After spending 9 months around the world experiencing life with people of different races, ethnicities, cultures, languages, heritages, and anything else you can think of I can remember back to specific people I have met in each country. I can still remember the face of my translator in the Dominican Republic and how he would tell us of the struggles in life after choosing to follow Christ while being from a low-income family.
I remember the faces of the orphaned slum children in Haiti who sung their hearts out in worship to Jesus.
I remember the face of my contact in Thailand when she told me her testimony of how God radically changed her life when she was saved from prostitution.
I remember the face of the guy that worked with me at the coffee shop in Malaysia when he made latte art that represented his story of God’s faithful provision through a gifting of barista skills.
I remember the face of our pastor who spoke passionately about his desire for Cambodian students to know the Lord in real and life-changing way.
I remember the face of my translator in Tanzania when she would evangelize the village with her story of healing in Jesus’ name.
I remember the face of the prison guard in Malawi who had sparkles in his eyes when he saw prisoners come to know the Lord and that his job to share of Christ was just beginning.
I remember the face of the young man who lived at the dump in Swaziland when he beamed with Christ’s love.
I remember the face of the little gypsy girl in Romania who held a Bible for the first time, probably in her entire life.
I remember them. I remember their faces and their stories. I remember the times I laughed, cried, talked, tried to talk, and lived life with each one of them. But more than all of that, I remember Christ through them.
This is the moment when I ask myself…
“Do I want these people to remember me?”
When I take a second to think about it, I have to say….NO.
I don’t want these people to remember me. I want them to remember Christ in me, through me, but Christ more than me. If they can’t remember the details of my life story, but can remember the redemption that Christ brought to me and so I brought to them that is what I want them to remember. If they can’t remember how goofy I was when I sang that song or acted that skit, but they remember how God is so big, so strong and so mighty, that is what I want them to remember. If they can’t remember my name, but can remember the day that they felt the darkness lifted off their village, I want them to remember those things.
With so many faces filling my camera their stories can get lost in the translation and in the conversations when I get home, but even then I think about what I remember the most. Do I remember their names? Do I remember what their homes looked like? Do I remember the things I laughed about with them? Or do I remember how I (or they) encountered God that day?
I know that more than anything do I want to have a special storage in my brain of faces and names from each and every country. I want to store up all their stories and cherish them more than all the souvenirs I can bring home, but they truly are giving me more than I could have ever dreamed of.
They are giving me memories of God moments.
I can return home with a bag full of gifts for family and friends. I can show pictures upon pictures, but I know what will be the best treasure of all… The moments I saw God working. Stickers, key chains, t-shirts, or whatever else I could pick up along the way will never compare to the moments I heard God’s voice, I saw the Holy Spirit move, I experienced Jesus’ love, I obeyed the Lord’s whisper and so many more.
Because I know that is the greatest gift I will return home with, I have to remember the greatest gift I came to give to these people around the world, and essentially leave with them as well. I didn’t come on the race thinking I was going to be delivering my story to these people and it would change their lives. I didn’t even think I would make an impact at all on anyone. But that is where my thinking went awry, I did change lives with my story, but my story is a testament. The story that I brought to these people wasn’t about me living in Denver, CO and having a hard life after breaking my leg in high school track, no. My testimony is a testament of God’s faithful pursuit and his unfailing love when we try to take our lives in our own hands. I came to tell people about God in my life, not my life.
I came to give and leave the gift of profound truth in Jesus’ salvation. Why would I ever want them to remember me over remembering what Jesus did for them on the cross?
Why would I want them to remember my name and forget Jesus’?
