“Oh crap. It’s gonna happen.” I thought to myself. “I’m going to throw up in front of our contact host, on the face of one of the 7 Wonders of the Natural World. Awesome. Hope you enjoy the show.”
“I haven’t washed my hair in 6 days and I can literally feel the hair on my legs through my jeans.”
“You stepped over me about 20 times and kicked me every.single.time.”
“I can’t sleep because to be honest, you kept rolling over on my sleeping pad with me and breathing in my face.”
“This room smells like an absolute dump. None of us have washed our clothes in over 3 weeks.”
“We have been waiting at this church for 3 hours and still haven’t heard what we’re supposed to do and when we’re supposed to do it. So much for a ministry day.”
“Smell this shirt and tell me if it’s still acceptable to wear.”
“That was such a nice squatty-potty.”
*In tears* “I just threw up with my face in someone else’s poo in the toilet”
“Toilet paper? No? Ok…anyone have a baby wipe or a face wipe or something?”
“You guys, only number 1 in this toilet and no flushing the TP. If you do, fish it out.”
“They gave me a shot in my butt and I’m not actually sure what it was.”
“Do you know what we’re eating?”
“I think I just spent my entire day’s food money on gummy candies.”
“If I ship home all my clothes and shoes, do you think I can get away with wearing chacos and Nepali pants for the rest of the year?”
These are just some of the quotes I caught myself saying and hearing on our time on the race so far. The first two months were a whirlwind of excitement, newness, wonder, curiosity, and romanticism of what life on the World Race looks like.
It’s the end of month three and life is starting to make sense again. It is definitely still full of curiosity, bewilderment, wonder, and excitement. But the life that makes sense to me now is not the one that people at home would necessarily consider normal. I never once asked my family back home if they would split the cost of a $1 soda. I never once asked my roommate to stop farting because the room was too small to handle such toxicity. I never once stepped out of the house not knowing where food, water, transportation, or money would come from. But the funny thing is, these are all so normal to me now. Trying to figure out how to efficiently hand wash clothes, not caring was that liquid was I just stepped barefoot in, not having stood in a shower in over a month and a half, considering it pure joy when I can use a tea kettle to boil water for a warm bucket bath, thinking to myself that the one room preschool smaller than my room back home with cardboard walls was completely normal and doing a splendid job of housing more than 20 beautiful babies all have become thoughts that don’t even catch me off guard anymore.
This month, South Africa felt like the Promise Land. In comparison to the last two months, we found ourselves with warm water, a mall that we could walk to with American stores, beaches and mountains for days, food that reminds us of home, stores with supplies we could replenish our packs with, being able to walk around barefoot and journal on sugar cookie beaches, and seeing white people for the first time in months (Don’t take that last one wrong).
But conversely, we also found ourselves living in a township of cardboard and tin wall houses that are smaller than most American bedrooms of the average middle-class family, children without shoes and adequate clothes and food, evident racism that still permeates the society in South Africa, poverty stricken faces of people who were now our neighbors, children tugging in curiosity at our hair and demanding “Teacher!!! ME!!” as you had to put them down and walk away from them, and people every single day asking if we were frightened about living in Masiphumelele (our new home community) and telling us not to carry anything or talk to others or even walk outside without our contact. Every time we got on a bus or a train, thousands of stickers advertising 10 minute abortions and witchdoctor’s and their supposed power over your life flooded our vision. The stark contrast of South Africa is startling.
All month, we were spending our mornings at a preschool feeding children who would never swallow their food, but rather stuff it in their cheeks for later. We spent the afternoons walking around our new home community praying in homes of people who could not understand why we would choose to stay in Masi, and further not understand why we loved every moment of it. We took Sunday afternoons to go to elderly homes and hospice care centers to pray over the sick and make new friends with precious souls who were terminally sick or left by their families. We spent Friday and Saturday nights leading a brand new youth group and then a small bible study of young adults. We spent every evening switching off pouring into our hosts, having dance parties with our three year old house mate, learning how to make traditional African dishes, watching South African soap opera’s with our house mama, or going to other churches to preach and encourage the body of believers in the community of Masi. We walked miles every week in an effort to simply encourage people, meet new friends, and enjoy the vivacious and beautiful country of South Africa.
This month was full. And at moments it was quite unglamorous. It was holding babies who sneezed in my mouth and on my face repeatedly, threw up on me just as they finished the last bite of food, and had temper tantrums, daily kicking and screaming at you for Lord knows what reason. It was fighting with my team and contemplating going home. It was looking at my teammates with contempt and not understanding why The Lord would put me here. It was feeling deep past hurts surface and know the weight of past sin. It was going back to a foreign doctor in hopes of being able to get out of bed and actually be healed.
