It's been two days since my fall. Everyone I know is excited…excited that I am alive…excited that nothing broke as a result of my fall…excited to be working their last week at their ministry. Enjoying every second of it. I'm not going to lie to you by saying that I am okay emotionally. Yesterday I went to a nearby market to do a little shopping…and from there decided to walk all over Quiché to get internet. When I returned home yesterday and removed my bandages…my foot was literally the size of a football. When I woke up yesterday morning, I decided a few scrapes and bruises would not prevent me from enjoying this beautiful country…that I would simply "Walk it off". And there I sat, with a huge foot, barely able to flex and move my toes. Instantly I shut down. I felt defeated. My squadmate ran to find our contact, as she was a nurse, and I sat there…frustrated. Why? Why would God do this when I had a week to be here? The simplest tasks like covering myself with a blanket, or picking up a bowl, or filling my Nalgene bottle literally make me wince and groan in pain. "God you know how much this race means to me. Why would you prevent me from experiencing it?" Quickly, I began to resent the situation I was in. People came up to me and hugged me saying that they were so happy and thankful that I was alive…and all I could think about is how I wished none of this had happened. Satan got his foothold last night. Lies began to fill my brain…"No one believes that you fell that far", "You're weak for needing time to rest", "You're letting your team down AGAIN by not going to ministry", "No one else fell but you…because you're weak. You failed." Even as I type this it is taking me physically rebuking those lies out loud to help me cope. Depression soon crept in. I began to wish that I had broken something so that people would believe me. That I wouldn't have to show them a picture for them to realize that saying 100ft is a "light" guestimate because if I knew the real hight, I would probably need mental help. Every time I sleep I see it. I feel it. I feel myself falling. I see the ground and sky in a tangled mess as I roll and fall down that mountainside. I feel every cut…I feel the dread of hitting the bottom…I feel the fear all over again. My frustration turned into tears this morning. I was broken…not just physically. I couldn't prove I was strong enough for the squad…or even for Jesus. I've had people who are gifted with prophecy tell me that they see me as a warrior…as one who will fight the mighty battle for the Lord. But I can't even pick up a Bible without it hurting. How could I possibly be a warrior now!? Would it have just been easier if I had just died? Would I not make a bigger impact?
Jesus must have gotten sick of my ungratefulness. Within an hour He sent in 3 teammates and one squad leader
to rebuke any lies I was feeling. Dura prayed truth over my life. She allowed me to be frustrated and cry. She allowed me to pour out my fears…and then she prayed over every single one of them. She rebuked Satan's foothold. Prayed for protection over the memories. Even as I type this I am processing. A part of me still feels that frustration with God. A huge part of me wants to be out of this bed. To be holding little Macario as he reveals more and more of his personality as he gets healthier and healthier. To be painting and making a difference in that hospital. Teresa, one of my teammates and a dear dear sister to me challenged me as I explained: "You don't have to be there to minister to those people. You can spend this time in prayer. You can still make a difference." Boom. Talk about a challenge. Between Dura, Leslie, Teresa, Mike, and Jonathan…I feel that frustration beginning to lift. For whatever reason Jesus wants me here…in this bed…crippled in His love. He's trying to show me something. And I think it's that I depend too much on my strength. Like, if I am not there helping physically, I am failing the Kingdom. That Jesus can't be seen through me. In a sense, I am doubting the Lord's strength. Truth is, He doesn't need me. He doesn't need me to be painting or holding babies…He needs me to rely 100% on Him. And for 3 weeks of this race, I wasn't. Even through my sickness my stubbornness wouldn't let me see that. So, Jesus had to take bigger measures. I know that my pain, pains the Lord. But the fact that He can use it to bring me closer to Him…to be a true warrior for Him…to fight the spiritual battle He's called me to…what a Great God. What a Great Daddy. I'm so unworthy, but He still loves me. So just because Satan got his foothold…doesn't mean it didn't give out exactly like my foothold did on that mountain. It crumbled under Jesus' feet just as fast as the loose gravel under my own did. So now all I can do is go limp. To fall…hard…right into Jesus waiting arms.
