Testimony
A couple of weeks ago, I was asked to share a testimony at my organization's regional conference regarding what I had learned about hope during my residence permit issues. Below is what I wrote out and shared. It has been slightly edited for the context of this page.
I arrived in Austria in November 2017 on a tourist visa. What we didn't know at the time is that I would live the next year on a 90-day rotation between Austria and Ireland while I waited on a decision about my residence permit. We found out that my residence permit was denied about a week before my tourist visa expired. I had a short amount of time to get my Austrian affairs in order and to make plans regarding Ireland. At first, I saw going to Ireland as a great adventure and opportunity. I get to live in Galway, Ireland?! I had never been there before and had always wanted to go. I love the ocean and was going to be able to live next to it. I would also get to know different people from my organization. This was going to be great! And it was. At first. As the year continued, I struggled with the uncertainty of the situation, and the stress began to take its toll. It was hard to try and settle in anywhere because I didn't know how long I would be in a location. As I was starting to adjust to Austrian culture and the German language, my 90 days in Austria would end and it would be time to go to Ireland. As I was starting to adjust to Irish culture and Irish English, my 90 days there would end, and I would head back to Austria. I couldn't really commit to things or didn't want to deepen relationships with people because I didn't know if I would be there longer than 90 days. There was this constant refrain, "If I'm still here."
Not only was I still reeling from the losses that happen from moving from the US to Europe, but I also had to deal with the losses of my current experience: loss of expectations and plans, loss of people, loss of treasures and belongings, loss of home, loss of purpose, loss of knowing what to do in a culture, loss of language competency, loss of voice and agency in my own life, loss of stability and security, and loss of identity. So when I was asked if I would be willing to share about what I learned about hope during that situation, it was a bit of a challenge to be honest because I never saw hope as a theme or a constant during that year. I realized that I had a shallow definition of hope--that hope was more of a wish than something to rely on. Looking through my journal from that year, I see that my understanding of hope was developed and strengthened.
I came to learn that hope is knowing that the darkness will not last forever. One night at the end of my second rotation in Ireland I was really struggling, and I went outside to clear my head and swing. It was dark by that time and the moon was clothed in clouds. So I'm swinging and praying and asking God, "God, I just feel invisible. Do You see me? Do You see what I'm going through? Do You see what's happening? Do You really see me? Show me that You see me. I need to know." That's when I heard this small voice: I am the God who sees. I was reminded of Hagar when she was in the wilderness thinking she and Ishmael were about to die, and God spoke to her. She gave Him the name El Roi, the God Who Sees. The first name given to God and that's what it was. And it was beautiful because in that moment on the swing, as I heard that voice, the moon shed her clothes of clouds and was bright and shining in the darkness. Even now when I see the moon I am reminded of that time with God and of hope.
What helped me to hope during that year of residence permit instability was that I chose to be obedient to God and have faith in Him. I learned that hope is not just a feeling but a choice. During that year, I couldn't tell you if I had hope or not. I only knew that I was following God and doing what He asked me to do. We had done everything that we were asked and supposed to do. We sent in so many documents, extra documents, copies of documents. Ultimately, the results were in God's hands. I had to remind myself that when I became a Christian, I gave my life to Him to do what He wanted. If He wanted me to have unexpected journeys there and back again to Ireland, then so be it. Did I question God at all? Oh yeah! At the beginning of my second rotation in Ireland, I went to this wood to talk with God. That talk became an unleashing of emotions as I asked Him what He was doing. Not in very nice tones by the way. I still trusted God but at that point I needed something more to go on. The discussion didn't end with a grand revelation or anything but a quiet affirmation to trust and obey. I could continue this journey because I knew who I was following.
Along with trust and obedience, I learned that hope does not grow in isolation. It needs other people and it needs help so that the darkness does not overcome it. Some of the most treasured moments of that year are the friends I gained along the way. My heroes. People who asked how I was and listened to the answer. People who would listen to me, truly listen. People who reminded me to live and how to live. People to go on adventures with and to laugh, have fun, and be silly with. People who helped me to hope when the darkness grew and felt overwhelming. Moses needed help holding up his arms, and I needed help to keep the light of hope burning.
Honestly, I would not want to go through that experience again, but I am grateful for it in how it drew me closer to God and what it taught me about hope. Hope is powerful and difficult to keep. You have to work for it and fight for it at times. But ultimately, it's worth it. If you are struggling to have hope now, with whatever it may be, I want you to know that God sees you. He is the God who sees. The night may be black and the moon may be covered with clouds, but it is not forever. The moon will shine again.
I arrived in Austria in November 2017 on a tourist visa. What we didn't know at the time is that I would live the next year on a 90-day rotation between Austria and Ireland while I waited on a decision about my residence permit. We found out that my residence permit was denied about a week before my tourist visa expired. I had a short amount of time to get my Austrian affairs in order and to make plans regarding Ireland. At first, I saw going to Ireland as a great adventure and opportunity. I get to live in Galway, Ireland?! I had never been there before and had always wanted to go. I love the ocean and was going to be able to live next to it. I would also get to know different people from my organization. This was going to be great! And it was. At first. As the year continued, I struggled with the uncertainty of the situation, and the stress began to take its toll. It was hard to try and settle in anywhere because I didn't know how long I would be in a location. As I was starting to adjust to Austrian culture and the German language, my 90 days in Austria would end and it would be time to go to Ireland. As I was starting to adjust to Irish culture and Irish English, my 90 days there would end, and I would head back to Austria. I couldn't really commit to things or didn't want to deepen relationships with people because I didn't know if I would be there longer than 90 days. There was this constant refrain, "If I'm still here."
Not only was I still reeling from the losses that happen from moving from the US to Europe, but I also had to deal with the losses of my current experience: loss of expectations and plans, loss of people, loss of treasures and belongings, loss of home, loss of purpose, loss of knowing what to do in a culture, loss of language competency, loss of voice and agency in my own life, loss of stability and security, and loss of identity. So when I was asked if I would be willing to share about what I learned about hope during that situation, it was a bit of a challenge to be honest because I never saw hope as a theme or a constant during that year. I realized that I had a shallow definition of hope--that hope was more of a wish than something to rely on. Looking through my journal from that year, I see that my understanding of hope was developed and strengthened.
I came to learn that hope is knowing that the darkness will not last forever. One night at the end of my second rotation in Ireland I was really struggling, and I went outside to clear my head and swing. It was dark by that time and the moon was clothed in clouds. So I'm swinging and praying and asking God, "God, I just feel invisible. Do You see me? Do You see what I'm going through? Do You see what's happening? Do You really see me? Show me that You see me. I need to know." That's when I heard this small voice: I am the God who sees. I was reminded of Hagar when she was in the wilderness thinking she and Ishmael were about to die, and God spoke to her. She gave Him the name El Roi, the God Who Sees. The first name given to God and that's what it was. And it was beautiful because in that moment on the swing, as I heard that voice, the moon shed her clothes of clouds and was bright and shining in the darkness. Even now when I see the moon I am reminded of that time with God and of hope.
What helped me to hope during that year of residence permit instability was that I chose to be obedient to God and have faith in Him. I learned that hope is not just a feeling but a choice. During that year, I couldn't tell you if I had hope or not. I only knew that I was following God and doing what He asked me to do. We had done everything that we were asked and supposed to do. We sent in so many documents, extra documents, copies of documents. Ultimately, the results were in God's hands. I had to remind myself that when I became a Christian, I gave my life to Him to do what He wanted. If He wanted me to have unexpected journeys there and back again to Ireland, then so be it. Did I question God at all? Oh yeah! At the beginning of my second rotation in Ireland, I went to this wood to talk with God. That talk became an unleashing of emotions as I asked Him what He was doing. Not in very nice tones by the way. I still trusted God but at that point I needed something more to go on. The discussion didn't end with a grand revelation or anything but a quiet affirmation to trust and obey. I could continue this journey because I knew who I was following.
Along with trust and obedience, I learned that hope does not grow in isolation. It needs other people and it needs help so that the darkness does not overcome it. Some of the most treasured moments of that year are the friends I gained along the way. My heroes. People who asked how I was and listened to the answer. People who would listen to me, truly listen. People who reminded me to live and how to live. People to go on adventures with and to laugh, have fun, and be silly with. People who helped me to hope when the darkness grew and felt overwhelming. Moses needed help holding up his arms, and I needed help to keep the light of hope burning.
Honestly, I would not want to go through that experience again, but I am grateful for it in how it drew me closer to God and what it taught me about hope. Hope is powerful and difficult to keep. You have to work for it and fight for it at times. But ultimately, it's worth it. If you are struggling to have hope now, with whatever it may be, I want you to know that God sees you. He is the God who sees. The night may be black and the moon may be covered with clouds, but it is not forever. The moon will shine again.
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