"A wretched man I am. Free me from my distraction and find me in the quiet. You say you’re good to those who wait. You can do more in my waiting then in my doing I can do. So I won’t run anymore. I am waiting on you.”
Those words have been a constant prayer I have prayed for the past few weeks. They center me. They allow me to focus on Christ and just be. They force me to stop running.
In recent post of mine I mentioned that I’m a runner, not literally but figuratively. I mentioned that my first reaction is to run from life. If it were up to me I would never face the problems that follow me. I would sprint away in the opposite direction hoping life would never catch up. A byproduct of this a running is a sense of desperation.
Have you ever been desperate? Desperate for a relationship? Desperate for an opportunity? Desperate for love? Desperate for identity?
I have been desperate. My life has been a series of desperate acts. In those moments of desperation I am consumed by the emotion and my actions and words are not my own. As Miranda Lambert says, “Desperation, there’s danger in frustration. Complicated words slipping off of your tongue and ain’t one of them the truth”. When I am desperate I say what I need to say or do what I need to do to get what I want. My one and only goal is to feed the desperation burning inside of me.
This first month on the race I am in a slow process of exiting a season of desperation. This season of desperation has consisted of finding my purpose and identity, and a desire for a deeper relationship with Christ. Desperation in itself is not always negative. However, in my life I have manipulated the emotion erratically searching for answers in all the wrong places. I have turned to people for my purpose, identity, and at times my relationship with Christ. As soon as I began this journey God quickly broke me of that.
He showed me that I am where I need to be. That I belong on the World Race. That I can no longer run. That the cure for my desperation is in Him and Him alone. That I am anointed. That I have pastoral gifts. That my identity is shaped by Him not by my past mistakes. That in order for me to know love I must know Him.
Life in Mozambique is not spectacular. It is just life. It’s hot, we sleep on concrete, we eat the same meals every week, we walk a great deal, we use a bucket to shower, we wash our clothes by hand, and toilet paper is pretty much nonexistent unless one carries it with them. It’s emotionally, physically, and spiritually exhausting. But despite all that, the Mozambiquen people are a blessing. My ministry site is a blessing. The orphans I play with and teach on a daily basis are a glimpse of God’s love. The sick in the hospital I have prayed over are a representation of faith and hope. God is shaping me and being shaped is challenging. It’s a messy process full of growing pains. However, as I slowly make my way out of this season of desperation into a walk of freedom and redemption I find refuge in Christ. As I walk this journey of trouble, fear, and without a home it is becoming more apparent that I am not alone and that God is my home. So I won’t run anymore. I will wait on Him, which is a journey in itself.
