Perhaps it was only a matter of time.
Despite all of my attempts to manage my expectations and emotions in anticipation of this final week before Christmas, everything fell apart last night.
After a long day out of town with Andrea and her visiting friend Sas, I was feeling rough around the edges because of the stories we had heard in the community of Santa Maria (survivors of the Casitas mudslide in 1998) and in the memorial park up in mountains where the community used to be. I was hungry, since we hadn’t eaten a real meal since our eggs and toast early that morning. And I was irritated because of the ways our plans kept changing during the day and certain things took way longer than expected.
When we finally walked in the door of our house at 6:30pm, I made a beeline for the fridge, grabbed some left over pasta and tried to mood alter up with the help of my warm home-cooked food. But just as I started to dig in, Andrea told me she was taking Sas out to dinner since she hadn’t gotten to see much of Managua yet. I could barely mumble an “okay” before I felt the hot tears forming behind my eyes.
Was it the emotions of an intense day of hearing stories of community history and tragedy? Was it the sudden realization that I was going to be alone for the evening? Was it the dashed hope of a real conversation with someone about my day? Was it the childish desire to be included in their plans? Was it the twinge of jealousy that I didn’t have my own friend to take out to dinner or celebrate the season with? Was it the depressing anticipation of knowing that for most of the next 3 days (including my birthday) I was going to be alone while A&S went off to Costa Rica?
Maybe it was all of that and more. Suddenly my appetite was gone and all I could do was sob. I was a wreck, but I managed to pick myself up and move my broken heart into my bedroom, where Andrea found me a few minutes later. After a hug, she said, “Let’s talk when we get home.” Not having the emotional stamina to stay awake much longer, though, I eventually finished my dinner and returned to my room where I fell asleep to a semi-soothing mix of itunes. This morning I woke up before either of them (they were headed to the beach today), drank some coffee, and left to go check on the house where I am house-sitting for the next couple weeks.
Despite the change of scenery, my melancholy mood remains. “I can handle anything,” I remember sharing with several people recently, “as long as I am not alone.”
These lonely hours are the hardest hours. The hardest hours to accept that, unlike the old carol, I will not be home for Christmas.
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4 comments:
Hi Pam!
Thanks for being so honest in your story. I think it is hard for most of us to be alone for any length of time - add to that Christmas, birthday and homesickness, and I'd be shedding more than a few tears myself. You are not a bad person for feeling this way! I wish I could be there to give you a hug and distract you for awhile. Hang in there!! I am so proud of you and all you have done this last year. These challenges are growing wonderful fruit in you that will be used to God's glory. Praise God for the mighty work He is doing in and through you!! I'll be praying for a very special birthday and Christmas this year!!
Love,
Mary Ruth
Sweet Pam!
Feel a hug coming through the internet to you.
Pamela! My heart goes out for you sister, my apologies for not being a better friend and keeping up with you or anything updated (just did to the blog) Sure life has been busy, but that's no excuse. Blessings on your next week, may God use this time to work in an amazing way in your life.
Hey Pam,
I wish I could give you a hug too. Sending Christmas hugs, peace, joy, and lots of prayer your way. I think you are hitting on some of the harder costs of being a missionary. Praying you know more of Jesus in a tangible way....
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