Becoming Caleb

"With the wind at our backs, and in the strength of the Lord,

We will rise on the wings of the dawn. 

We're gonna take back all the enemy has stolen."

Emotional abuse. 

One definition of such is this:

"Any act including confinement, isolation, verbal assault, humiliation, intimidation, infantilization, or any other treatment which many diminish the sense of identity, dignity, and self worth."

For the last year I've looked up that definition more times than I could count. I didn't even need to look it up now to recite it, I had it memorized so that I could speak it out loud every time I questioned whether or not that is what really happened to me. 

One year ago today, exactly at this moment, I was suspended high above the Pacific ocean flying from Seoul, South Korea to Vancouver, BC where I would make a connecting flight to Calgary. 

The tidal waves of sorrow seemed to keep coming the farther I flew from my home in Phuket, Thailand. The end of an incredibly difficult season, and the beginning of one that would turn out even more difficult.  

The end of the dreams I had thought were coming true.

The end of myself as I knew it.

The fact that it has been a year since I left my home in Thailand seems absolutely ludicrous. 

How on earth does life move so incredibly fast? 

When I think back on all I've walked through this year, 

there are so many details lost in the fog of this season. 

I was so numb to everything around me. 

I don't even remember getting off the plane in Calgary.

What I do remember though, 

are moments of the deepest sorrow my heart has known, 

and moments where I felt a fear unlike anything I've ever experienced. 

And I remember joy. 

Joy finding it's way through the cracks like a stubborn, sunny dandelion poking it's way through the cement of my heartbreak. 

A joy that refused to let me go even when I was ready to give up on Jesus. 

I remember sitting on a porch in BC watching the sun disappear behind strong mountains with tears in my eyes. 

I remember trying to tell my mother why I needed time and space away from Calgary, and instead, finding myself erupting into uncontrollable sobs and her holding me, crying with me.

I remember hands running through carpet as I swore into the 4am darkness, so angry at God for not protecting me. 

I remember raindrops on my windshield, countless sleepless hours, and I remember hysterical laughter with my best friend while we were supposed to be listening to a sermon at church. 

And in-between all of those moments are the grey areas. 

The moments where I was face down in my own sadness, to exhausted to look up. 

I stayed comatose. 

Numb, not feeling joy or pain.

Not letting myself remember, not letting myself even think of Thailand for fear of the crashing waves of grief. 

Face down on the ground, I only thought about breathing in and out. 

Keeping myself alive. 

Surviving. 

When I finally decided to look up, 8 months had passed and I hadn't moved from the place I fell the moment I touched down in Calgary. 

I realized I would have to get up and move myself if I were ever going to move on from that place of brokenness. 

The thing is, 

abuse changes everything. 

It changes how you think about yourself and everyone around you. 

It changes your perspective on situations and it changes how you react to those situations. 

It changes you. 

And that's where I want to land with this blog. 

The change that I've undergone and who I am going forward. 

I was so mad at God for so long.

But what I didn't realize as I stewed in my anger was that God was orchestrating something bigger than I ever imagined for myself. 

In the bible, Joshua is known as one of the heroes of the Old Testament. 

As the assistant of Moses, he would go with him to be with the Lord in the tent of meeting. 

The bible says that after Moses finished speaking with God, Joshua would remain in the Presence of the Lord. 

From his youth he was primed to take over the leadership of the Israelites. 

When the Israelites came to the borders of the Promised Land, it really was a no-brainer that Moses included Joshua in the 12 he sent to spy out the land and the people who lived there. 

However, quite often we skip over Joshua's right hand man, Caleb.

There are few verses about him in the bible, but what is said greatly defines his character. 

25 After exploring the land for forty days, the men returned 26 to Moses, Aaron, and the whole community of Israel at Kadesh in the wilderness of Paran. They reported to the whole community what they had seen and showed them the fruit they had taken from the land. 27 This was their report to Moses: “We entered the land you sent us to explore, and it is indeed a bountiful country—a land flowing with milk and honey. Here is the kind of fruit it produces. 28 But the people living there are powerful, and their towns are large and fortified. We even saw giants there, the descendants of Anak! 29 The Amalekites live in the Negev, and the Hittites, Jebusites, and Amorites live in the hill country. The Canaanites live along the coast of the Mediterranean Sea and along the Jordan Valley.” 30 But Caleb tried to quiet the people as they stood before Moses. “Let’s go at once to take the land,” he said. “We can certainly conquer it!”

