Listen to the Things
I am not sure where I first read it, but the one sentence pulses over and over in my heart, "Listen to the things that break your heart." I don't want to listen. I want to ignore. I want to push past. I don't have time. I went shopping this morning, and between one corner and another I picked up a follower. A skinny, scraggly brown and white mutt. The typical small, delicate, almost wild-dog looking creature. And she decided she wanted to be mine.
Most dogs in Brazil (where I am serving) ignore you. There are dirty, dingy ones all over, some looking sick and ready to die, others looking for a pack--but they know the deal: they are ignored and they ignore. Brazilian street dogs act like cats. I all of my jogging adventures, I've been chased by more cows than dogs.
In another life, at age seven, I thought I'd become a vet to save all the strays. Somewhere around age 17 I realized I only had one life, and not enough time: I needed to choose between saving animals or helping children. I chose children. But I still have a soft spot for dogs. In the store shop window, I saw the reflection of the little dog following faithfully a couple steps behind me. I still ignored. I spoke under my breath, "Go away, I don't want to stop, I don't want to feel this now." I finally crouched down and looked her in the face: "Wrong time, little friend. Wrong time: I am leaving."
I passed a dog food shop and bought some food. Her ribs were showing. I put the food in a little corner and then ran to the grocery store. But a minute later, while in the milk aisle, she found me again. Dogs in grocery stores. My heart changed to begin worry that she would stop following me. How long could she keep it up? I began the casual glance behind me. It wasn't until I crossed the street that I looked back and saw the dog almost get hit that I sat down, patted her softly, and said, "You can't do things like that. You are making me worry about you, and I can't have something more to worry about."
I walked briskly the rest of the way home, determined to not look back, to not worry, to not feel, because once I got to my apartment door, there was nothing else to do. And somewhere around the last corner it worked. I put away my groceries in silence. "Listen to the things that break your heart." I am overwhelmed right now, planning a million things before leaving the country I love. I don’t have time. Or is it that I don’t have time not to.
a wedding, planning literacy programs and Children’s Day celebrations for the kids we are serving. Learning how to work through little annoying habits with my fiancée and finding I need to invest more in some key relationships that I want to last forever--but they don't last forever left on their own. There are a million little pin-pricks to the heart every day, different "coulda-shoulda" or "what if" or just plain hard things. Listening to the things that break my heart makes me face my brokenness when I want to think I have things all put together. I don't. And it hurt that I couldn't help that little dog. It hurt because I know there are so many other little dogs out there. It hurt because there was no one else to help that little dog. It hurt because I knew I could make a difference if I really wanted to, but I didn't have the time and in the end, it wasn't a priority. Sometimes it kills me that in making a decision to say "yes" to one thing, it means saying "no" to so many other things.
Deeper than that, it hurt because it reminded me that I am leaving. This phase of my life is me getting ready to say goodbye to being single, goodbye to the life I've been living for the last 30 years, goodbye to the amazing people in my life who live in Brazil. It is saying yes to the man I love and the life I know God has for me, but it is still a hard step.
**
As I re-read the words I wrote over ten years ago, they cut in the same cracks in my heart. I think of all the times since then I’ve listened to the things that broke my heart, and all of the times I ignored them. I still serve with the mission’s organization I was with back then. I got married, returned to the field, birthed two beautiful Brazilian babies, and then the pandemic. Now I work stateside. One of the big things that breaks my heart is that I wanted that life in Brazil forever, but it wasn’t to be. It wasn’t the best for my family, and our dreams together. While I bask in the joy of obedience and seeing us flourish, the heartbreak cuts in random, small things.
Living in the USA for eleven months and two weeks each year works well, and my cup is filled in the two weeks I lead trips back to Brazil each summer, seeing new eyes enjoy my second home as I always have. I didn’t realize they were watching my eyes until they comment, “I didn’t know you were a foodie! Your face lights up every time you explain the next meal to us!” I don’t consider myself a foodie. Sure, I enjoy it, but I also grab whatever is most convenient. But after that comment, I began to notice more. It isn’t about the food—it is about the 17 years of memories connected to eating that food.
“Listen to what makes your heart jump for joy.” I came up with that one myself, but probably not. It helped a lot in transition. After years in Brazil, I loved so much. After leaving, I missed so much. Returning, it all overwhelmed me. But the food? That was an old friend that was easy to embrace. Introducing new people to my old buddies is fun:
“This is a coconut. Remember how in the movies they are brown and have milk inside them? That is all bogus. We have green and yellow coconuts, and they are much bigger—that’s because the harry brown ones you see in the store in America are old coconuts, cut out of their husk. These are young ones, fresh off the tree. The Brazilians could not stop laughing at me when I kept asking where the other kind (brown ones with milk) of coconuts were. No coconut has milk inside them, that was just for the movies.”
“Young coconuts are best served cold. Once you finish drinking the water (which not all Americans like at first—that is ok), the vender will chop open the coconut and you can scoop out the meat with a piece of the husk he will cut for you. The meat is still very thin. As the coconut matures, the meat grows and the water is absorbed until it forms the hardened meat. You can shred it into coconut as we know it (which tastes different because they sugar it so much), or blend it with (coconut) water, making coconut milk.”
My face is glowing again. My heart pumps fast, and something inside me drinks deeply as I watch these Americans try coconut water from a coconut for the first time. A million moments fill me, of times I’ve been refreshed by a cool coconut, or carried the husk around, determined to find some way to creatively use it. And I am not sure how, but listening to my heart combines. Where my heart is breaking collides with where my heart is jumping for joy. I pull myself together for the tour to continue, but know my journal will be full of thoughts later that evening.
I watch myself repeat this process almost every meal. There is always something new to introduce, or some question they have about what they are about to put into their mouth. They enjoy my explanation sometimes more than the actual food, but I am happy to see they always try. There are many things I cannot put into words yet, and that is okay. I am still working on my listening skills, inside and outside of myself. There is joy and pain everywhere, and sometimes joy/pain. Listening is the first step to working through to a place where God makes it good.
Romans 8:28 "And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose."