In the Whirlwind

It's been quite a two weeks, and much of what I wrote previously about jumping into the whirlwind has come to fruition. This isn't a good thing or bad thing, per se, but insomuch I had anticipated challenges associated with a major life change, I can safely say that they've been as advertised. The "unknown" can be scary and trying at times, but I still maintain that its within this crucible that there's incredible spiritual growth.

To me, one of the most difficult feelings to have is feeling alone. Now feeling alone is not the same as being alone physically. For example, I've always found it interesting that in New York City, it was actually really easy to feel alone and isolated in a city of eight million people. Why? Because ultimately, loneliness is an emotional state based on interpersonal connection, not on the number of people physically in close proximity to you. In fact, being surrounded by people who you have no relational connection with actually exacerbates feelings of loneliness.

Probably the hardest moment in the first two weeks was coming back from day one into a dark and empty apartment which hadn't yet been furnished. I had finished day one of my jam-packed executive orientation which left my head spinning and was at Wal-Mart (people have their issues with Wal-Mart, but I have to say that there's great convenience in a single store where you can buy a hair-dryer, silverware, an air mattress and groceries) picking up crates of items to make my unfurnished apartment habitable. I was a stranger in a new land and on my own, away from the comfort of family, extended family and friends - and also apart from the security and familiarity of a job and company which I knew like the back of my hand. And it was hard not to think, "What have I done?"

But while that general feeling and struggle continues to wax and wane, I do what Christians do in times of hardship - I clung to Jesus. A recent devotional from "Our Daily Bread" written by David Roper illustrated this very well:

After all these years, I still don’t fully understand prayer. It’s something of a mystery to me. But one thing I know: When we’re in desperate need, prayer springs naturally from our lips and from the deepest level of our hearts. 

When we’re frightened out of our wits, when we’re pushed beyond our limits, when we’re pulled out of our comfort zones, when our well-being is challenged and endangered, we reflexively and involuntarily resort to prayer. “Help, Lord!” is our natural cry.
Author Eugene Peterson wrote: “The language of prayer is forged in the crucible of trouble. When we can’t help ourselves and call for help, when we don’t like where we are and want out, when we don’t like who we are and want a change, we use primal language, and this language becomes the root language of prayer.” 

Prayer begins in trouble, and it continues because we’re always in trouble at some level. It requires no special preparation, no precise vocabulary, no appropriate posture. It springs from us in the face of necessity and, in time, becomes our habitual response to every issue—good and bad—we face in this life (Phil. 4:6).

This is pretty much what I was and am still currently experiencing, and while it somewhat hurts, it hurts good, sort of like the way an athlete feels after a hard workout or a match where they've left it all out on the court. Like I alluded to in my previous post before I began the journey, surrender has driven me to my knees and to pray unceasingly, over the phone with my wife, in the car on my way to and from work and sitting down in the gate area waiting for my planes.


But God is good - having an opportunity to fly back "home" (though it's getting harder to define what this actually is, but I'll define 'home' as the location of my wife and kids) and spend time with my loved ones was tremendously rejuvenating. I think what I'm going through has softened and sanded some edges in terms of not sweating the small stuff, and appreciating basic things like health and the company of the people I love. I've also realized that this period has given me renewed respect and appreciation for people who have undergone similar life changes but at a much more difficult level.

For example, it dawned upon me how difficult it must be for the brave men and women in our armed forces. Here are people who separate from family and depart to places halfway around the world, not merely halfway across the country. They go to new unfamiliar environs without the benefit of regular phone calls and emails and if their cost of "washing out" are far more dire than mine. If I this new job "ends badly", I get some inconvenience, professional pride wounded and a chunk of severance to figure out what to do next in my life and my next job. If armed forces individual in their new job "ends badly", they come home in casket.

I also have renewed respect for my parents and all immigrants who spent their life savings on a one-way ticket to the United States, moving to a land where they barely spoke the language with a hope to build a better life for their family. Let's just say that I'm very aware that my father didn't have the luxury of generous cash and stock sign-on bonuses, temporary housing and travel allowances when he left Taiwan for Canada with a single suitcase to study microbiology. He didn't have e-mail, Skype or unlimited mobile minutes.

I cite these not to trivialize what I'm going through, only to give due respect to those whose transitions are far more challenging than mine. My angst, stress and homesickness (for lack of a better word) is real, but God is here. And I am reminded that He's all that I need.