Yesterday was our last day of ministry on the World Race and I haven’t really processed exactly how I feel about it yet. How is one supposed to feel when the life they’ve known for the last year is beginning to come to an end? It’s different than the feelings I had leaving for the Race. I knew I’d eventually be returning to South Carolina whereas I don’t have that comfort here.
There’s a finality to the end of this season, the knowledge that my life will never be the same as it is right in this moment. I will never again lay in my eno listening to my Kenyan brothers and sisters doing laundry and chatting in Kiswahili. I won’t spend countless hours surrounded by my teammates doing only God knows what for team time. I won’t have structured feedback or a ministry host. I won’t move every three to four weeks to a new country.
Over these last eleven months, I have worn many hats in many different places.
I have been a teacher.
I brought the Gospel to Nicaraguan villages.
I helped to build a children’s home and wrap Christmas presents.
I listened to the Lord’s voice and allowed him to guide my daily steps.
I evangelized to Muslims in a country where that is illegal.
I walked through the darkest streets trying to bring light to women trapped in prostitution.
I cried as I watched ten sweet little girls pray for healing for a woman with breast cancer.
I held those same girls’ hands as we all cried when the woman found eternal healing a week later.
I fed disaster victims lugo.
I preached and preached and preached some more.
I made paper beads with teen-moms.
I walked more miles than I knew possible talking and fellowshipping with fellow Christians in rural Katangi.
This morning as we had our last World Race church service where we listened to worship music and a podcast, it dawned on me just how much I am going to miss everything the Race has given me.
And right after that realization, my reminiscent bliss was replaced with bone crushing fear.
What if I go home and go back to the same sins I found freedom from this year?
What if the family I made through my team forgets I even existed?
What if I disappoint my family because I haven’t changed at all?
What if I changed too much and no longer have a place with the people I know and love back home?
What if what if what if…
The sermon this morning put it this way:
“Whenever God frees us from something, it’s our human nature to gravitate back to what God freed us from… Once the excitement was over [from fleeing Egypt], [the Israelites] faced this question: Who am I now? Now that I’m out of Egypt, how do I get Egypt out of me?”
That’s what going home will be like. Living on the Race has allowed me the opportunity to walk straight out of Egypt. I’ve been able to break the stronghold of shame, I’ve put some sins to rest, I’ve learned that freedom is out there. Now I just have to walk in the confidence that our God is a God who provides. He will give me what I need if I just keep walking.
Psalm 23:4 says
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
Yesterday began the process of walking in to that shadowland of unknown. Ministry is done. In a few days we will pack our bags for the last time, hug our teammates for the last time, and go our separate ways for the last time. We’ll never be all together in the same way ever again.
And that’s terrifying.
But God is with us. His rod and His staff are the greatest comfort because He is the greatest Shepherd.
There’s only 8 days left before American soil.
Just. Keep. Walking.
Love always from Kenya,
Katie Mere