Numbers 13:25-30

20 Then the Lord said, “I will pardon them as you have requested. 21 But as surely as I live, and as surely as the earth is filled with the Lord’s glory, 22 not one of these people will ever enter that land. They have all seen my glorious presence and the miraculous signs I performed both in Egypt and in the wilderness, but again and again they have tested me by refusing to listen to my voice. 23 They will never even see the land I swore to give their ancestors. None of those who have treated me with contempt will ever see it. 24 But my servant Caleb has a different attitude than the others have. He has remained loyal to me, so I will bring him into the land he explored. His descendants will possess their full share of that land. 25 Now turn around, and don’t go on toward the land where the Amalekites and Canaanites live. Tomorrow you must set out for the wilderness in the direction of the Red Sea.”

Numbers 14:20-25

Caleb was a man of truth. 

He was a man who stood up for what he believed in, and he was a man who trusted God. 

He trusted God enough to go against what everyone else was saying and risk his life for the promise laid before him. 

He was a bold man. 

A man who had seen God show up and knew without a doubt, He would do it again. 

Caleb was a man who believed God is who He says He is. 

My friend Ashley, who did the World Race with me and also lived with me at SHE, returned to Thailand back in September. She spent some time traveling around before she started language learning in Bangkok. 

During her travels, she went to Pattaya to visit the Tamar Centre. 

The leaders and some of the staff were praying for her and told her that they saw her as Joshua. 

Someone fierce enough to lead people into the promise laid before them, and someone with faith enough to march around Jericho as many times as needed. 

But she couldn't do it alone. 

She needed to be praying for someone to come alongside her and be her Caleb. 

She told me this during a Skype call about a month ago, after I told her how much I felt called to Thailand 

and that I didn't know why, but I felt an extremely large part of that calling was to just come and be by her side and support her. 

Jesus is so faithful. 

So. 

I am going back to Thailand. 

I will be leaving in January with the intent to be there until Jesus says otherwise.

I had a friend who told me when I first got back that at the end of all this, 

on the other side of this season, 

my faith would be deeper, my joy would be deeper, my intimacy with God would be deeper, 

and that I would be able go deeper with God than I ever had before. 

And I can say without a doubt that that is what God has been building in me this last year.

I always said I wanted to be someone who believed God no matter what the circumstances were,

 and I've been in situations where God had to be my cloud by day and my fire by night. 

Though I have been wandering through this wilderness for the past year, 

God was with me. 

He never left me, even when I doubted. 

And I see now the perseverance He was building. 

I had a choice to make when I got home.

I could decide to give up on Thailand and move on to something else, 

like school or pray into missions elsewhere. 

Or.

I could choose to pick myself up off the floor and with a new fire, and a new passion, press on toward what I know is my calling. 

Thailand is my home. 

And I've come to the realization that the best things are always worth fighting for. 

So that's what I'm going to do. 

I am going to fight for my dream of seeing Bangla road shut down permanently. 

I'm going to pursue my dream of seeing Thailand be the first nation completely set free. 

I'm going to fight for freedom until my last breath. 

And just like Caleb, 

I'm going to believe that God is who He says He is. 

Out of Hiding.

"And oh, as you run, what hindered love will only become part of the story."

I used to be a story teller. I used to believe in telling my story. I used to think that that was my calling. I think somewhere deep down I really still believe those things. But I've been paralyzed by fear.

It's snowing tonight. The kind of snow that floats to the ground in big sticky clumps and melts on the pavement. It seems to dance as it falls, tricking even those whose hearts are set on abhorring winter into thinking it's beautiful. And here I am, trying to figure out how to push myself into the most uncomfortable territory. Writing for me used to be therapeutic. It used to heal wounds I didn't know I had until I sat down and wrote them out of my soul. But now, now writing is so full of fear.

Because I've been hiding. I've been intentionally hiding from intimacy, from community, from my whole life and everything that used to make my heart pound with joy or excitement. And for a time that's what I needed. For a time, I needed to hide my heart away so that no one could touch it, not even those closest to me. I needed to be in a space all my own where I could make my own decisions and my own plans, and have not a single person give me input or their opinion. Not because I don't care about those people or think they don't give sound advice, but because I couldn't be told what to do or how to be or how to heal. After prolonged verbal, emotional, and spiritual abuse, I couldn't have anyone speak into my life because I suddenly didn't know how to trust anyone around me. Survival mode. Fight or flight. And I was so very tired of fighting.

The thought of using this space as a place to process my season or to write my heart out in words seems absolutely terrifying. But I've been feeling a call to come out of hiding lately. Although it is paralyzing and full of fear, I know that this is just another layer, another part of finding who I am again.

