnerability in the previous year, but still it was one of the hardest things I had ever made myself say.  I swallowed several times to get down the lump that had formed in my throat so that I would be able to speak at least somewhat clearly.  “Emily*, would you please pray for me?  I’m feeling really homesick right now.”

 

“Okay,” she said. 

 

And I knew she would.  Emily may have been somewhat immature, but she was not unfeeling.  And I knew she would be concerned for me - at least for a few minutes, before the sound of heavy breathing told me that sleep had overtaken her.  Relieved and slightly impressed with myself for having gotten it out, I rolled back over to face the wall and give in once again to the monster of depression, which had seized me.  I couldn’t remember a time in my life that I had cried so hard.  I had only been in this country for about a week and I didn’t know how in the world I would last for another eight.  I felt completely alone and unappreciated. 

 

 

During my sophomore year of college, I had felt a strong desire to go on a missions trip of some kind in which I could serve using the talents God had given me.  I had always been very interested in missions, and especially after my family’stime at the missionary training school. Yet I had never been on a missions trip of any kind.  I thought that perhaps God would lead me into missions at some point in the future, and maybe spending some time in a foreign country doing some on-the-job training would allow me to see how God might use me in the future. 

 

 

I contacted a missionary agency and expressed my desire to spend a summer helping a missionary family somewhere overseas, and I was put in contact with a family of seven doing Bible translation work in a remote village in Paraguay.  I would travel to Paraguay by myself and spend about 9 weeks of my summer living with this family, teaching their children, and helping out in any way that I could.  Now, after being with the mother and daughter for one week while waiting for the roads to their village to become passable, I was forced to remind myself continually of the ambition with which I had come.

 

 

Without a friend in the entire continent, I had tried determinedly to pour into and encourage the missionary lady and her daughter in the short time I had been with them.  The mother was obviously very disillusioned about Christians in general and had done little but complain to me about the way Christians (even missionaries) acted.  I listened to criticism after criticism sympathetically, trying in vain to connect with her through sharing personal experiences.  She didn’t seem to take much interest in me except my ability to listen to her.  I realize now that she was dealing with a lot of inner turmoil, but as a 19-year-old girl experiencing foreign missions for the first time, I had little to offer her.

 

 

The night’s occurrences had brought all of this to a hilt.  I wanted for nothing more than to have a friend to confide in or ask advice of.  I had tried everything I knew how to do to get through and obtain any sign of appreciation or affection, but all I felt was drained, and I had no way of communicating with anyone back home since cell phones and internet were luxuries unavailable to me.  So I cried out to the only One I had – the only One I would have for the next two months.  I pleaded for strength, for comfort, for wisdom, and for words of encouragement to pierce the emotional scars my hostess had apparently attained during her lifetime in missionary service in Paraguay.  If I were going to make any difference at all, it would have to be through my heavenly Father.

 

 

My summer in Paraguay proved to be one of the longest of my life.  Were it not for my careful attention to the passing of days and weeks, I might have said it was nine months instead of nine weeks.  The struggle for peace in my heart despite feelings of inadequacy and defeat was constant, but this brought me to my knees.  I had very little opportunity to communicate with anyone back home while in Paraguay, so I was quite dependent on God for comfort and companionship. 

 

 

I learned what an incredible difference an hour or two spent with God – searching His word, and pouring out my heart – could make in my attitude.  So often during that 9 weeks I would find myself at the end of my rope and discreetly run away to sit on my bed and search the scriptures for encouragement.  This would give me peace of mind like nothing else could while I was there.  I had never before experienced true companionship with my Heavenly Father like I did that summer.

 

 

Besides the reassurance I got from God through reading the Bible and spending time with Him, the biggest encouragement to me was the motivation of seeing Emily slowly open up to me about her struggles as a missionary kid, and the only white girl her age in that area of Paraguay.  Almost every day Emily and I would go for a long walk right at sunset.  Often we would talk about silly or inconsequential things, but sometimes she would tell me about the loneliness she experienced, or how ostracized she felt by her peers whenever her family went home to the states for furlough.  My heart went out to Emily so I tried to be an encouragement and also a good example for her, and I was encouraged to see her slowly open up to me and appreciate my listening ear and my advice.

 

 

My time in Paraguay was the hardest experience of my life to that point, and had I realized what it would be like going into it I probably would not have gone, and yet I am so thankful that I did.  Not only did I learn so much about missionary life, and the unique struggles and opportunities of missionary kids, but I came to know my heavenly Father on a whole new level.  He was my Sustainer, my Comforter, and my Truest Friend.

 

 

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: “For Your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”  No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.  (Romans 8:35-39)

 

 

*Emily’s name has been changed for confidentiality