On June 26th, my dad gave me 11 hugs—one for every month I would be gone.
It’s been 113 days since then.
Africa moves slower than most other countries. Time floats by like bubbles: slowly turning until everything evolves as it should.
It’s not that I’m bored with the bubbles, though. We have been preaching and teaching twice a week and have been getting sick from the water constantly in the past two weeks. None of us have contracted Malaria yet. But, we have all been able to see a group of monkeys cross the road at regular intervals.
I think what I’m struggling with is the recognition that I won’t be home for the next 224 days.
When I first signed up for the World Race, I found it extremely easy to sing the songs about letting the world know about the love of Jesus. I took heart when pastors would preach their sermons about the Great Commission. After all, I gave up my life, my car and my friendships to tell the world about Jesus.
As each month slowly turns over on this 11-month adventure, a soft voice keeps reminding me that I have lost perspective—that I’m still missing the point of missions while I’m on the mission field. It’s not just about crossing another day off of the calendar until I come home. And, it’s not about getting enough sleep at night to make it through the backbreaking work of harvesting tomorrow’s cornfields.
Here’s my lesson: I can give up everything that I know and still miss the point of being on this journey. I can look so forward to the time that I come home that I can and will miss the point of coming out here.
My teammate, Katie Lossner (katielossner.theworldrace.org) preached earlier this week on the importance of being absolutely content with where we are.
She explained “If we aren’t happy with where we are, when we get to where we are headed, we won’t be happy there either.”
I’m not a big fan of experiencing a true African summer. I’m not a big fan of constantly smelling. And I’m not a big fan of squatty potties.
But, even though I’m 224 days away from coming home, I’m learning to love this struggle. I’m learning to love that I won’t be home for Christmas. Because, for now, Jesus has me here. He has chosen to let me play with the orphans of Africa.
And, that, my friends, is worth it.
