The People at the End of the Road

It is not often we see a man so wholly, so unabashedly, and so passionately put his money where his mouth is. For Greg Mortenson, author of Three Cups of Tea and the newly released Stones into Schools, fulfilling a promise to an almost unknown people in the farthest reaches of the world has reverberated so deeply, it is now a daily part of his soul. For Mortenson and for the people he reaches in Pakistan and Afghanistan, education is not simply the obligatory next step, we Americans flippantly accept. Instead, for those whom everyone else has forgotten, education is life -- more than real shoes, decent food, increased industry or governmental assistance -- education is what they crave and need.

The thought makes my brow furrow and my mind race.

It is upon this building block that Mortenson, the CAI, and all the thousands of Afghani and Pakistani people clamoring for a school of their own, are hinging their future. It is with a deep-seated assurance that they know a better life is only possible with this possibility. Peace will reign, not with an increase in bombs but with books and education for girls as well as boys.

For the wife of a military man, this reality sinks in even as we increase the troops present in the war-torn region. I support that decision, but can't help but wonder if the military spent as much time teaching their children as rooting out their insurgents if we'd still have the chaos we see. Few people have inspired me as much as Greg Mortenson. It is with awe I realize how much is riding on his plan.

Admiral Mike Mullen, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, understands the importance of what Greg Mortenson is doing as much as anyone. Even as he fights with weapons made of steel, he demonstrates the value of the weapon of education when he states, "The Muslim community is a subtle world we don't fully and don't always attempt to understand. Only through a shared appreciation of the people's culture, needs, and hopes for the future can we hope ourselves to supplant the extremist narrative. We cannot capture hearts and minds. We must engage them; we must listen to them, one heart and one mind at a time."

Living Out of Control

While marveling the other day at the different turns my life has taken in the last five years, I couldn't help but pour out some of the crazy twists this journey called life has taken me on.

---------------------------------------

The timeline was all planned out.

After another semester abroad, finish school at a Christian university. Move to a large city and start my career. Work hard, and move up quickly. Don’t start dating anyone seriously until 26. Make my career a priority. Get married at 28. Keep my career a priority. Have children at 30. Continue moving up the corporate ladder.

I had my sights set, and everything was going according to plan. All I needed was control. With control came success, power, prestige, and that all-important attribute: independence.

And then, as only God can do, everything was turned on its head. Within six months I met, fell in love with, and married a kind of man I didn’t even believe existed. I was 21. My timeline was shot. My control was gone. My new husband was in the military, and I hadn’t even graduated college. The only thing I knew for certain was the future was out of my hands.

Although a “Christian” since the age of six, I had walked the fence for the last five years. I didn’t trust God to understand my needs, my desires, or my passions. I thought I was the only one I could trust to fulfill my heady aspirations. The last years had seen me live in other countries, graduate at the top of my class, be accepted into prestigious colleges, and yes, decide my own love life. I was making it happen—or so it seemed.

It was mostly in my sometimes-serious, sometimes-not-so-serious dating relationships that I felt the control slipping. Like Paul, I knew what not to do, but found myself doing that exact thing. I knew what to do, but found it almost impossible. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t finding satisfaction or fulfillment. I kept messing up and then hating myself for not being stronger. I couldn’t get it right; I was failing. And it seemed the harder I tried, the more shocking my mess-ups got.

I was ashamed and dirty and repugnant. I had failed.

In all of my years as a “Christian,” I had never gotten to this point. I had always maintained the façade of controlled obedience. From the outside looking in, I was the good girl. I played the game well. But I couldn’t ever bring myself to lay it all on the alter. To fully surrender would be to give me up, and that, I had always thought, was just too risky.

I remember vividly the day I submitted . Finally, completely, truly. I remember praying this prayer on my face in utter angst, “Lord, I surrender. I can’t do this. I trust you. I’m scared, but I trust you. I give up control, I give up my timeline, I give up my desire to control my relationships. No matter what it costs me, I will obey you.”

And like being wrapped in a down comforter by a crackling fire, I felt a love I had only heard about but could never accept. I was an utter failure. I wasn’t good. No matter how hard I tried, I didn’t deserve it, but here it was—a love so real I couldn’t even scoff at how much of a cliché it was. I was loved. In all my failures, I was loved. And the realization that this ABBA Father knew me intimately, and had a greater plan for me than my timeline entailed set in with full force. I didn’t know what was going to come next, but for the first time, it didn’t matter. Even the impending certainty that I would be called to indefinite singleness, didn’t make me cringe. I was not in charge anymore. If God’s plan led me to a life of celibacy and singleness, I would accept it without question.

But God’s ideas are not our ideas. I gave up, and God gave me Bo.

In a test of my newfound faith and trust, God called Bo and I to step out in a radical way, and be married sooner rather than later. God had molded and shaped this incredible man in the previous years, and he was ready. If I was serious about my promise to unclench my control-filled hands, God had the most amazing gift ready for me. It wasn’t on my timetable, I didn’t have all my ducks in a row, and perhaps most importantly, I didn’t even know if I was ready. But that was the point. God didn’t want me ready or strong or resilient by my own volition. He wanted to shape me in His way and in His time.

That was over two years ago. My life now requires not only an open hand, but all too often, open fingers. My plans consistently slip through the cracks like innumerable grains of sand, and that is ok. As wife to a man who is part of an elite special operations group, I take each day as it comes—thankful for the days when my husband is home and fully reliant for the many days he is gone and our lives are in the air. I have no control, but I am happy and I am blessed. I understand the love and desire of a very real heavenly Father when he says in Jeremiah, “For I know the plans I have for you; plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Many would say I live a crazy life. I would have it no other way.