"I'm Not That Girl"

Warning: This blog entry is very personal.  It reveals some of my many weaknesses. Enjoy! 

"I’m Not That Girl"

At some point in our older years the person we envisioned becoming when we were young has to encounter the person that we are. Ideally this meeting should be a pleasant experience where the two people will not only recognize one another, but they will find that they know each other well. In fact, they will have become one and the same. 

In the worst case scenario the older person will look at the idealized version of her younger self and with a bewildered expression declare that she's never seen that woman before causing her to go away disappointed, dejected, never to show herself again.  

While being on this mission I have had several opportunities to remember the person who as a young girl I used to dream about becoming. I have had to come face to face with that person and confront the reality of how much we now differ. I've had to look her in the eye and say, “I’m not you. But I do remember you."

As a young girl my aspirations were greatly informed by some of the books I read and the movies I saw. It was those heroes and heroines who influenced who I wanted to become and kindled in me a desire to save the world.

Case in point #1  “Christy”  

What I envisioned:
I remember reading Catherine Marshall’s book, Christy. My heart burned with a desire to be like the tireless young woman who went on a mission to help the impoverished families in the Appalachian mountains. I was there with Christy when typhoid fever broke out and she worked around the clock to care for the suffering people there. I helped her place cold compresses on the fevered foreheads of her patients as I held out my bucket to catch the bloody phlegm they would cough up onto my well-worn apron soiled with the stains of human suffering. I was right there with Christy. And her apron looked good on me.

The Reality: While being here I’ve realized I have a serious case of what my kids used to call “the ickys." I hate germs. I hate the places that germs like to hangout. And there are lots of those here. And I detest bodily fluids and pretty much all things bodily. When a missionary wanted to show me his rash I kindly declined and told him to just send me a photo. (and then I made David look at the photo.) You'd think that all those years looking at my father's medical books would have made me immune to gross bodily stuff or maybe it scarred me forever instead. And David knows I will go to great lengths to avoid going into the restroom at Church on Sunday, especially if we are there at the end of the day when the wastebaskets are usually overflowing with dirty toilet paper. (remember they don’t flush the dirty paper here.) My gag reflex has been triggered several times while in the bathroom causing me to have to hide in my stall until everyone else leaves so they won’t be able to identify me as the gagger. Let's face it. I'm a wimp.

Case #2 “Ingrid”

What  I envisioned:

I always saw myself as the brave heroine. I was there. I know I was there with Ingrid Bergman in the movie The Inn of the Sixth Happiness when she escorted a hundred little orphaned school children through the mountains of China escaping the gunfire of the encroaching Japanese army and leading them to safety. Wasn’t I there?  I could have sworn I was.  Didn’t you see me?  In my young mind I was leading the way.  Me and Ingrid.  We were so close.  Two of a kind.

The Reality: I’m a chicken. So many things here scare me. I won’t even drive a car here much less lead a hundred children through enemy territory because it is too terrifying to me. Leaving my house here feels like entering a war zone. And it's all I can do to spend a night here alone. Let's face it.  I'm a fraidy cat.

Case #3  “Dr. Tom Dooley”

What I envisioned:
I’m not quite sure how old I was when I first read Dr. Tom Dooley’s Book, The Night They Burned The Mountain. I think I was still in Catholic school. It is the story of a young Doctor who gave his life to serve those in need. For his work in Southeast Asia he became known as the “Jungle Doctor.” This book had a profound affect on me. It made me even consider becoming a nun so that I could devote myself full time to serving others. It really made me want to save the world.

The Reality:  I’ve come a long way from wanting to give my whole life to save the world. Frankly, it was very hard for me to give three years of my life to come here and be away from home. And even though I love what we are doing here I have to admit I sometimes look longingly at the calendar anticipating the day when I get to go home. I long not only for the people of home but for the comforts of home also. You know it's bad when you define sacrifice as having to live without a bathtub and Ziplock bags. Let's face it. I'm a pampered baby.

But don’t give up on me yet!

One thing I am learning is that even though that person that I dreamed of being doesn’t quite match up with who I am now, there is still hope. If that ideal person I envisioned as a young girl looks deep into my eyes now I think she might still see a glimmer of herself in me. 

Some glimmers:

* The time my desire to hug a newly baptized convert overpowered my worry that she might have lice. Ok so it’s not Christy and Typhoid fever, but it’s a start, right?

Or

* When my desire to share the Gospel overpowers my hesitation about going into certain neighborhoods. Not exactly escorting orphans into a war zone, but it holds promise, don't you think?

Or

* When I realize that it is the deep love I feel for these missionaries and this work that makes me want to use the time I have here to the best of my ability in spite of the fact that I know one day I will be so excited to go home. Yes it isn't exactly the same as giving my whole life to be a missionary in the mountains of South East Asia, but I do want to serve with all my heart, might, mind and strength for the limited time I have here.

I must take heart in these glimmers. They point me to the miracle of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. As long as we have that glimmer of His Light in us then there is hope. I guess what really matters is if we can see in ourselves some semblance of the person He envisions that we can become.

But I hope I won't ever completely lose touch with that person my young heart aspired to be. She's still there beneath the quickly-appearing wrinkles and furrowed brow. I hope she isn't too disappointed in me. I can still see her as clearly as I can see Ingrid Bergman rounding the hillside with a hundred children trailing behind her. I see Ingrid now, wearing her Chinese cone-shaped douli hat. She’s looking back at me smiling. She's motioning for me to come join her. She’s letting me know that the story isn’t over yet and that there's still time for me to help save the children. Still time for me to help save the world. There’s still time for me to help save myself. There's still time.