3 Things that Scare me About Taking a Leap of Faith

It's time. Time for a leap faith.

After dedicating much of my work time over the past few years to Chab Dai projects, I've decided, after a lot of prayer, discernment, conversations with mentors, family, and friends, tears, dreaming, and anxiety...

I have stepped away from contractual work with Chab Dai and am working on building up my skills and experience to work in something I feel a strong passion and calling for. It's hard to know what to call it, because it could take many forms, but basically I am pursuing my calling in economic empowerment. Whether that is community economic development, social enterprise, economic resilience and reintegration programming, or research and model testing, I'm not sure. I'm open to all of it! 

A few weeks in, and I am pretty evenly split between utter excitement and talking myself out of a panic attack. Because it's scary. I'm scared. And this is what scares me most:

1. Financial uncertainty: after writing a research report on the subject, I self-diagnosed: Hello, my name is Julia, and I suffer from financial anxiety. Making the decision this year that I won't take work unless it is in the economic development and research realm has meant we're living really tight. And that's OK (that's Charlie talking). We're able to cover our basic expenses every month. And of course that leads me to feel incredibly guilty that I even feel anxious because we live in a country where many people can't say that. But there you have it: I worry about eeking it out every month.

2. What if I'm not good? What if up until now I've taken the easy road and excelled because I wasn't pushing myself and now that I go after what I really truly want to do, I fall flat? What if I'm all talk and can't deliver? What if I'm a fraud? No matter how much someone (*ahem*Charlie*) can tell me logically why I'm ready for this, that little voice is there, telling me I'm not.

3. What if I can't actually balance work/parent life? Since S was born, I've worked, quite a lot, but never in a full-time, 9:00-5:00 job. I've been able to make my own schedule, which worked great, because I wanted to have the flexibility to take a morning here or a day there to be with my babies. I think I'm ready for full-time work, but I haven't tried it yet, so what if it doesn't work? 

So that's it. My three biggest fears this year. Welcome to my panic attack.

Here's my antidote to fear and anxiety: prayer. I'm 100% serious. When I feel the fear creeping in, the anxiety taking over, I try to sit down and meditate, focus on communing with God, and most often it calms my spirit. It doesn't mean the fear and anxiety go away forever, but sometimes it's just enough to get me through the day. And not only does it calm the anxiety, but I often end meditating being reminded of the excited part of this journey. I'm going after my dream! I'm following a calling! I live in Cambodia and it's pretty awesome!

And I think, "See you later, fear and anxiety!" (And I do.)

What's in your backpack?

As part of our home group's series on Pilgrimage, Charlie and I led our meeting yesterday on the "Journey of Simplicity." There is so much that can be done on the topic and we took a while to settle on which part of "simplicity" we were going to focus on.

Part of what we focused on was to go back to our core selves and think about what is that makes up what we truly "need." Charlie read a chapter from A Way: The Story of a Long Walk, a wonderful book written by my own incredibly talented sister, Jenna Smith, called "The Backpack." And we used the idea of a backpack as a metaphor for reflecting on and discussing what we carry in our life/faith journey's backpack. Things that weight us down, things we would prefer to discard, things we absolutely need and help along the way.

It's such a good book! You should read it!

We talked a lot about relationships, family, God, faith - all good and necessary things in our backpacks. But we also talked about hurts and past mistakes that we continue to carry with us. One big one was grief and mourning. Grief is a natural part of life, but we agreed that living overseas, ongoing grief is a big part of our lives and much closer to the surface. We are constantly having to say goodbye to dear friends, friends who become more like family in this context, and it is an ongoing struggle to hold those relationships with open hands.

We also talked about deferred mourning, for family members, such as grandparents, who pass away "back home," and if we're unable to travel home for the funeral, it often doesn't really become real until we go home and they are no longer there. I have experienced this a little with the passing of grandmother at the end of last year. I know she's gone, but I sometimes catch myself thinking about seeing her when we go home at Christmas. 

We carry these things with us, and all the emotions that go along with them. The battle of feeling torn between two worlds, the relationships that are so encouraging but sometimes come with expectations we may not be ready to meet, the past mistakes that, although forgiven, still weigh on us many years later. 

So, what's in your backpack? What do you need to carry with you in order to ease the journey? What do you wish you could discard from the backpack and leave behind?

Sometimes Cambodia looks like Hawaii

A friend recently made a comment on a picture we posted of us having some weekend pool-side family time that went something like, "You sure look like you live in luxury over there in Cambodia."

And, I have to be honest, it hurt.

First, it may have sounded, and maybe even been intended, as an offhanded "funny" comment, but there is judgment behind it.

It assumes that, for some reason, because we are called to work overseas, we should be living in, or close to, dire straights, and that we should always be focused on our call and work here.

It assumes that we do not take our work here seriously because we take some time to relax, or, God forbid, go on vacation.

