Life from a colabear viewpoint

The following is an excerpt from DEAR FRIEND: A BOOK OF ADVICE by Michaelbrent Collings:

Dear Friend,

Another hard day, huh? And this one was worse than most, I understand. Sometimes it just seems like life is going to be horrible forever, doesn’t it? Yeah, I’ve had days like that myself. Some really bad things have happened in my life. Some of them I still dream about from time to time, they were so bad. So, speaking as one who’s been there with you, can I give a bit of advice? Think of this whenever you get in real trouble: “Life stinks now, but think what a good story it will make later on.” Let me explain: While I was working as a missionary in South America, I suffered from what could only be described as “severe culture shock” for a while.

Not too long. Only about a year.

During that year, the first six months I cried just about every day. I stuck it out, because sometimes you have to go through the bad to accomplish something worthwhile. But no denying it was hard and I was at the end of a very frayed rope a lot of the time. Eventually I was able to get used to life in a different place. I got used to the food, the buses, the dirt, the dust, getting sick every week or so, and a host of other things.

But it was tough. It was a battle, and every single day I had to struggle to wake up, put on my clothes, and get out there to do the job. Luckily I was blessed with some very good friends and support that helped me to get through this difficult time. But even with that help, there were times I felt like just chucking it all and going back stateside, settling down with a Root Beer and a 100-pack of Taco Bell tacos, and trying to remember what it was like to not be sweating 24/7.

After I got through that stage, I started to do a little better, and eventually was put in charge of training groups of other missionaries, getting them ready to do their jobs, working with them, helping them solve their problems. It was a rewarding position to be in, but it also made my heart ache sometimes. Particularly when I saw the struggles the new folks had, trying to get used to such a radically different environment and a work schedule that put everyone on the edge of total exhaustion.

One day, I was talking to a new guy. I’d been down there for almost two years, and he was just off the plane from the U.S. His shirt was bright white; mine had been stained red by the airborne dust of the area. His pants were pleated slacks; mine were dirty purple canvas pants, patched at both knees. He had fair skin; mine was brown and scarred from months in a tropical sun. He was a slightly chubby kid; I was gaunt from walking miles every day through jungle paths and from working so hard I was just too tired to eat. We were night and day, and his first reaction was to gawk at me and ask why I didn’t look “like a missionary.”

I smiled and sat down with him for a few minutes, telling him about some of the things that had happened to me, some of the reasons behind my appearance. I even showed him a picture of the way I had looked when I arrived to prove that at one time I had been a fairly good looking young man (sadly, even after my return to the United States, it seems that I had left that part of my life behind me…ah, well…). We laughed a bit about some of the adventures I had been through, but as we talked, his laughter started to be tinged by nervousness. He started to sound suspiciously like a person thinking “What have I gotten myself into?”

That was hardly the way I wanted him to feel…after all, I personally believed that the job was a rewarding one, in spite of its challenges. But neither could I put my arm around his shoulder and truthfully say, “Don’t worry, nothing bad is going to happen to you!” I looked at him for a minute, then said, “You know, I think you’re worried that this might be a bit of a wild ride. And you might be right. But whenever something tough happens, just think what a great story it’s going to make when it’s over.”

I have no idea where that little bit of wisdom came from, but it turned out to be one of the smarter things I have said in my life.

About a month later I was walking home after a long hard day, and this same chubby kid was sitting on my doorstep. He was less chubby now, and his shirt had already started changing color. But beyond that, the thing I noticed most was his expression. He needed to talk to someone, so he had come to find me. That was okay, it was my job, but usually when people showed up at my door late at night it wasn’t to tell good news. So I was worried.

Sure enough, he asked if he could talk, and before I had even said yes, he blurted out, “Someone tried to run me over with a car today.”

I didn’t know what to say. Stuff like that happened sometimes: there were some folks in the area who didn’t think of us as missionaries, but as Americans, and were more than willing to knock off one of the “oppressors” if they got the chance. I had had similar run-ins myself, and they were never pleasant.

So I was worried. I was worried that he had been hurt, or that he was going to quit and go home, or that he was going to do any of a million other things. Sure enough, his next sentence was, “I have never been so scared, and when it happened, I really thought about packin’ it in and going home.”

My heart jumped. I had seen a few missionaries “pack it in” and head out because of things like this, and I hated to see that.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

He broke into a grin, and said, “I’m going to tell a heckuva good story about it some day.”

He gave me a big hug, then walked away. He’d come to visit me just to tell me that he was going to stick it out. That was a big deal in that place, because going anywhere usually meant a ride on a “chicken bus” and a hefty bit of hiking. So on one level I was just glad that he was such a nice guy that he would want to come out to say “thank you.”

On another level, I was glad he was staying. On a last level, I realized I might have struck gold.

Bad things happen to everyone. They’re a part of life. But thinking how great it will be to tell about it later can get us through it. It’s a comfort and a safety line.First of all, saying “Boy, this will be a great story later” reminds us that “later” is going to happen. That is to say, one of the greatest problems when we go into crisis mode is that we as human beings also tend to go into “permanent crisis mode.” We start to perceive life as one big emergency, as one never-ending series of life and death decisions…and it’s hard to get anything done or to enjoy anything when that’s happening. So it’s good to have a little reminder that in this life no experience – not even a bad one – is going to last forever.

Second, we all like to be the heroes of our stories, don’t we? So it might even be more tragic if nothing bad ever happened to us. Not that I’m recommending that we search out opportunities to suffer and endure trial and tribulation, but when those moments do come along, it’s not a horrible thing…it’s our chance to shine! We buckle down and think, “Now is the time when the universe has decided that someone’s got to get this stuff done…and the universe has chosen me to do it! I am the man or woman for the job!” In essence, we can then allow ourselves to rise to a challenge, rather than feel crushed by a burden.

I continued to tell new missionaries this little bit of accidental wisdom, and had several of them tell me how helpful it had been for them. I even got an email some years later from one of them who had kept saying that to himself, even after moving back to the U.S. and being employed in a different field. So when I am hit by an unplanned emergency, I just take a deep breath and think ahead for a second. To the day when this particular crisis is past and I get to tell a great story about overcoming adversity.

And then I get to work.

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