One of the hardest parts about the Race is receiving news from back home. Whether it be that someone’s now engaged, a loved one is sick, or someone has passed, it’s all hard to hear. That realization that life still goes on hurts at times, sometimes making you miss the “real world,” other times leaving you never wanting to return. Nevertheless, you live for these little connections to life back home–knowing that even half way across the world, your life still matters. My Race has been filled with these moments.
Sunday night was one of them.
I prematurely ended an 8 or 9 day internet (minus blogging) fast in order to email my parents when I saw the email from my brother. At only 23 years old, Saule had died. She wasn’t one of my best friends. I didn’t know her that well and really, I hadn’t even seen her in I don’t know how many years, yet I was immediately overcome with grief. She had encouraged me countless times about the World Race and we had even tossed around some ideas about post-Race plans for when both of us got back Stateside. The idea of reconnecting with her was one I was looking forward to, as she had always been so vibrant and cheerful as long as I’d known her.
When I read the email from my brother, it just didn’t seem real. But what did was that for the first time in 4 months, I wanted to go home. I just wanted to be with my family.
Reality quickly set in though as I realized, I’m here whether I want to be or not. And whether I want to or not, I have to think about this because it is real.
As I think about this, reflect on it, and pray through it, I have been reminded of two valuable lessons.
- I am not guaranteed tomorrow. I think what hit me hardest about hearing that Saule had passed was that I had talked to her online only a week before leaving for the Race and since then she’d commented on my blog. That’s not that long ago. Furthermore, she was only 23 years old. God willing, I’ll be 23 in March. When she woke up that morning, I doubt Saule knew it would be her last day. How then will I know when it is mine? Chances are, I won’t. That leads me to lesson number two.
- Live for today, not tomorrow. I have no plans after the Race. I’m okay with that, simply taking things one year at a time. I simply have to. This just reminds me of that even more. About a week or so before coming on the Race, Saule and I began tossing around ideas of opening an intentional community house together in a Lithuanian community in Chicago. The idea was exhilarating, got my blood pumping, and I tucked it away as a post-Race option. I don’t know whether I was more excited to actually go through with this or to reconnect with Saule and to just learn from her and to do this thing alongside her. Secretly, I’d always looked up to her. I always admired her faith and it was exciting to think I’d get to serve alongside her. But the Lord has other things in mind. And he’s showing me I can’t live for that moment. I can’t live for tomorrow, because it’s not guaranteed. He called me here to this moment, to this place, for a reason and I need to live for today while I have it.
Saule, I thank you for your life. For every day of your 23 years I thank you. You touched my life in ways you never knew-in ways I never knew until now. I thank you for that smile of yours that, though I wasn’t fortunate to see as often as some, I know brightened lives on a daily basis. I thank you for being so obedient to the Lord and being such a strong witness of His love on this earth. I thank you for your encouragement to me in my endeavors and just for your supporting me in this Race. You’ll never know how much that means to me.
Lord, I pray you be with Saule and with all her family and friends during this difficult time. Wrap them in your loving arms, Lord. Cradle them and be their comforter as they look to you for strength.
