On Sunday we arrived at our host’s home in Rwanda. It was night time and with the power off we could barely see anything upon entering their house in a village. Kids swarmed around us as we tried to bring our bags inside. We set them down in small room in the house and then ate dinner. After dinner, a couple of us went outside to use the toilet. A few teammates warned us about the dozens of cockroaches surrounding it. As soon as I was far enough away from our host family to see me, I cried. I had been welcomed into this home for all of twenty minutes before I started crying.
I couldn’t deal with bugs. I couldn’t deal with sleeping with six other people in a room we barely could all stand in. This month seemed impossible, so I did the only thing I had control over, I cried.
Now, this is the part of the story where it gets good. I actually saw no bugs. And coming inside, we were shown to two bedrooms. That “small” room is actually reserved for just the massive amount of stuff we brought on our backs. I cried about nothing. In an instant God showed me how many blessings I had last month that I never bothered to count, and then he gave me even better than that.
I knew signing up for the Race I wouldn’t be staying in the nicest and prettiest places. I knew I signed up for a minimalist style of travel minus the whole 45 pounds of stuff I brought with me. I even knew I wouldn’t love every second of these 11 months. I thought nothing would surprise me. I can sound super legit by telling you that out of five months, I’ve had AC for one and a shower and a western toilet for two of those months. Now that sounds great and all, and even looking back on it, it’s actually not a big deal. It isn’t the most impressive feat out there. But as the weeks go on, I’m still surprised with how much of a princess I actually am.
Don’t get this idea that I’m doing anything great. Be careful when you say that you’re proud of me. Because I’m not doing anything extrodanry. I’m simply an unworthy servant who is only doing my duty (Luke 17:10). And sometimes I have a terrible-not-so-selfless attitude when I do the things God has called me to do.
I cried because I didn’t think I could handle the living situations for a month that literally billions of people around the world live daily. There are millions of people who would love to snuggle the children around the world so what’s wrong with me when I get impatient so easily?
Even as I write this now, I’m super frustrated. There are three children surrounding me, trying to take my ear buds out of my ears and my Bible out of my lap. Oh the irony. Oh the hypocrisy.
Forget about Jamie, Courtney is actually the very worst missionary.
There’s all of these expectations put on missionaries. Go live in the jungle with none of your comforts and love the simple life. Be Jesus to everyone you meet 24/7. And don’t even begin to talk about being tired, because remember God is your source. And all of this sounds great until you realize that missionaries are people too. Which means we are imperfect, sinful, and can have princess tendencies and entitlement issues.
I realized early on that I fail at meeting all of these typical missionary expectations. But I’m finally now at a place where I don’t feel guilty for it. Actually, I’m kinda starting to think that’s the point.
This morning at church there were several kids hanging on me, trying to play with my things. I started praying for God to give me joy and strength and love for these kids. I wanted him to make me selfless, and well, perfect. And then all of a sudden my prayer shifted to God I’m sorry. God I’m sorry I can’t even do this simple thing without you. I’m suppose to love like you, but I can’t. And I’m sorry you trusted me with something so precious, and I failed.
Within in twenty minutes I noticed something. I was joyfully dancing with children during worship. I was fine being squished on a bench with two kids fighting over my lap. I had become joyful and loving and selfless without even trying.
“His strength is made perfect in my weakness.”
A lot of the time I read this as “instead of.” I’ll trade my weaknesses in for his strength and that’ll be great because then I’ll be super human. I’ll be perfect. Like Jesus. But he wants my weaknesses. He wants me to admit that I fail and I can’t do this. Then his strength has room to move in this world. He took my place on The Cross and died for me. Now, daily, he takes my place again and serves and loves his people the way only he can. Only do I see how strong he is next to how weak I am. Only when I admit that I’m sick can I get a Healer, and only when I admit that I need saving do I get a Savior.
I’m letting go of all these expectations I’ve put on myself to have everything together. I’ve put missionaries on a pedestal expecting them to be like Jesus, but I get that’s not attainable, so I guess I just need to be a 22 year old version of Mother Theresa. Only then can God use me. Then I’ll be good enough. But instead of all of this, I’m going to believe the gospel. I’m going to trust in a perfect God who works through imperfect people. And I’m going to start to admit my failures a whole lot quicker now, because this is when I see grace. And that’s what my heart craves. I’m not suppose to be Mother Theresa, I’m suppose to be Courtney. And I’m not suppose to think of everything I can offer to God. I’m suppose to mediate on his unfailing love and let him do the rest.
