On Failure and Framing

In a lot of ways, I feel like I'm failing at Ireland.

I try to keep my posts to Facebook and Instagram more upbeat. I know that people don't like to listen to others complain on the Internet, and I like posting pictures but don't like taking my phone out in the rain, so you normally get happy, sunny-ish shots. In addition, I know that this is a great opportunity, and I don't want to waste it. I'm trying to cultivate a sense of gratitude and cling to the good days when they come. So I snap a photo, cut it so it only shows the interesting parts, pop on a hashtag, and I update you all.

What this leads to, though, is me feeling like I'm being inauthentic: You all see the pretty photos with the carefully applied filters, but you don't get the full picture. In a lot of ways, this relates back to framing. Parts of this town, and parts of this study abroad experience, are truly valuable and life-giving and beautiful, in the most sincere, God-ordained sense of the word. But just outside that Insta-square and in between the lines of well thought out comments lies the reality, and it's not often that pretty.

Case in point: I uploaded this picture to Instagram, saying something about how I was slowly learning to love the town. What you didn't see was that I had spent the miles before stumbling across this place wallowing in self-pity, and that seeing something beautiful was the only redemptive part of the day. I was learning to force myself to love Galway. Plus, on the other side of the street lay a sketchy apartment complex. I just didn't show you that part.

In reality, there are some days in Ireland that are great, and there are a lot more days where I barely feel like I'm holding on. In reality, it's pouring rain today and I'll be wearing these soaking wet clothes for the next seven hours before I go home. In reality, I have a half an hour walk home ahead of me, where I'll go up to a room that's absolutely freezing because, despite the fact that the plumber has come no less than five times since I've been here, my radiator never works for more than two days after he fixes it.

In reality, I don't have any Irish friends. Sure, I know some very nice people, but they have well constructed lives with their own communities, and I'm too self-conscious to try and invite myself in. I'll go to the pre-structured events and ministries, and I'll smile and I'll laugh and I'll talk, and I'll walk home in the rain and try to convince myself that I'm a little less lonely than I was before.

I do have American friends. They're absolutely wonderful people who are refining my sense of self and God and teaching me to be a better person. I am overwhelmingly thankful for them. There's a whisper in the back of my head, though, that's telling me I'm failing at studying abroad, because I'm just another one of those international students who only spend time with people from their country. I'm trying to branch out, I promise. I guess I just need to try a little harder.

The actual view outside my library window right now.

The fantasies I had about this experience all those months ago seem so naive now. In them, I was going to come to Galway and make friends quickly and be the belle of the ball. I had looked forward, after years of ministry where I was taught to be an intentional, inviting community builder, to being on the receiving end; for once, I thought, people would pursue me. That's not happening.

Self-consciously, it makes me feel like something's wrong with me: If I had such a hard time making friends in high school and in Bozeman and now in Galway, well, then it must be me, right? I don't actually want an answer to that question, but I did want to give voice to some of the questions this experience is making me work through. Loneliness is painful.

My boss last summer would often remind us that "failure isn't fatal." As I sit here, on this absolutely dreary day, wiping back tears in the library where basically everyone can see me, I'm trying to latch on to that truth.

Even if I never make a single friend while I'm here, even if I don't see every single site or experience every single activity that others around me tell me I should, even if I fail Ireland in every respect, that's still not fatal. I'll still have tried. I'll still have learned something about myself and about God's kingdom. I'll still have been able to see the Book of Kells and drink whiskey at the Jameson Distillery and worship in church with people from around the world. Those may not be big things, but they're still something.

I know that God uses our failures, big and small. He is the God who can create humanity out of dust and create a crown of beauty out of a crown of ashes. He is not intimidated by the pain and sin that so easily entangles us. I know that He can create something beautiful out of my time here in Ireland, whether that looks like what I imagined or looks like something completely different, whether that redemption happens tomorrow or in twenty years. I know that He is good, and that He has good things for those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.

Tomorrow I'll go back to framing my perspective (both figuratively and photographically) around what's beautiful and good. That's reality, and it's valuable to commemorate. Today, though, I wanted to look at the other side of reality: Equally true and valuable and hard. Today it's raining, both in my soul and outside my window. Tomorrow, so my weather app tells me, there will be glimpses of the sun. And, I'm sure, of the Son.

P.S. If you're the praying type, I would sure appreciate it right now. I'm struggling to figure out my purpose in Galway, as well as build community. In addition, I'm feeling lonely and broken and could use a hefty dose of God's love. Any prayer is gratefully accepted -- and I would love to pray for you, too. Just shoot me a message on Facebook or at mackenziemahon@gmail.com, and we can support one another.