“Hi, Becky! Welcome to Spain! Here is a pandemic.”
This was not how I expected my first two months in Spain to unfold. There’s plenty to be concerned about, but the virus has indisputably brought most regular activity to a halt. I dare say, for most of us it is an unwelcome but oh so necessary halt. It is a forced stillness.
When I was told that we would be working off a “skeleton crew”–when the first friend that I made here in Spain told me that she was going back to the states–my heart sank. I cried. Not because I was thinking of the magnitude of the virus. Not because I was concerned about my coworkers’ safety. Not even because I was worried about my own health. No. I cried at the thought of not being able to go out for days (little did I know it would be weeks!) to entertain myself with friends, company, and–as a last but common resort–people-watching.
“I’m going to be alone,” my mind screamed. “I’m going to be suffocated by silence and loneliness. I’m going to mope on my bed wishing a friend was there to make me laugh. And at the same time, I’ll be too proud to admit to anyone that I’m struggling. These upcoming weeks are going to be torture.”
The odd thing was, I wasn’t hurting for things to do. I had a list. (I love lists. I could write you a list of reasons why I enjoy lists...and I would enjoy writing it.) Work out, bake, read, write this blog that you’re reading right now. And it’s not like I’ve never been alone before. That’s just a part of life. This past year, I had so much alone time...and it was the worst. Stress from family, work, relationships, and health problems, mixed with a general existential dread of the future, culminated in the moments I was home alone. My mind didn’t necessarily wander through all these fears, nor did it fixate on one fear and snowball. It was more like a nebulous, all-encompassing feeling. I remember trying unsuccessfully to describe the feeling to those close to me, but when I really got down to it, it was, very simply, a sense that I was unwanted and all alone and that my life was not going to be OK.
So alone time in a new country with a new language and a new group of people sounded like a round two recipe for anxiety. I knew it would make me more aware of the darker questions creeping up in my heart: Is God really with me when the silence seems to say that He’s not? Do I really believe my future is going to turn out okay? With all the chaos going on right now, do I really think I matter--to my friends, to my family, to God? I’ve uncovered the ugly truth that, when all the noise stops, my answer to those questions is a faint but threatening “no.”
When I realized all of this was festering in me, I prayed. Well, first I cried and felt bad for myself some more. But then I prayed. And I decided to stop assuming that the silence meant God and all my friends were ignoring me. I decided to seek Him and really listen, even if what I heard made me uncomfortable.
What I discovered is that all too often, I rest all my security on my own abilities and the affirmation of others, and when those things fail me, I feel let down and insecure. I doubt God’s promises. And those things are going to fail me. Heck, I’m not even big enough to reach the top shelf in the kitchen without a stool. How could I control even my own future? We were not designed to find security in anything short of our creator and who He says we are.
It can be scary to admit to ourselves that we have doubts and perhaps even scarier to bring those doubts to God. My thought is usually something like, What if He gets mad and smites me?! It’s a bit silly, I know, but our human instinct is to hide the uglier, more shameful parts of our hearts. The truth is, though, that He already knows they’re there. He made my heart. He knows me. He knows you! He’s not afraid of the weeds that grow in there because He’s bigger than them. Hiding them from Him does nothing for us but keep us from knowing Him more.
This quarantine was certainly not the on-boarding I expected, but I’m taking this strange season as an opportunity to grow, to be painfully honest with myself, and to invite God into the doubts that live in my heart. It’s been a challenge, but such a rewarding one. Would you join me?