Hope Behind My Walls

Confession.

I am terrified of meeting new people.

I'm absolutely rubbish at making new friends.

It's odd really. I don't know how it happened. It feels like one day, I was great at it, laughing and talking with strangers. My goal in life was to make a new friend where ever I went. Then suddenly, everything changed.

In my family relations class, we talked about something called the intimacy cycle: it's basically how we make new friends and grow closer to old ones. Step one is you have to allow yourself to be vulnerable. For example, say hello to someone new. There's always the chance they'll roll their eyes and walk away (which has happened to me before), but there's also the chance they'll say hi back. Which brings us to step two, where needs are either met or they aren't. If you say hello to a stranger, you're hoping that they will respond in a positive manner. If they do, your needs have been met. If they don't, that creates distance. Met needs creates closeness and trust begins to form, and the cycle starts all over again. 

Well here's the thing - I dislike being vulnerable.

For so many years I was the girl sent to the back of the classroom, the one crying in the corner, the needy friend. Serving my mission, I found a strength in the Lord I never thought I could have. I learned to be happy and strong, and to rely heavily on Him. He helped me overcome many hurtles.

Then I came home.

My spiritual high dropped suddenly from beneath my feet and I found myself gasping, searching desperately for something to fill the void in my life where my mission used to be.

And I was terrified.

But the Lord had helped me through so many other things, surely He would help me through this as well. For the most part, I kept my fears to myself. I could be strong. Countless others have been in my shoes. I'm certainly not the first to struggle with coming home from a mission. And after all, I am a returned missionary. If I can make it through a mission, I can make it through anything...right?

I think that's where it started. Wanting to be strong on my own. My heart and my head were full of pain and confusion. I didn't know what to say to people. I didn't even know who I was anymore. My mission felt like a dream. No matter how I described it to people, they could never understand exactly how my mission felt. They would never know exactly how my mission affected and changed me. I felt very alone. At first people were understanding, but after a couple months of being home, someone told me to let it go already, it was time to move on.

But I wasn't ready to let it go. So I closed myself off. My grace period was over, but there was still so much left unsaid. I didn't have the words for it all. I kept quiet. Trying to find the balance between who I was before the mission and who I became on the mission.

Somewhere between then and now my strong silence turned into a bitter distaste for vulnerability in myself and a paralyzing fear of being hurt. I've erected walls around my heart, thicker and higher than they've ever been before. 

And that's where I am.

Terrified of meeting new people. Frozen at the thought, I stare blankly at strangers who come to my apartment. But I mustn't look vulnerable. So I look cold. My icy gaze questions their every movement, doubts every word that falls from their lips.

How have I become this?

My dear friends, those of you who have stuck around through the years, or those who have managed to break through my walls in recent months, I need your help. Please, just... say a prayer for me. I've had walls up most of my life, but it's getting out of hand, and I'm ready for them to come down. I just can't do it on my own. I know that the Lord will help me, but it is often through His children that He works. I know now, faith isn't enough. I can't push away the people the Lord sends me.

It's like the story of the man of great faith, who, trapped on the roof of his house by a flood, prayed to the Lord, "Save me!" Many times passer-by's stopped and offered the man a way to safety, starting with a family on a boat leading up to a helicopter rescue. But each time the man was given a way out of his circumstance, he kindly rejected, "No thank you," he replied calmly, "the Lord will save me." When the man finally drowned, and he reached the pearly gates he asked the Lord, "Lord, why didn't you save me? I prayed to you, and I knew that you could, why did you let me die?" The Lord replied, "I sent you a family with a boat, and a man with a helicopter, why did you reject the help that I sent?"

We were put on this earth to lift each other, to help each other make it back to the presence of God. I know I don't have to face anything alone. None of us do. If you made it this far into my blog post, please do me one last favor, and listen to the song I put up here. It's a beautiful description of how I feel. "There's hope in front of me, there's a light, I still see it. There's a hand holding me even when I don't believe it. I might be down but I'm not dead. There's better days still up ahead..." I don't want you to walk away from this thinking that I'm broken, because I'm not. I'm just in a rough spot, and asking for your support as I strive to work with God in  making a change. 

Thank you. I love you all.

Lacie Anne