More than Survivors

This week I had a break through moment. One of those moments I really needed in order to feel like I was getting somewhere. Let me back up; my biggest struggle here and one of the locals biggest barrier to experiencing intimacy is their lack of freedom in showing emotions. 

Let me unpack this for a minute. In this culture (typically), if you are older than a small child you don’t cry, even over a death, you don’t share your deep inner feelings. Emotions such as love you are shy to speak or show, even with your own family. Husbands and wives…. romance? You can forget that, that is a thing of fairytales.

Then you put me in the picture, for those of you who know me I wear my heart on my sleeve, am a complete romantic, really hate shallow talk and want to go straight for the deep heart when I meet people. See the opposition? I get so frustrated knowing the joy they are missing out on.

Now don’t judge these people, they aren’t heartless or emotionless. Not at all. They are amazingly wonderful and love quietly. Their loyalty to each other is something I will never understand fully. They feel strong emotions as much as anybody does. But they do not show it, and that is the hard part. I know the desire to deeply love their children, speak encouragement and romance their spouse is in them. The difference is one word. Survival.

My Farmers people have been survivors for generations, and that has changed their mentality. You don’t have the emotional capacity to think about romancing your wife when you don’t know how you’re going to eat your next meal. You can’t ponder your philosophic thoughts on that article you read this morning, when you have never read a book and don’t have time to think about anything but food, water, and shelter. You can see that survivor look in the eyes, the oppression is trying to snuff the life out of those eyes. 

But this country is changing and so is their reality. Most of them are stable enough to not worry about eating (at least in this village), but the mindset is still as before. They aren’t comfortable to share those deep emotions with each other. In fact if I talk to my future mother in law about her children she will usually respond with how ugly and lazy they are. Now, I know she loves them, but she doesn't tell them that. She never has uttered those words before. She will sacrifice and work hard to feed them, and that is as soft and fuzzy as she gets. 

Some days this doesn't bother me. But many days it does. I miss watching people lift each other up with encouragement. Or a husband and wife showing affection, or people feeling free to be emotional. I often talk about how loving fully and passionately is so important, and having an outlet to express how you feel is one of the beautiful things that makes us human.  Music, love and passion are what make survival worth it. Especially when we have experienced love from The Father.

When I share this they say,  “You can love well because you’re a foreigner. It’s just not our culture” or "I'm too shy, my children don't need to hear I love them, they just know." There is some truth to what they say, but never have I been met with discomfort when I spoke encouragement to somebody here. Or spoke love. If I ever speak love to them they soak it up like they have tried water for the first time. I usually respond, "What will the words, I love you, ever do but make somebody happy?" Sometimes simply knowing something isn't enough, sometimes we need to hear it, to feel it. That is what makes love so beautiful. 

So fast-forward to the other day; I’m sitting with a boy I’ve been mentoring for almost four years. One of my favorites, San. I met him when he was 12 now he is a strapping 16 year old. He is precious, hard working and always tender towards me, with the ability to have deep conversations. His dad passed away about a year and a half ago. After that he dropped out of school to provide for his mom. He is the only one of her kids that takes care of her. He works hard, I worry about him a lot. When I ask him what his dreams are he says, “I want enough money to build my mom a nice house, so she has food and doesn’t have to work or worry.”

The conversation shifted towards his dad, and I started chatting about the freedom to express your emotions, I knew nobody talked about grief here. He looked at me and said, “Mookie I’ve never grieved my dad once. I think about him everyday, I’ve slept on his grave twice, but never cried.”

I gave him the freedom to cry if he needed to, not thinking he would actually do it. Emotions are not easily released in this culture. 

He did. It was like releasing a waterfall that had been held back for years. In that moment I knew these people were waiting for an outlet to be emotional.  But didn’t know how to release it yet.

I sat with my sweet boy and let him weep. I listened to him talk about his dad. I couldn’t believe this was the first time he had showed any emotion about the death of his own father. Afterwards he said he felt lighter, better and then we went fishing.

I felt so much hope in that moment. They wanted to express feeling.  It wasn't a culture thing, it was something else holding them back. But he had dared to show his sorrow, and knowing he felt safe enough with me to show it was a huge break through. 

Survival was the culprit. And I'm watching them slowly but surely get out of the survival mindset. The clutches of poverty that steals not just money and food, but knowledge, freedom and emotion, was slowly losing it's grip in that conversation. Captives are being set free through a powerful day on a cross. And getting to be a piece of love that will influence the young people here is an honor. San was one of the first, but more are following. My little sister now can't wait to hug me in the morning and say "I love you" before she goes to school. We are taking baby steps, but they are steps. 

People are people, no matter where you are; we are very much the same. But our circumstances change the way we live. But I’m watching our Father come in and touch the oppressed with love. He is daring them to love, to be more than survivors.