It assumes (well, outright states) that we live opulently, which hurts because we actually try to be really intentional about simple living and being good stewards of our resources.

It assumes, and this one really hurts, that because part of our salary is supporter-dependent, we owe them all our time, all our possessions, and should not give the impression that we are ever wasting a penny of the money they are sending us.

Because taking a couple hours by the pool on a weekend would be wasting money, because it doesn't have anything to do with fighting trafficking.

Don't get me wrong. I believe wholeheartedly in accountability and I am every day incredibly grateful that we have such a wonderful community of financial supporters who donate to our work, and we hope that in some way they feel part of our work by supporting us.

We work hard. We work 30-40+ hours per week. And we like relaxing by the pool on weekends. Our pictures on Facebook may reflect more of that because, well, pictures of us doing our work looks kind of what pictures of you doing your work look like. And we just don't think of taking pictures of ourselves at meetings. And pictures of us hanging out with our daughter are fun and we like bragging about her, and there are palm trees in the background because we live in a tropical climate.

This is us working. Pretty boring, right?

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All I can do is pray

I sat at my kitchen table yesterday, across from my daughter, and, through tears, read another article about the more than 200 Nigerian girls abducted from their school to be sold into forced marriage.

I cried and my 2-year-old daughter asked, "Mama sad?" and kissed my cheek.

I cried because I CANNOT imagine the pain and helplessness the parents of those girls are going through, but I know how much I LOVE my daughter and it is an overwhelming, protective, intense love that I would die for without a second thought.

I cried because I work in this sector and some days I feel like there is more bad news than good.

I cried because I feel helpless in the face of this kind of evil, because I know this is not what Allah really requires of his followers, but some people use his name in vain for evil purposes.

We work and we fight and we try and some days, all we can do is pray. Because there is hope. I have to believe there is hope.

Lenten Reflections

At home group this week, our friends led a beautiful reflection and discussion about the desert and the [living] water. They showed two videos, which we discussed afterward, and both were so touching to me I wanted to share.

If you have 15 minutes or so, these two videos are great for reflecting on Lent and Easter. The first video is about Jesus' 40 days in the desert; it really struck me and got me thinking about just how long Jesus spent in the wilderness, how he was at his weakest when he faced his temptation, and how he still found the strength to repel evil. I have often read this passage (Matthew 4:1-11) but didn't really stop to think about the desperation, pain, fear, hunger, and even boredom Jesus must have felt throughout these 40 days. He must have also attained moments of perfect peace, calm, and joy during this time.

Here's the video, enjoy!

Pretty cool, eh?

The next video is shorter and from BBC Earth's series on Africa, and this clip is about the "Resurrection Plant," which I had not heard of before. It reminded me of how my faith journey is not linear; after a period of "being in the desert," so to speak, I don't start over at the beginning. And when I learn a lesson I feel I've learned before, I am learning as a different person than I was when I learned it before.

If nothing else, it's just a beautiful video!

 

Oui, allo?

A word that a lot of Christians use, and I try to use well and meaningfully, is "calling." I am often keenly aware of why and how I use it, mainly because it may not mean much to those outside a Christian (and perhaps a narrow segment of Christian, at that) culture.

What is calling? What is calling to me?

I recently responded to an online survey for humanitarian aid workers and one of the questions really got me thinking.

[Sidenote: Are you a humanitarian aid worker? Take the survey here! It takes about 30 minutes.]

The question was:

Which statement below *best* describes your primary reason for becoming an aid worker?

• Ended up as an aid worker by accident or "unintentionally"
• I felt called by God or a higher power
• I was following my dream to provide aid for those less fortunate than myself
• I needed an adventure in my life and being an aid worker sounded like a good idea
• I could not find any other employment
• I followed a friend or significant other into the field of aid work
• None of the above even comes close to articulating my reason for becoming an aid worker.

As I read "I felt called by God" I thought, "Of course, that's the one." Until I read the next line, and then I had a mini brain explosion. I stared at the two options for a good couple of minutes, talked to Charlie, stared a little longer. And came to the conclusion that both answers are the same for me, and that one doesn't even follow the other, but they are weirdly and beautifully intertwined.

I believe that God uses what I am passionate about to call me, while also being the source of that passion. I think calling is about using my God-given gifts (which I have tried to steward by developing into usable skills), resources, and passion to live a life that is other-centered. 

God is love. Jesus was all about loving and serving others, especially the vulnerable and marginalised. This doesn't mean everyone, or even every Christian, needs to work in some form of humanitarian aid, but it sure does mean we need to treat the vulnerable and marginalised with dignity and respect, as Jesus did. 

Working in development and human rights is how I live out this "calling."

As always, still haven't figure it all out. Does anyone? How do you see your "calling"? Do you have issues with the idea of "calling" in the first place?