I am still devastated by what happened in Thailand. I am still so heartsick that even the mention of Thailand from an unknowing person sends a sharp knife of grief through my heart. And most days I still fight to remember who my Father is, and who I am in His Kingdom. There are so many days that I feel swallowed by my humanity and just want to (and often do) swear at God for not keeping me safe, for not protecting me from those who set out to crush my heart. But sometimes, the clouds part and I laugh in spite of it all.

I am finding snippets of joy in the midst of the immense heartbreak. I am also finding the snippets of joy that I stumble upon are not always found where I think they ought to be, and that they are much deeper caverns than I could have imagined. Joy doesn't always look like happiness, or laughter. Joy sometimes looks like ugly crying on the floor of my shower until I hear the One voice that can drown out the rest, and just knowing that He loves me. That He knows what He's doing. That He's still in control and that maybe He doesn't need me to understand my whole situation right now. Sometimes joy looks like me worshipping and singing songs of His faithfulness when I don't believe that He truly is faithful. Sometimes joy looks like me struggling to be content with not knowing any of the answers, and choosing to believe that He sees my tears and hears my heartbreak.

Sometimes joy is found in scraping up the tiniest bit of courage and sitting down to write after months of being in self assigned solitary confinement.

I know I've been distant. I've been unavailable, and closed off. I've been on lockdown. And I am sorry if that has left you wondering if I care. I do. I am all too aware of my intense need for community and to figure out how to trust those in my life again. I am asking you, giving you permission to pursue me. Text me a thousand times until I reply. Call me, harass me, make me respond to your friendship. Because I so value you. I SO value your friendship. And I want to be there. Now is the time. I am going to try to push myself into being more vulnerable. And I will try my very best to come out of hiding and meet you in the daylight.

One Year

One year.

365 days. 

Oh, how much can change in so little time. 

I didn't sleep much the night before. 

I was so hopeful, so ready to step into my dreams. 

I remember lying awake, staring at the ceiling that lay beyond the dark of the room, 

a perma-smile on my face just thinking about how close I was. 

Flight after flight, hour after hour, 

and as the plane descended into Phuket International Airport, 

I wept with joy. 

There were some miscommunications and so there was no one there to pick me up at the airport, 

but nothing could touch my joy. 

I was home. 

Finally. 

The hours turned to days, and the days into months

and I fell more in love with the nation beneath my feet. 

But as my heart grew to love more, 

there was a darkness that pushed back hard. 

It didn't take long for me to recognize the signs...

Not three months before I arrived in Thailand, I had ended an abusive relationship

and I knew the darkness creeping in all too well. 

They knew how to throw words like knives. 

They knew how to manipulate my heart. 

I could see it all happening, but I felt powerless to stop it. 

I decided to forgive. 

I decided to have grace and patience and love for them. 

I could see the pain they were going through. 

I could see how hard it was for them.

So I took bullet after bullet until I found myself all alone one night, 

weeping on the cement floor of my shared house.

I let the full realization of the situation wash over me. 

I sank into my heartbreak and I prayed what I hadn't dared to pray. 

I asked God to get me out. 

I begged Him to rescue me. 

I cried and I cried. 

I couldn't believe what I had gotten myself into. 

Didn't I know better?

Did I not just rip myself from a relationship just like this?

Shame on me.

Shame on me for believing them, for trusting them.

I didn't know how to separate the lies from the truth anymore. 

I forgot who I was because I let them define me.

And even at the end, 

I prayed for ways to honour them. 

I prayed God would give me an open door, but that it would truly honour them. 

Even at the end I wanted to do the most loving thing for them. 

And I will never, ever regret that. 

When I first got home, 

I didn't eat.

I didn't sleep.

I didn't feel.  

I was comatose. 

And every moment since then has been a struggle as I try to remember who I am and what makes me good. 

I have tried to block out their words about me, about God, about life, 

but when someone who was supposed to protect you and cover you decides to abuse you instead, 

it's hard to come back from.

And that's scary for me to put out there because I've purposely kept rather quiet about what really happened in Thailand, and even more silent about how I'm dealing with it.  

I'm better than I was...

I see with more clarity than I did.

But I feel like I've only just begun the long road to emotional and spiritual healing... 

Now, one year later, this is where I'm at.

One year from the day I stepped into what would become the hardest season of my Christian life.

Instead of being on a beach celebrating the first anniversary of my move to Thailand,

I am sitting on a hard Starbucks chair watching a blizzard rage around me.

Sometimes I regret leaving.

I couldn't ever truly express how it broke me to get on a plane and leave a place that holds so much of my heart.

