I’m going to be honest here.
I’m weary.
I’ve been on the Race for six full months now, and I’m in the middle of month seven. I’ve been on two teams and two continents. And I’m weary.
Of the World Race.
Of traveling all the time.
Of trying to communicate with our hosts, and having to find five different ways to say something before I can get my point across.
Of navigating etiquette in now seven different cultures.
Of Africa.
Of being asked to preach in the middle of a service with little or no preparation.
Of eating strange meals with foods that are cultural experiences in and of themselves.
It’s hard, and it’s wearing. And now, seven months into the Race, I’m tired of it.
At the beginning of the Race, I was beyond excited for everything this journey would hold. Everything was new: the ministry, the hosts, the food, the culture, the squad, the team. I was full of energy and enthusiasm, ready to do anything. Each aspect brought its own challenges, all of which I was eager and excited to engage. I wanted to try all the food, meet all the people, experience all the culture.
Ministry in particular was challenging because I’d never done it before. Door-to-door evangelism? What was that? What in the world kind of conversations could I have with strangers from cultures I didn’t understand? Or preaching–what did I have to share, and how could I share it well with no training or experience?
Now, after half a year in the field, I’ve learned and grown, stepped out in faith and seen God move. I’ve learned how to enter strangers’ homes and love them well. I’ve practiced preaching and walked into boldness to share God’s Word with confidence and faith that ultimately, He’s speaking through me. I’ve invested in God’s people in seven countries, countless communities, and I’ve experienced His power to build heartfelt, meaningful friendships in a matter of minutes. Things that once seemed impossible, far out of my reach, are now normal and everyday. I’ve found that I can do these things, and do them well; and if I do them poorly, I know I’m covered by God’s grace.
But I ended last month fatigued, worn out. I was no longer interested in engaging with our Zambian hosts. I didn’t want to learn about their ministry and join in. I was annoyed when they asked us to preach on short notice. And when two of my teammates and I went on a long walk to share the things we were struggling with and relax together, we were spotted by a handful of curious children and ended up literally being chased by an entire village of people excited to see mzungus. But I had no patience left to be gracious towards them, and it took all my self-control to shoo them away politely rather than yelling at them to go away.
By the time we borded our final minibus to take us from Choma to Livingstone for a few final days of low-key ministry and rest, I was exhausted, worn out from ministry and traveling, and drained both physically and spiritually. It was a relief to sit in a hostel and read a book. I had the opportunity to go adventuring with several of my squadmates, and had the treat of going on a safari and bungee jumping at Victoria Falls. Our week there was a sorely needed time of refreshment, and by the time we walked across the border from Zambia to Zimbabwe, I was feeling revived and much more alive than I had for a couple of weeks; the fatigue had slowly faded away.
In its place, however, weariness set in. I was not excited for Zimbabwe; in fact, I dreaded the thought of another ministry, another culture and home to navigate, another month in Africa, another month on the Race. My enthusiasm for a new country was lower than it had been since month two, when I found out we’d be tent camping in the jungle of Bolivia. The moment we arrived at our ministry site in Zimbabwe, I found myself counting the days until we’d leave for Malaysia. The Race had worn me out, and I was tired of it.
Before I applied for the Race, back when I was dreaming and praying and reading approximately 837 World Race blog posts per day, I noticed a trend: a small contingent, a handful of racers, would choose to leave the Race early. Often they’d go home just after the halfway point, around month seven. At the time, yearning as I was for the opportunity to embark on this journey myself, I couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose to quit months before the end. They’d come so far, but there was still so much more to go, so much more of God to experience. Why in the world would anyone leave?
I get it now.
The World Race is hard. No, I don’t feel drained to the bone every day, exhausted from hiking mountains from dawn until dusk and preaching the gospel in every village we pass along the way. Some days feel like extreme, uncomfortable adventures, and others don’t. But the effects are cumulative, and six months on this journey are wearing no matter how you cut it. I can see why someone would choose to walk away at this point: why they would want to escape these sometimes crazy different (or just plain crazy) styles of ministry and evangelism, why they would want to jet from this intense community, why they would want to go home and rest because they’re just plain worn out.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not coming home. I know with absolute certainty that leaving the Race now and coming back to the States is in no way the answer to this weariness. I’d maybe just love a vacation for a week. Or two.
But I can see why some people would idealize life back home at this point in this journey. I can understand that yearning we’re feeling for home, and rest, and friends and family, and the foods we’ve been craving for months. I’m not Superman; I’m not stronger than that wishfulness; I’m not immune. I’m weary.
So with four and a half months yet to go, where does that leave me?
The morning we arrived in Harare, Zimbabwe, I sat down with God and laid my exhaustion before Him. I told Him the truth:
I’ve got nothing.
I am empty. I have nothing to bring to the table, no love or patience or joy to bring to ministry, no excitement or enthusiasm or even interest to bring to our budding friendships in this new community.
If I try to do this month on my own (now nonexistent) strength, I will crash and burn.
And as I sat in His presence, He reminded me:
I was never intended to do this month, or any month, on my own.
He reminded me that the truth is, I never bring anything to the table. Anything and everything good only ever comes by His strength and power. The only difference is, now I’m worn down enough to see it.
This month I’m focusing on truly depending on God in every way, in every circumstance. It’s not a lighthearted, whimsical test; it’s a heart posture born of necessity. Without God in me, I am nothing. Without Him pouring His love and refreshment into my spirit every single morning, I am unable to think loving–even civil–thoughts towards the people He’s placed before me. Without Him giving me strength, I am unable to participate and engage in our ministry activities day by day. Without Him giving me joy, I am unable to choose to be positive rather than complaining about every detail that inconveniences our team. I don’t want to live a life of counting down the days until I get to leave the place where God has sent me, but unless I rely on Him to sustain me, that’s all I can do.
This level of dependence on God is a major struggle for me as I try to figure out what relying on God even means in its most practical sense.
And yet, this is a beautiful place to be.
As I come to Jesus each morning, laying all my weaknesses before Him, I’m finding that He’s hearing me and responding. The things I ask of Him before breakfast I witness Him doing throughout the day. When I ask Him to give me joy in our ministry, He does. When I ask Him to build unity and love on Team HULK, He does. When I ask Him to guide my words and speak through me as I preach, He does. And I’m ending my days with awe and rejoicing, finding that I’ve truly been walking in the Spirit throughout the day.
Even throughout a week of “successful” days, however, God is not allowing me to forget that ALL my strength comes from Him. In those moments when I don’t choose to rely on Him, all my frustrations, impatience and anger come flooding back. He won’t let me get lulled into a false sense of security; one or two good days will never change my underlying, everlasting, desperate need for Jesus to be alive in me. The second I step away from Him, the weariness creeps back in.
I trust that this season of weariness is just that: a season. It won’t last forever; hopefully it won’t even last for the rest of the Race. In a few days or weeks or months, this weariness will pass and God will return me to fullness of joy in Him. I’ll once again love to do what He calls me to do, love to be where He calls me to be.
But even when that time does come, I have hope that this dependence on God will never end. This month, I know with every fiber of my being that I bring nothing to the table. But that reality’s not true this month only; even during the periods of spiritual high, still I can do nothing without God. I’m learning what it looks like to live a life of dependence on Jesus now so that I can continue to do so even after this season passes.
And until that time, what a wearisome, beautiful thing is this crazy Race with Jesus.
