Lots of World Racers write blogs about miracles. Miraculous healings, miraculous rain, miraculous changes.
I haven’t written any of those blogs.
That’s because – save for one instance of praying over a demon-possessed woman in Zambia – I haven’t witnessed anything out of the ordinary. I’ve prayed for more miracles than I have in my entire life, and so far, it’s like I’ve seen nothing.
That was really hard in Africa, when it seemed like every other team had an amazing story about what they had seen God do. I was super jealous.
And so, like any good perfectionist, I rationalized it. Probably it was my fault my team didn’t have all these cool stories. I probably didn’t have enough faith to perform a miracle, much less witness one. After all, I was like Doubting Thomas. I barely believed miracles existed before coming on the Race.
Now, though, I don’t think that.
I see fascinating posts from other squadmates and think ‘Wow, God is doing incredible things!’
And I see the little miracles He’s given me.
Sometimes it’s the little things, like praying for strength to get through a church service on an empty stomach and quickly feeling full.
Like having contacts who have the cutest toddler daughter.
Like seeing mountains in every direction.
Like running into two former teammates and two squadmates during a weekend getaway.
Like praying, during the windy, bumpy drive home through the mountains, that no one would throw up (we made it!).
That last miracle was during the most miserable car ride I’ve ever experienced – much worse than having a sprained ankle during a 18 hour bus trip (oh, Zambia, I do not miss your buses). I’ve gotten more carsick on easier drives. But while our path wasn’t made entirely straight, I consider it a miracle that the road at least became bearably curved.
