Getting Hit By A Car An Hour Into A New Month

Stephanie Higgins asked me to go to the ATM with her. I enthusiastically said yes; it’s always a fun time with her no matter what we do. Instinctively I took to walking on the outside of the side of the road, making sure my body was in between her and the cars passing by. About ten minutes into our adventure, Steph jumped away from me and screamed. I didn’t notice at first what had happened, but all of a sudden I felt a sharp pain in my right arm and noticed that the side mirror of the car that just passed was bent inwards. I had just been hit by a car. With getting hit by a car and having a soar right arm, I begin my ninth month on the mission field in Uganda!
 
The next day I found myself on the porch of a local hostel bar looking out over the beautiful Nile River, watching the purple and orange sunset as if it was sinking into the rushing current. Fireworks of the colors of the rainbow followed, lighting up the star sky as if God Himself was celebrating my arrival with these pyrotechnics. After the spectacle I sat down on the couch inside, replaying the gorgeous scene I had just witnessed, watching one of my favorite fútbol teams, Arsenal, win their game match.
 
This once weird life seems so normal these days. I remember thinking to myself in the beginning of this trip how unusual life will become; community 24/7, traveling to unique places people will never see in their lives, encountering a vast amount of world culture, combating third world problems like sickness and poverty, outlandish apparel, unusual food, and everything else I use to read about in blogs of previous racers.
 
But now, this life has made its mark on me, and now what was once “normal” back in the States isn’t so normal anymore. I go through Facebook and look at all of my friend’s lives; people complaining about someone cutting them off on the road, baby photos, new haircuts, comments about boredom at work, college graduation, parties, relationship highs and lows, more complaining, etc. Normal life seems so far away. It’s a different world, home is. Home. I imagined home always being on the corner of Pine and Church St. Home was that big lit “Orlando” sign that stretched across the highway as you entered the city. But now home is different. Home isn’t just what I left behind in Florida. Home is now Africa. Home is now this local hostel bar on the side of the Nile River. Home is the Cambodian child living in the slums. Home is the Filipino church I stayed at as I ministered to the drunks, the prisoners, and the impoverished children in the surrounding areas. Home is the brothel that host Thai women who are raped every night. Home is the Kapitan Kerling Mosque where thousands of Malay Muslims go to pray.

Home is the mission field.
 
I’m here at the hostel bar, stretched out on the couch. Noah is a couple feet to my left, evangelizing to a guy through a conversation that started because of his beard (as always.) People are laughing, smoking their cigarettes, drinking Tusker beer. Second-hand smoke fills the atmosphere. White South African backpackers, German travelers, local Ugandans, a wealthy Australian couple, people of all parts of the world, drinking and dancing, Bob Marley blasting in the background. And then there’s me; a missionary from the States; long hair, dirty feet, newly shaven moustache to celebrate Cinco De Moustache (me and my friend's alternate version of Cinco De Mayo), hairband from Malaysia, green/red flannel from Kenya, Barcelona shorts from Cambodia, flip-flops from the Philippines. My team is here relaxing and enjoying themselves with some good meals and good times before we head out tomorrow for our ninth month on the mission field. Another month witnessing first hand what God is doing throughout the world. Another month of memorable, life changing events. Another month of prayers, miracles, and Spirit-filled moments. Another month of hard, difficult trials, overcome by the love of God. Another month of close community, working together to bring kingdom in Uganda as it is in heaven. Another month of different culture, interesting food, and unbelievable experiences. Another month that’s nothing new to me; just another month on this amazing journey that God has brought me on.

This is my life.
 
 
I have only a little over 2 months left on my trip. Talks of post-Race life echo on and off from me and my friends. What emotions will go through my heart when I step off the airplane and see my mom at the airport gate, waiting for me? What digestive pains am I going to feel when American food goes through my body for the first time in nearly a year? What anger will rush through my veins when I see capitalism again, this time with the background of the world’s poor and suffering? How many nights will come and go until I get a decent amount of rest, not disturbed by images of this previous life on the mission field? What will my life look like as I transition from this way of life to the next? What’s to come?
 
This past debrief my squad began the conversation of what’s to come after the Race. AIM (Adventures in Mission, the missionary agency behind the World Race) gave us some post-Race avenues that we can consider going into after the Race, processing with the team about post-Race fears has begun, applications are beginning to be looked at and filled, and resources for the next chapter are being distributed and read. These last few days are coming to an end, and the balancing act of being present and preparing for the future is being juggled around by everyone. I’ve already cried about missing my team, my family that has seen the very best of my and the very worst of me this past year, and they’re right here with me.

I can’t wait to go home, and yet I am home.
 
Moments like these, moments filled up with the already/not yet, moments of anxiety and anticipation, moments of knowing and nevertheless unknowing, moments of looking into the life awaiting for me back in the States and yet looking into tomorrow as we begin ministry, in these moments all I can do is walk outside onto the porch of a local Ugandan hostel bar, look up into the timeless African sky, take a sweet deep breath in, and release it all to the Lord. It’s by grace I got on the Race. It’s by grace I’ll survive the Race. It’s by grace that after the Race I’ll do whatever it is God has for me, wherever God wants me to be. I don’t know what’s to come, but what I do know is that God knows, and that’s where I will put my hope and trust in.

I will trust in the Lord, first in this month in Uganda, then in Swaziland, and lastly in South Africa, the end of my World Race journey. And then, beyond…