Stated simply, this has been the season of firsts. The first time I’ve lived outside my home and thousands of miles away at that. The first time I’ve been in a position where if food wasn’t bought and cooked, we didn’t eat. The first time I actually took some things seriously. The first time I was faced with the uncomfortable combination of living in the fountain of youth and being struck over the head with the realization of the currency of adulthood.
The first time I felt as if I couldn’t afford to be not be capable.
Capable of handling the entire team budget as their treasurer. Capable of successfully planning and funding the 12 days I’ll spend backpacking Europe after this final leg of the journey. Capable of not messing up. Not failing.
In India, I hung, struggling, by the noose of incapability. I wrestled to take in every last grain of what I was learning because if I didn’t start implementing it fast, maybe I would revert back. Maybe the end of the race would slowly sneak up behind me and then I would be home and in the blink of an eye, back to the routine of exhausting all my time and efforts for meaningless things. I worked and read and learned and tried to be better. Tried to be capable of not messing this thing up again.
Being the girl who was known for going through every sport before finding one I liked and having a new “post-race” plan every time I’m asked, I wanted to understand the idea of having a constant, but I couldn’t see past the destruction of an attempted constant of perfection. Then, something changed.
On March 25, my team along with Josh’s team went to spend a day at the dam in Saiphai. It’s a beautiful place, but because of the storms, we ended up doing more trekking through mud than enjoying the view. When we finally reached the rocks, I sat alone at the edge of the water trying to push the thought out of my mind.
Get in the water….I can’t, everyone is restless and ready to get back on the bus to go home because today has been exhausting. And I’m fully clothed. So, no.
Getting in the water meant making a statement, one I didn’t know if I was ready to make. Didn’t baptism mean I was about to tell the whole world that I wasn’t going to mess up anymore? I sat in the fear of what seemed the like the chains of the Christian standard I was going to be held to. Shaking, I went in anyway. The water was cold and the rain had started back up again, but I followed Josh into the water and then I held my breath and went backwards. Everything seemed like slow motion as I came back up again and opened my eyes. Raised to walk in a new life. My heart pounded and I couldn’t stop smiling and I wondered how this could ever be anything but freedom.
What before felt like I was accepting my fate as bondage to the do’s and don’t’s of this religion, now became clear that this new life doesn’t mean I won’t make mistakes anymore, but rather a confession that I will, in fact, mess up but I’ve chosen to accept a life of grace and mercy for those mistakes instead of letting them run my life. An acknowledgement of humanity but the following realization that it isn’t the real me.
The redemption of fear of incapability by the introduction of grace.
On this Good Friday, I remember the purest act of grace. I sit back in awe of the scandalous death for which Christ took my place. As He cries, “Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani?” I take a deep breath and go backward. At the mutter of “Tetelestai” I feel the last silk wave cover my face as I’m fully under the water.
And then I rise up into the freedom of resurrection and the eternal promise of grace. That day in history 2000 years ago being celebrated still as my friends sit and observe the still living power of the new life. How beautiful the grace that sets us free to live from the overflow of the Love that took our place. The grace that brought me to Africa on His timing after 3 years of unsuccessful attempts. The grace that takes away the destructive power of incapability of perfection.
John 1:16 – For His fullness we have all received, and grace upon grace.
