Lighthouses and Living Overseas

How you ever had one of those days? Perhaps one of those weeks? In all honesty, so far, it's been one of those years. For every thing that has come together for us, that has smoothly fallen into place, there is another thing, a much bigger thing, that has unraveled, showing us the splintering cracks around the edges. Just because we said "yes", just because we live and love and lead overseas does not mean that we are immune. To heartache. To disappointment. To betrayal. To confusion. To doubt. To fear. In fact, if you really want the truth, living overseas often times magnifies those very things in us and around us.

In need of some fantastic new tunes to add to our "speak to your soul and tell it to praise the Lord anyway" playlist, we bought Rend Collective's latest album, The Art of Celebration. Every word has been hand picked by God to minister a healing balm, a soothing oil to those gaping wounds we tenderly guard within.

Lyrics such as...

In my wrestling and in my doubts
In my failures You won’t walk out
Your great love will lead me through
You are the Peace in my troubled sea
In the silence You won’t let go
In the questions Your Truth will hold
Your great love will lead me through
You are the Peace in my troubled sea
My lighthouse
Shining in the darkness I will follow You
I will trust the promise
You will carry me safe to shore
— "My Lighthouse" as recorded by Rend Collective

These are the words we are speaking (and singing, albeit off-key) in the darkness that so often permeates the very fringe of our reality here in Southern Asia. Though we are hoarse, we are still speaking, still declaring, still trusting.

One of my current favorite quotes states:

I have learned to kiss the wave that slams me into the Rock of Ages.
— Charles H. Spurgeon, the great Prince of Preachers

Standing nearby, near the fragile space where faith and doubt collide, I can hear the fierce waves beating fervently against the rugged rocks. The constant swooshing is a melodic comfort to my thirsty ears.  The greenery, though sparse and aged, beckons of life and mystery, shooting wildly from within the belly of the bog. The lighthouse, tall and proud, rises up and calls to the tattered ships, and I am one, beaten and worn from a long dark night at sea.  As I look on, the salty air penetrates my barren mouth, reminding me of the serenity to be found at the tranquil brine. Feeling fully alive and breathing in the crisp, fresh scent of pine, I recline upon the rocks and plead for my Lighthouse to whisper words of peace, all the while smiling as the waves thrash recklessly over the quarry of stones.