Sometimes I feel like I bailed too soon. 

Like maybe if I had just stuck it out one more week, one more month... 

But the reality of that would have killed me. 

I was already barely alive as I stumbled through airports and into my bed that I had left just six short months before. 

As I was watching the snow fall today,

I couldn't help but think of how clean everything around me looked. 

How present the silence is when you walk out your door and into the snow. 

It deafens the chaos. 

It is heavy, and causes you to move a lot slower, 

but in the end, 

it makes way for new life. 

And I suppose that's what I'm waiting for... 

To remember what it feels like to be alive again. 

Those moments that take your breath away, 

the moments where you have to stop and take a mental note of everything and everyone around you so you never forget that feeling. 

The moments where you truly feel alive....

One year from the day that I left for Thailand, 

I can barely remember who that woman was. 

The woman that was so full of hope and promise and joy. 

And most days I'm not sure where to go from here. 

But I know that eventually, 

even if it feels a million years away at this point, 

I will be okay.

If nothing else, 

I have to believe that this too shall pass. 

And that everything - even a hot mess like me - will be okay again... 

The Other Side of the Same Ocean.

There is something so magical about being in a new place. 

Exploring and discovering new parts of a new city. 

With each step discovering and creating a new side of myself. 

Thailand feels like a dream, 

though I think of it often. 

I've now forgotten the harsh words that were spoken, 

the situations that seemed to have no solution. 

I've left behind the hopelessness of it all and I've stepped into this new season of rest. 

Taking with me only everything that was good and perfect about my Thailand life. 

I miss it every day. 

Some days I smile, fondly thinking back on how silly my sweet Thai friends are.

Other days I lay in my bed sobbing because my heart so longs to be where I am most home. 

But I'm learning to be thankful when I should be angry. 

I'm learning to be okay when I want to hide from everyone. 

I'm learning that this is my life, here and now, 

and that resting is not a waste of time. 

So here I am, standing on the other side of the same ocean 

and I can't help but be thankful for that season, as hard as it was. 

I hated and loved every moment of it. 

But now there is only hope as I look forward into the unknown. 

Now there is only peace as I stand on the west coast of my home country

and become someone new. 

Comatose.

Silence. 

Longing.

Digging in an unmovable pile of rubble, searching for peace. 

Sitting on the hard bamboo, 

I breathe in the thick air of the evening. 

I look around at the vegetation, the life swarming my every side. 

I look at the sky, 

constantly shifting pastel hues melting into the inevitable blackness. 

I know I should move soon because the misquotes are starting to become unbearable, 

but I can't seem to find my composure today. 

Two more minutes, I think to myself. 

Just two more minutes and then you have to go in there. 

I let the tears flow freely, and I sink into my heartbreak, just for a moment…

Then I stand up, wipe my face clear of sorrow, and I force my feet to carry me through the door to sing melodies I'm having trouble believing lately. 

---------------------

I've been asleep. 

It all happened so gradually, 

and before I knew what was happening, my heart gave up. 

When I think back, there are many details that seem so trivial now, 

but in the moment, I genuinely wasn't sure I would make it. 

I cried a lot. 

I drank more wine than I probably should have some days. 

I spent countless hours aimlessly staring into the ocean. 

I prayed and I prayed and I prayed. 

But my heart was in a coma. 

I am in a coma. 

All the words people say, 

all the encouragement and kind sentiments, 

the many times people tell me to just keep fighting, 

they are never heard over the sounds of the respirator, or the heart monitor. 

It's been three months. 

And for the first time, I'm letting myself remember. 

I'm feeling like I'm ready to open my eyes, 

but then I remember how much light hurts after you've stared into black nothingness for so long, 

and I get scared. 

I'm scared and I'm shaky and I am all too aware of how easy it would be to just stay here in the nothingness. 

But how wasteful.

How useless is a life left strapped to a hospital bed. 

Unmoving, barely breathing. 

Silence. 

Nothing but the push and pull of the respirator. 

I don't want to stay here. 

I know everything is changed. 

Nothing will be as I left it. 

Especially my heart. 

I don't remember how to breathe on my own.

But I can already feel the lids over my eyes separating. 

They slowly peel back, 

and there is nothing but white...

Chronicles Of A Broken Heart.

It's 2:22am.

I'm sitting in my car.

I pulled over into an unknown neighbourhood when I couldn't see the road through my tears. 

I don't alway expect it when it comes, 

but tonight, I knew I would eventually disappear into a puddle of salt water. 

I've been driving around for hours, 

counting the white lines on the highway, trying to make sense of the mess I've become. 

