“How did I get here?”
That was a question I asked myself several times a day.
My life had become completely out of my control – and into his.
I would pinch myself. Tell myself “to wake up!” Over and over I just couldn't believe that this is what my life had become. I was a hostage in a foreign land and I was being tortured . . .
by my husband.
My name is Furaha. It is a KiSwahili name that means “Joy!” It was given to me by my students in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. That is where this story truly begins. The story of my birth, death and resurrection.
I was a simple country girl from Missouri. My life up until this point had been quite exciting, but I had no idea what lay ahead. I would graduate from seminary and have dreams of being a missionary in a foreign land. This was not of my own volition. I had wanted to stay in the Bay Area and work for the Contemporary Christian Radio Station for the rest of my life. I was quite content.
Yet, there was a “stirring deep in my soul” as the old song says. I answered back with “wherever He leads I'll go.” Lo and behold it was Africa. Not my original choice – Europe was. Nevertheless, I called my brother and said, “How do you feel about me going to live in the only country in the world still in the middle of a civil war?” He laughed and said, “Of course you are!”
Six months later I was on the plane headed to the land of my birth. I call it that because I never truly lived until I set foot on African soil. It was there that I learned to be free! Free from the expectations of this world. Free from the negative voices of my past. Free to live a life of love, light and song.
My life was perfect there. I was ready to spend the rest of my life in service to God, the University, and the church. I never wanted to leave. In fact, that wasn't my choice.
Enter the story, my love, my Angel. The first time I laid eyes on him I truly thought he was an angel. My Angel. The magnetic force of the earth stopped pulling me and he alone did from that point forward. Never in my life had I experienced something like him. I do not exaggerate when I say it was “love at first sight” - for both of us. I knew in that instant - “that is your husband.”
I hate victim blaming. However, it exists in this world in full force. This is where I usually feel the need to defend myself. It's not fair that we hold victims responsible for what they had no control over. But that is exactly what the world does. So for this moment, I will defend myself.
I had NO intention of dating on the field. In fact, in “missionary school” when the discussions would come up about making commitments to not date – I summarily dismissed it. You see, I had NEVER had a boyfriend. This topic did not apply to me. No one in the United States of America had ever found me worthy of asking out on a date, so why would an African. Little did I know, but EVERY African I met would find me worthy of proposal. In fact, from the first day I get off the plane I would be saying “no” to a marriage proposal at least four times a day. By the time I laid eyes on my husband, I had been worn down significantly. I was beginning to worry that I was “missing my only chance.”
To Be Continued. . .
