I think back to when I began this journey this past September. I remember how I scoffed at the idea of changing my job on Facebook to “missionary.” How I wanted to come on the World Race simply to love and help people. How I had no idea what asking God to “wreck my life” actually meant.
Team changes took place last week. I’d spent the weeks leading up to those changes dreading them. I’d worked so hard the past four months to build relationships amongst my team, getting to know the six others that made up Team Chainless. I was in a place where I couldn’t imagine living out the rest of my race without them. I didn’t want to imagine my race without them. These six people, they became my family. We’d laughed, cried, grieved, celebrated and loved together.
On New Year’s Eve, the day team changes were to be announced, the seven of us gathered together to say our final words as Team Chainless. When I worked up the courage to speak, nothing came out but tears, laughter, and apologies for crying so quickly. I realized then that I never thought I’d grow to care for these people as much as I did. I paused in an attempt to grasp a hold of my feelings. To understand how I was capable of loving these six people like my own family in a matter of only four months. It didn’t make any sense. But I adored it. I adored them.
Two of my teammates were given positions on a new team while my team leader was raised up as a squad lead. My heart was broken. And how in the heck could I be expected to just start all over with a new team? I mean, I’d opened up my life to Ekow, Rachelle, Skylar, Helene, Kasey, and Erik. They’d experienced depths of my heart that even I sometimes didn’t totally understand. The one comfort I felt like I had on this journey was being taken away. And I wasn’t ready.
I began to long for home, more so than usual. I longed for family, for independence, for San Francisco, for food that I actually wanted to eat. I longed for Jesus to help me understand this constant rush of emotions. I longed for security.
I found myself in a place of discomfort, anxiety, and sadness. A place where my future is always uncertain, where I don’t get to choose what I do or who I do it with, where I can’t just run to the store whenever I please, where I have to work nearly 24/7 to make the relationships around me thrive. A place I’ve grown to understand is only 35% about the ministry work and 65% about personal growth and change. A place that’s made me recognize that being a missionary is freaking hard.
Life on “the field” isn’t all about great miracles and seeing people accept Christ at the flip of a switch. It’s about sacrifice. It’s about humility and love, brokenness and then freedom. It’s about trusting the Lord with complete control over my life and actually giving it to him. It’s realizing that it’s not about me. It’s about him.
I asked my Father for peace and understanding, and he gave me Romans 13:12. “The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.”
Team changes are good. They challenge us. They give us new roles. They let us seek a greater identity in Christ. They help us understand that when nothing else is comforting, Christ is there, waiting to be our shelter. Waiting to cover us in his love and joy. It’s not easy by any means, but my Father is gracefully giving me exactly what I’ve been asking for: reliance in him alone.
My heart is filled with such gratitude knowing that I got to spend the first four months of my race with such a beautifully Christ-driven team, and, of course, my life isn’t actually over now that Team Chainless is no more. I have seven more months in this challenging adventure to grow to love two more sisters and another brother (BreAnna, Ashely, and Tanner)! And it’s going to be good.
