I’ll start with the obvious- I know, I know it’s been far too long since I’ve written a blog post. I never know where to begin with these things, and if I’m being brutally honest, I am my own worst critic when it comes to blog postings. I always judge my writing and deem it “not good enough” and highlight all my work and press “delete” more times than I’d like to admit. Whether it’s only my parents reading this, or The World Race features me, my worth is not based on readership or Facebook comments of people praising my writing, it’s based on what Jesus thinks, and I like to think He already sees me as Pulitizer Prize worthy.
Anyways, total side bar.
I come writing to you today in the jungles of Costa Rica on an outside campground where the people cook with firewood and rice and beans are considered the bread and butter for every meal. I’ve probbaly eaten more bugs than I’d like to admit, killed a spider as big as my palm and shower with cockaroaches on the daily (they dig my conditioner). My legs and arms are a buffet for mosquitos and ants and every morning my teams favorite game to play is “How Many Bug Bites Did You Get Last Night?” Ministry looks like hauling large piles of wood in a wheel barrow a mere 10 feet away and weeding with a machete because this place ain’t your grandma’s rose garden.
It’s safe to say that I am out of the Honeymoon stage. Oh sure, the videos The World Race posts are beautiful with shots of the sunsets overlooking the mountain top and the Racers looking so chipper with kids climbing on their backs. What they don’t show you is the 5 mile up hill hike it takes to get to that mountain or that when one kid climbs on your back, they all start clamoring for a turn until your back gets thrown out.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, I’m simply a Tell-It-How-It-Is kinda person. The first two months on The Race were something of a dream, living comfortably and getting to know the people you’re doing life with for the next 11 months are easy distractions. The work was easy and flexible, talking to people, hearing their stories and holding babies. The worst part of the day was wearing a long skirt and doing the dishes at the end of a meal. “I can totally see myself doing this for 11 months!” I found myself saying more often than not. Yet somewhere between being attacked by geese and picking disgusting and smelly looking fruit from a tree for ministry one afternoon, I think I lost it a little.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t recognize the person staring back at me. This sun burnt, sunken eyed and frizzy haired individual is not the same person that left The States three short months ago (OK, so my hairs always been frizzy). This person in the mirror is being molded and bent and refined a little more every single day and the shape is almost unrecognizable. This person in the mirror is learning what it means to totally surrender to God and listen to Him daily, and not just when she wants to. This person in the mirror is finding her value and worth not in the affection of others, but in The One who took special attention to making her just right. This person in the mirror is learning that serving is what makes great leaders great.
A wise person once told me something that I’ll never forget: When making gold, the goldsmith must take the gold piece and put it through the fire again and again and again until the impurities are taken off a little more each time it’s put through the fire, until the very end when nothing is left but pure gold. The good and bad news is that we’re going to be put through the fire our whole lives until we reach Heaven when nothing but pure gold remains in us.
Getting to that gold state for me is looking a lot like long days on a farm full of potatoes and smelling like bug spray and sunscreen. I’m not going to sit here and tell you this is the most fun time of my life but I will tell you that this is the best time of my life because I know that when it’s all said and done I will appreciate the work I put in now so that I can prosper later.
Off to daydream about my Mother’s cooking-
M
