We arrived in the Philippines just last week, after 21 hours of traveling. We smelled. We were exhausted and my stomach was protesting the nap I took through our in flight meal.
Our wonderful ministry contact picked us up from the airport in a comfortable and air conditioned bus. And, as we drove alarmingly close to other cars and motorcycles making their way down busy streets, I peered out the window to a world unlike any other I have ever seen. Dozens of people were packed into cramped, hot jeepneys—passengers smiling and waving as they saw my foreign face staring back at them. I saw young girls wondering the streets with strange men in ill-lit areas that make up, what I'm sure, are my parent's worst nightmares. I saw enormous hotels surrounded by blocks and blocks of shacks. I saw abandoned buildings, some barely standing, with clotheslines peaking out from open windows. I saw countless people—young, old and everything in between—picking through piles of trash next to nearly-starved stray dogs.
As I looked out that window, I thought of myself just last year, staring out another window at a very different scene. It was early October—only a few weeks after the Aurora shooting. The trees had just begun to turn and my Michael Buble Christmas station was already playing, to my co-worker's dismay, on my Pandora station. I had finished trauma counseling a few weeks before and life was “getting back to normal.” There was only one problem: I was no longer normal. Something had awoken during that time and, no matter how much I tried, it would not be put to rest. It was an ache that could not be satisfied or stifled.
So, there I sat—thinking of the next twenty years in that very same spot. My work computer monitor glared back at me and the world outside my office window turned as it always had—somehow appearing dismal. And, in total hopelessness, I quietly prayed, Lord, is there anything more than this?
I don't expect that this question is anything different from what you may have asked at some time or another. I think most people—at some point in their lives—long for “more”. But, we don't really know what that means. We are told from a young age what things bring happiness: success, wealth, houses, cars, relationships, security, status and on and on it goes. We spend decades upon decades in search and pursuit of those things—giving absolutely everything to achieve what we believe is “more”. So, as I prayed this prayer, the idea of it was so strange, that I wasn't entirely sure what I was praying for. My life, for all intents and purposes, was, and is, a blessed one. I had food, shelter, a loving family, a wonderful boyfriend, clothing, income, security. I had worked hard in pursuit of the things that are supposed to be the building block of happiness. But, in my heart, I was terrified that these things were the sum of life—that there was nothing else to reach and dream for.
As I sat on the bus last weekend, watching an entirely new world go by, a terror crept into my heart. I would have given any amount of money to go back to Colorado—back to my “real life” and back to “normal.” I no longer wanted more. I wanted comfort. I wanted security and I wanted to go home. And, in the gentlest and kindest of voices, the Lord answered a prayer spoken many months ago. This is more.
I didn't really grasp that answer at the time and maybe I still don't understand it fully. But, I can tell you without hesitation, that in the last week, I have experienced life as I have never experienced it before. We are living off of little and pouring out almost constantly. It is exhausting, terrifying, challenging and the greatest thing I have ever done. There is discomfort and moments when all I want to do is buy a plane ticket back to the U.S. But, there are also moments of immeasurable joy—staring into the smiling eyes of a Filipino child, who chased you for blocks simply to give you a high five and a hug. There are moments of awe as we look at the Manila skyline breaking through the clouds after an afternoon shower. And, there are humbling moments, as these generous and beautiful people welcome us into their hearts, homes and lives with open arms.
I think this is what God is revealing this year—more. He is redefining this longing in my heart and with every day and every new experience, I can see glimpses of what a life fully lived and wholly surrendered looks like. I'm not sure how this lesson will continue to unfold in my life, but, I can tell you that it's not just for me. "More," as defined by the Lord is available for anyone who asks—who prays that prayer even if they don't fully understand. The only question is, are you willing to ask?
