I am selfish

I first learned I was selfish in college when I thought it would be nice to re-organize my roommate’s desk. Apparently, she didn’t find it quite as “nice”. 

When I got married in 2000, it again became apparent that I am selfish as we worked through all our different roles.

In 2003, Annie was born. I was in way over my head!  Through the tears of sleepless nights, mine and hers, I saw my selfishness. It was ugly. 

In the trenches of young motherhood, many battles to conquer my selfishness were fought. Those battles are still being waged daily. It’s a constant balancing act of figuring out my “rights” and what is just plain selfish.

We made it to Iraq in 2009.  I began a new process of wallowing through my selfishness with team and the rub that comes through living life closely. It’s a painful process that has honed me and brought me life-long friendships.

I came here to bring the Kingdom to the Kurds.  I am discovering it’s been more about me discovering God’s grace and shaving off little pieces of my selfishness. Even the Kurds are helping me with that. I am learning that my “rights” are all turned upside down here because of cultural differences.

 One neighbor in particular, Nazila, has brought this out in me. I have walked with her through birth and death.  I have yelled at her. I have held her.

 Recently she asked me if she could wash her couches in my yard. I have let her wash her rugs and do all sorts of things that seem "weird" to my culture. They feel invasive. For whatever reason, my selfishness won in that moment and I told her, “NO.” I said it politely, but what I didn’t realize is that I had just crossed an invisible line. Directly saying “NO” was offensive.  I realized my mistake a few minutes later when she completely shut herself off to me. 

It was my “right” to say no, wasn’t it? Why can’t I just say, “NO” ? It’s better than lying or making up some lame excuse. I have to have boundaries. I felt terrible for the rift in our friendship. I couldn’t make her understand that our cultures were different. All she heard was “I don’t love you.”  I didn’t have to let her wash her couches in my yard, but I did have to let her know that I was wrong for saying, “I don’t love you,” even though that is not what I meant.

I went to her the next day. Together we sat on her rug and I looked into her eyes and I told her, “I am sorry I hurt you. Forgive me for saying, ‘NO’ like that.” At first she put on her trained, hard exterior so that no one can get in and really hurt her. She claimed it was no big deal and it didn’t bother her. Culturally, I shouldn’t have said no. But culturally, you don’t apologize for an offense either. Culturally, you don’t say, “I have hurt you.” But this time I had to push in and break these cultural rules. Finally, I broke through. We embraced and the tears of forgiveness flowed between us. 

It was a holy moment.

She doesn’t know Jesus yet.  Neither does her daughter, Zilan. She is still hard and selfish, but I am praying circles around her and I know the power of selfless love. I am on the road to greater healing too, these battles can only be fought in hand-to-hand combat. It’s the hardest thing to rub up against someone else’s selfishness with your own, but what it produces, if you are willing to not run away, is a miracle. I am not running away from myself, my family, my team, my friends, my neighbors or the Kurds. I am waiting for the miracle!