Mission Meltdown

Friends, family, blog stalkers--

I feel the need to be both honest with the readers of this blog and myself. Being cryptic about trials, mission or no mission, benefits no one.

This week was bad. Real bad. So bad I broke down and called my mother, bad. (Against mission rules, save for Christmas and Mother's Day.) I don't want you to have to wade through a post about how my week was miserable and how I have it tough, because we don't go through trials just to complain about them on the other side. We go through trials so that we can come through better, educated, and stronger. I don't want you to feel sorry for me; I want you to learn from me.

Reader's Digest version of the Mission Meltdown 2012:

You cannot understand the weight of sickness and a companion who is an extreme challenge until you've lived it. This week had both in spades. There was a point at which rational thought was overcome by all of the anxiety of a harried situation. So I panicked and called Mama Goodpaster, sobbing. After a long conversation, her wisdom and love wrapped me in the warmth of understanding, and sent me on my way feeling renewed. Talks with my mission president and his wife did much of the same the very next day. Hugs were given, tears were shed, mercy was shown.

What I learned:

One of the key bits of genius my mother shared with me was that I'm an adult, dealing with (and preparing to deal with) adult matters. For instance, I am around my companion constantly. Because of her disposition, I worry and struggle for/with her constantly. I feel reprieve when we're teaching and serving and loving others, which happens a lot. However, I've been stewing in the sick-bed for the last three weeks with a runny/snotty case of bronchitisinfluenzaWashingtonweathersick. I pointed all of this out to my mother--the fact that I felt trapped in being sick with a sick partner who struggles even when she's "well." And then Mom threw this dagger at me:

"What do you think being a mother is like?"

Me: "Yeah, but moms get breaks and people babysit their kids. There is peace, you know, eventually."

"[Laughter] You never stop worrying about your children. You never stop dealing with new challenges and mistakes and just flat-out problems. And you do all of that while dealing with your own times of sickness. There is no day off."

Point taken.

When I spoke with my mission president's wife and I told her what I'd done and how I felt, she had a well-pointed question of her own (maybe she got it from mama g.p.?):

"Sister Goodpaster, do you feel like a martyr?"

I thought about that. And I thought some more. And I answered, "Yeah, kind of."

"Do you know what the best solution to that is?"

I shook my head.

"Don't. You are in charge of you. I love you. Don't let this bring you down."

This advice came with a ton of love and the understanding that she wasn't disappointed in what I'd done, per se. Rather, she was disappointed that I hadn't let her help. That I thought I could just do it alone and be fine. My mission president had the same reaction.

He echoed his wife's genuine concern and care for my well-being before he expressed this sentiment:

"It is my job to look out for you, even if you feel like that cry for help makes you look weak. It does not. Weakness is the refusal to accept help from the proper source." He expressed that he completely understood my reaction to my situation, but wished that I'd had enough faith to confide in him. He then asked how he could help the situation in the "right now" tense, but prefaced it with these words:

"Don't answer this question with the mask of 'I don't want to be a burden,' okay? Answer me according to your needs and I will help you."

I'm not saying my mission president and his wife are perfect. But if their reactions to my predicament aren't models of amazing parenting/how God works, then I don't know what is.

Final thought:

I used to love the "broken escalator" analogy for politics, but now I see how it completely applies to me and to many of us who get "stuck" and then freak out in spiritually-critical situations.

Picture yourself on an escalator. Then picture it breaking down, no repair in the near future. In your hands are heavy-laden shopping bags and an infant. Also, your leg is broken. There are people at the bottom and top of the escalator with all manner of devices to help you get to the top. You are weak, but they're strong. All you have to do is ask, trust, and try. In that order. Do you give up and drop the baby and heave the merchandise everywhere, and sit down and cry about how your leg hurts and how life isn't fair? (Okay, maybe for, like, ten minutes, but then...) No! It will be difficult and painful and awkward trying to balance everything, but you can do it BECAUSE there are so many people willing to carry you up those stairs. P.S. There's a doctor at the top, and a wheelchair and a stroller and someone to push that baby and five other people just in case.

Perhaps the imagery is convoluted, but that's how it played out in my brain last week. And I trust you get the point.

Someone told me yesterday that only God can turn a mess into a message. Truth.

The message here is clear: remember to breathe. Remember that sometimes you have to deal with tough circumstances, BUT that no one has to suffer to appear stronger. The ruse always catches up with you.

If everything I've shared helps no one except me, then that's okay. But I know this: the more we learn from our missteps, the less likely we are to repeat them.

Be well. Live better. God is love.

Love from sunny and warm (finally!) Washington,

Sister Goodpaster