But this month was one of the first months where I learned what it felt like to cut up a precious item I used to wear every day that reminded me of someone I once cared for, and throw it and all the burdens and heart ties that went with it off of Table Mountain. It was this month that I started to truly feel freedom over heart ache and memories of my past. It was this month that I finally felt my Father tenderly tell me that he delights in me and enjoys watching me have fun in his creation. It was living normally and doing life every single day with people who would otherwise be unnoticed. It was leading the first youth group night of a church near our home and then preaching at the young adult study with no time for preparation and watching as Holy Spirit took over. It was having the kids come up to me with passionate excitement in their eyes as they showed me lists they had made of things they were thankful for and ripping up other lists of worries and struggles they were leaving at the foot of the cross. It was being asked to preach an impromptu message at a family’s house and then asked to come preach before their congregation the next week at church. It was leading a man after that same message in the prayer for salvation over his life for the first real time. It was hearing the heart breaking story of a woman who was raped most of her life preach the incredible healing and restoration she found in Jesus. It was feeling the power of the Holy Spirit reverberate through my very soul as passionate South Africans sang and danced before their Lord on Sunday mornings.
It was this month that I began to let go of regrets and unashamedly throw myself into shark infested waters, triumph over one of the hardest hikes I’ve known on a massive mountain despite health restrictions, get pecked at by penguins on a beach, watch baboons steal our food at the southern most point of the continent of Africa, stand in worship at Hillsong Church, cry passionate tears over incredible heart wounds I didn’t know I had stuffed deep down, on the shoulder of one of my sisters, experience forgiveness, unity, and safety in my team, and come to know the scandalous love of Jesus Christ even more profoundly than I could have asked for. It was this month that I preached a message before a church I was not familiar with and watched Holy Spirit take over so profoundly that I simply knelt at the front of the congregation in prayer as He had his way.
When I was hiking up Table Mountain, at one point I was so embarrassed and frustrated with my body that I sat down for yet another break and began to tear up. I apologized to my teammate, Liv and our host, Fungai for the millionth time (Fungai enjoys running up Table Mountain and has reached the summit more than 16 times) and then said “I hate my stupid lungs.: Both of them stopped and with all the truth in the world Fungai said, “I rebuke that statement in the name of Jesus Christ. There is nothing wrong with your body or your lungs.” That was it. Tears flowed freely. Fungai said tenderly, “Rachel. I promised you that I would pray for your health through this hike and that I would hike the whole time with you. I promised you. Trust me.” Liv sat next to me and listened as I voiced my suspicion that what has happened with my body for the last few years was actually spiritual and emotional burdens. She looked at me and said, “I think you need to sit here and have it out with God. And if that means you cry the whole way up this mountain, then that’s what you should do.”
I sat for a few minutes in tears hating my body. Hating the emotional burdens that still hung heavy in my heart from the few months before leaving on the race. Painfully trekking through memories of inferiority and identity problems that I had spoken over myself since middle school. Then The Lord spoke. I heard my Father say, “Rachel, you need to devour this mountain. You need to know what it is to chew every single part of this mountain, not just enjoy the summit. You need to feel the pain in your heart and in your body so that you can learn when to stop and rest, unashamed. Only then, will you be able to see the beauty of this mountain.” Be unashamed? I had no idea what that would feel like. But as I got up, dusted my pants off and continued up the mountain, the strangest feeling overtook my whole being. I actually LIKED the hike. I didn’t feel as much pain because the joy was stronger for once.
Sometimes ministry is gross and unglamorous. Actually, most of the time it is. It’s not full of the highlight reel type of moments and miracles you read about on Facebook, Instagram, and blogs. Jesus is teaching me about what freedom and joy comes from actually devouring the hard moments. From thoroughly chewing and digesting every single boring, painful, disgusting, and hurtful moment. Only then, will you be able to see and enjoy the beauty of the hike. Only then will you know what walking on the water feels like. Only then will shame no longer color your personal walk and pace with Jesus, but rather, you will taste and know of freedom, joy, and salvation.
Next week, we head to Swaziland. I can tell you that we will be in a very different environment than we’ve been, although I can’t tell you where we will be quite yet 🙂 know that internet will be sparse but Jesus will be plenty!!! Please be praying for my team and I as we trek to our next stop on the World Race! I’m SOOO close to my next deadline! I’m about $250 short of the $11,000 deadline by April 1st. If you would like to partner with me financially click on the “Support Me” tab at the top of my page.
May The Lord continually bless you. May you know the truth of the words “You’re a good, good Father. It’s who you are. And I am loved by You. It’s who I am.”
Can’t wait to post pictures and a sick video I’m trying to make!
Because of Him!
Rachel
Matthew 14:27-36
