If you knew what was going to happen–the good, the bad, and the in-between–would you still do it?
I was pondering this after a movie the other day as I hopped on the train with one of the people I love most in this world. He then asked me in the context of the World Race. Would I still have done it?
Yes.
In a heartbeat.
Memories of early January 2015 flooded back. I was a hot mess. I remember what seemed to be the never-ending tears flowing down my face. The anxiety of packing up my apartment in two days and shoving my life into a 55-liter backpack. I remember the heart-breaking goodbyes. It wasn’t forever, but it sure felt like it. Fears of relationships fading and never being the same again. I was right; those relationships have morphed into something different. Like most of life as time passes, circumstances have changed. People have changed. I have changed.
The World Race ushered me into a discipline that’s incredibly hard for me to do. And that’s to be still. Still enough to listen. Still enough to be in awe of His glory. Still enough to unravel me so that He can truly take control of my life.
Before I signed up, I read the blogs about miracles happening around the world. People being healed. People getting saved. You mean Kingdom on Earth exists???
Building Kingdom requires people to be still enough to hear His voice and act upon what He says.
The need to perform well has always been in my nature. As my faith grew, I saw people speaking and praying eloquently. I saw people confidently sharing the Gospel in college. I went into the year yearning for that. Funny enough, the stillness released me from the need to perform. And it still does every day…no pun intended. The fear of praying aloud was a performance issue. The fear of sharing the Gospel was a performance issue. The fear of not doing enough ministry was a performance issue.
What if I screw it up?
What if I say the wrong thing?
I’m not a pastor.
This is not my gifting.
I haven’t read the whole Bible.
Being still reminds me that I’m not God. He is. I can let Him be my Father. It allows Him to work through me. And I’m not so fearful anymore, because He is who He says He is. Though I need to be reminded of it every single day, the things I do should not solely be with my own strength but with His. And He asks us to be different–to not be of the world, which is an uncomfortable concept.
The practice of being still took intentionality. It took accountability. It took constantly looking in the mirror and correcting myself as I strayed. Metaphorically speaking, of course, because ain’t nobody got time to hunt for a mirror in Africa.
Next week will mark a year back in America. My surroundings have not changed. This country appears to be the same as I left it. Eyes glued to phones. Immersed in social media. People constantly moving to keep up with their busy lives. Small talk. Consumerism.
Every day is a battle to be still.
Still enough to hear His instruction. Go back, and approach the man with the cast on his wrist. Let that waiter know that she is beautiful.
Still enough to keep my walls down. What are the things I’m holding on to? Have I picked anything up? What do I need to surrender right now?
Still enough to soak in His truths. Daughter. Loved. Cherished. Worthy. Living in freedom. Bathed in grace.
Being still is something I’m striving to fight for every day of my life. It’s a heightened awareness of the Lord’s presence in every situation I encounter. Sometimes I win, and sometimes I lose. But because of the World Race, one thing is for sure:
I am not the same person I was, and luckily, I never will be.
