I have successfully completed 6 months of the World Race. It’s so hard to believe. I can still remember myself blog stalking previous racers—pouring over their stories of adventure, risk, growth and the tangible and undeniable presence of God in their lives. Their smiling profile pictures—oh so mission-trip-appropriate, featuring precious orphans or toothless, elderly women—beckoned me to go, to leave everything I knew and loved and bring the Spirit of God to the dark and forgotten corners of the earth. I read about healing, miracles, salvation, deliverance, spiritual rejuvenation—amazing encounters with the Almighty. I read about the mountain tops.
Now, as I sit in a South African hostile, thousands of miles and hundreds of experiences from that time, I think of my own experience on the race. And, if I can be really honest here, it is nothing like I imagined it would be.
When I said, “yes” to God and packed my bags, I had a very particular year in mind. And, even though God made no promises to me about what this 11 months would look like, I was certain that my race would hold few real surprises. See, unlike “those other racers” I was prepared to be shocked, challenged and stretched. I wanted to grow, experience discomfort and face seemingly unsurpassable obstacles with the Lord by my side. Or so I thought.
The truth is, I wanted the mountain top. I left the comfortable and the monotonous rhythm of my life and forged—headlong—in the direction of total abandon. All those blogs—all of those stories—had settled into my heart and culminated into a belief system that this adventure would be seen from the peak of spiritual revelation—the breathtaking experiences when the air is crisp and sweet; the view expansive and clear. These are the moments when Isaac, the promised child, is born, the Red Sea parts, Goliath falls, the walls of Jericho collapse. They are the precious times marked by the presence of God settling on His kids like sunshine—when all is as it should be.
But, the peaks have been so far and few.
From the moment I set foot in our first country, my spirit has waded in the depths of the valley. There is fog, darkness, limited sight and abundant struggle. Uncertainty weighs down my every step and unguarded hope is snatched. There are so many dangers and thorns in this place. There are so many snares and traps, but there is also fertile soil.
As I look back on my walk with Christ, I see so many times when my heart has resided here. And, while the modern church likes to conceal such struggles—the ones that make us look far too human and unspiritual—the truth is that these are the places where the Lord molds us into the people we were created to be. It is in the hard places when we get naked and real before the Lord and our anxiety, doubts and mistrust surface, that we can see His mighty hand accomplishing all that we never could. We can see our shepherd go before us and defend us with His rod and staff. It is in the places of sorrow and struggle that the Lord sings truth over us—revealing His love, character, sovereignty and our identity.
And here’s what’s really amazing, that truth produces joy—pure, unshakable joy. The valley, though uncertain and frightening, is the very place where we are held by our Savior. It is the place where we learn who He truly is and how dearly He cares for us. That knowledge, because it is created in the midst of and in direct opposition to our condition, becomes the bedrock of our faith if we choose to accept it. This is the place where we stop defining God by our circumstances and begin to trust His goodness in spite of them.
And something happens to us in the valley—something wonderful. When we choose Jesus, in moments when every part of our flesh begs us not to, and cling to hope, trust, dependence and abandon, our faith takes root. It deepens. We grow. We thrive.
Embrace the valley. Rejoice in the pain and in the growth. For God does not reside on the mountain. He resides in you.
