Even as Dust

A Story of Faith and Coming Home Written by Jennie Swenson

Despite the setting sun, heavy heat relentlessly enveloped my body and drained my energy with the slightest exertion. Fear, though, enveloped me too- maybe even more relentlessly than the heat. 

At 19, I decided to volunteer in a leprosy colony. Walking the slums of the most destitute part of India was harrowing and consuming. We were told that those afflicted with leprosy were not only outcast and considered cursed by God, but also deemed untouchable. Many had been devoid of human contact for decades.

As we walked the streets, we were encouraged to reach out and humanize the members of the colony with a simple handshake or touch. But now that I was here, with that rancid smell and that heavy heat, I was filled with shame as my fear of contracting leprosy had robbed me of the ability to perform even this simple act. I was paralyzed by the realization that I was so far from the person I hoped I would be. I had seen myself effortlessly loving and connecting with the members of the colony before I arrived. I had envisioned myself fearless and open hearted in showing these people they were not forgotten. I was ready to be God’s hands, willing to do whatever was asked. And now that I was here, I froze. 

I heard her voice from far away: a high pitched, joyful shriek. As I approached, I saw she was crouched on the ground, feet ulcerated and rotting, unable to support her weight to stand. Her cognitive ability had been diminished, and a childlike innocence prevailed. Her name was Allamah, and her unadulterated love and joy drew me closer. I decided I could lean in to simply smile at her- perhaps this gesture would be enough to make her feel loved. We locked eyes, and before I could pull away I found both of her arms around me. I was instantaneously brought to the ground in a full-contact embrace.

Allamah’s precious hands had been taken by leprosy, her fingers long absent, and the bony protrusions of her raw knuckles rested on my back. I knew if I was going to contract leprosy, it was probably at this moment, and miraculously I was able to let go of my fear to sit and laugh with her. Someone captured a photo of the moment, and encapsulated forever is a transformation- traces of my fear and shame melting into joy and love. 

How I adore this woman. I am forever grateful she could see past the fear I am sure was written all over my face and help me act like who I wanted to be. Allamah met me where I was, overwhelmed and overcome. She reached my meager gesture and performed a miracle. She taught me to love like her and to meet others where they are, an echo of the One who loves us perfectly. I had hoped to change her, but it was she who changed the trajectory of my entire trip. Because of her, I was able to wash ulcerated feet, change bandages, and hug everyone in the colony that would let me hug them. 

Decades later, I found myself unable to stand as my knees buckled under me. Wave after wave, year after year, relentless trial after relentless trial had left me literally and figuratively unable to stand. Between myself and my family, we experienced what psychologists rank the top stressors in life: death, suicide attempts, homelessness, poverty, abuse, divorce, and illness. I often found it hard to breathe and sometimes woke up gasping for air. I had recently become a mother and was rocked physically, emotionally, and spiritually after a traumatic birth and no assurance of recovery. It seemed as though my life was crumbling, and I wondered if God had forsaken me; I thought of those outcast in the slums of India and felt forsaken with them. My challenges became festering wounds, and I was silently losing faith.

Months after my daughter was born, I picked up a book by Lysa Tykeaurt called It’s Not Supposed to Be This Way (you know life is going great when variants of that book title line your shelves). Here I was, having dreamt all my life of who I would be as a mother, and I was struggling to complete even simple tasks. The familiar dissonance I had felt in India of being so far from who I wanted to be smothered me with shame that this time seemed inescapable. I could see no Allamah to reach me. It was dark, and I felt alone. 

As I read through Lysa’s book, I felt a part of myself awaken as I read her words about dust: 

“At least when things are broken there's some hope you can glue the pieces back together. But what if there aren't even pieces to pick up in front of you? You can't glue dust…But what if…God desires to make something completely Brand-new?…Dust is the exact ingredient God loves to use…I have to trust that first comes the dust, and then comes the making of something even better with us. God isn't ever going to forsake you…”

I’ve been told my determination (read stubbornness) is a long standing genetic trait I have inherited, and it proved to serve me well in my own fiery furnace: when I read those words, I determined that even as dust, no matter what, I was going to stay by God and stand by my faith. I still found, though, I was unsure I could fully trust God again.

I began to grasp for ways to more deeply trust Him, but even traditional prayer felt overwhelming. I had read about a form of prayer called breath prayer, and I would simply breathe in as much of God’s love as I could let in and breathe out love to family and friends. Inhale love, exhale love. And this was the beginning of my coming home. In the process of recovering my hope in Jesus, I realized it was not so much a rebuilding as a returning- a homecoming to an innate and trusting divine nature that has always existed within me. Later, I would add imagery to my prayers, where I visualized approaching Christ- often where I would run to Him. In these visualization prayers, He always met me with an embrace. Just like Allamah, He wrapped both of his arms around me. He saw past my fear, my wounded and broken body and spirit, amplifying each meager gesture. He took me as I was, and I began to recognize the miracles he was performing in my life and on my heart: today I can say I fully trust Him. Jesus is everything to my story; He has changed the trajectory of my life.

I am still a great way from who I want to be. I imagine I will always be a great way off. But I trust every time I approach him, running or walking or crawling, no matter my life’s circumstances, He will always run to meet me, too. 

And even now in moments of overwhelm or doubt, I hear Him remind me, “It’s ok to be dust. I know the path you’re walking. And I will always come to meet you there.”