Alas, I am no further along than when I started. 

It seems that for now, the answers still elude me. 

All I do know, is that I'm here.

And I've got to let it happen. 

Whatever it is. 

With absolutely every bit of strength, 

I continue to hold to the promise that this too shall pass. 

Whatever this is. 

And that eventually, 

I'll be okay again.

That I won't run at the thought of answering even the simplest of questions. 

That I will one day be able to talk about everything that Thailand was,

the absolutely incredible and the completely awful. 

The joy comes in the morning, right?

When I was in BC, I sat on the end of a dock and watched the sun set

as I played guitar and sang a song with those words. 

They barely made it past my lips as I fumbled around for composure, 

and I realized that it's not much consolation to know the joy comes in the morning

when I am physically, emotionally and spiritually sitting on a dock watching the sun set, 

knowing that this is just the beginning of a long, dark night. 

---------------

It's 3:47pm.

I drove around for a while and somehow ended up here. 

My phone died a while ago, and with it the music I was listening to. 

I've been left with the sound of steady raindrops. 

I watch each one hit my windshield and glide down, 

picking up other droplets of water, and then they descend and roll off my car together. 

A downward zigzag into the unknown. 

How fitting. 

I watch as my tears make their own zigzag pattern down my cheek. 

Some days I push myself too far, not knowing or understanding the new limits of my fragile state. 

I wonder how I'll ever be able to have the conversation I know needs to be had. 

The words won't come. 

And the ones that do feel inadequate. 

As if they are missing the point of what I'm trying to convey. 

The english language is so limited. 

And it frustrates me knowing that I may never be able to find words big enough to encompass everything. 

So I guess I'll just sit here a little longer and feel. 

I'll stay in this sanctuary, this little piece of refuge that is only mine. 

And I'll grasp at straws, wondering if peace will ever find me. 

--------------

It's 3:57am.

I hardly ever sleep anymore. 

I know I have to get up in a mere two hours to go to work, but I'm restless. 

Restless. 

In every sense of the word. 

I'm sitting on my bedroom floor running my hands through the worn carpet. 

I wonder if I'll ever go back to Thailand. 

If I'll ever experience all the things I dreamed of. 

The truth is, I haven't let myself think about Thailand too much. 

I don't want to let myself miss it because I don't think I could handle it right now. 

Leaving Thailand broke my heart.

More than I could ever accurately explain. 

Watching a ministry that I loved, that I fought for, that I would have readily given my life for, completely crumble on top of me and cease to exist, broke my heart. 

And now, wounded and broken, I'm trying to climb through the rubble and make my way into the daylight again. 

---------------

2:34am. 

I'm sitting on my kitchen floor. 

My back is pressed against the fridge. 

For some reason, the steady hum of electricity pulsing through it calms my anxious thoughts. 

Feeling it's rhythm of cooling, the hum and sigh, makes me feel like there's some order in my life, 

even if it is just a stupid fridge doing it's job. 

I don't know where I am tonight. 

I don't feel like myself. 

I feel like I'm laying in the middle of a desert, withered and dry, 

just waiting, hoping, praying, pleading for the rain. 

The torrential downpour that will flood around me and rehydrate my parched skin and wilted heart. 

There have been moments. 

Little droplets of hope. 

But it's not enough. 

I need to drown in the ocean that I know is coming. 

Some days I feel like I am nothing more than a pile of dry bones. 

In the end of that story, God puts everyone back together and breathes new life into them. 

I believe the bible is truth. 

So my breath of fresh air, so to speak, must be on it's way. 

But until then, 

I'll just sit here, breathing in and out, in and out, feeling the heartbeat of fridge behind me,

and hope that I'll make it through tomorrow. 

Just one day, one hour, one moment at a time. 

And slowly, little by little,

maybe I'll start to come back to life.  

Inhale.

It's cool out this evening. 

Then again, even the hottest day here would feel cool in comparison to the sticky, unrelenting heat of Phuket. 

As much as I hate being cold, it's nice to be able to wear a sweater. 

The sun is setting. 

The most beautiful mountains stand guard in every direction I look. 

I've traveled the world, and in my opinion, there are few mountains that come close to the exquisite beauty of the Canadian Rockies. 

The air feels clean. Dry. Fresh. 

I feel like for the first time in months I can actually allow my lungs to expand past the bones that cage them. 

My heart feels battered. My soul, withered. I am broken in almost every capacity. 

Yet, in this moment, I am content. 

Right here in this moment, there's nothing but the sunset, the mountains, and my broken heart. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

I think I'll stay here for a while longer...