“For I will comfort Zion. The Lord will comfort all of her waste places. He will turn her wilderness into Eden- Her desert into a Garden of The Lord. Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and melodious song.” Isaiah 51:3
It was a sticky afternoon and the 10th hour of our travel day from Guatemala. The Terminator was on the tv in Spanish, Ashley was asleep in the seat next to me, poor Claire was throwing up into plastic bags because the bathroom was occupied and Carlie was across the aisle delusional from the heat and hysterically laughing about the smell of hot poop from the toilet that had completely overtaken the bus. (Misha claims she didn’t smell it.)
Meanwhile, I was memorizing the words to Isaiah 51:3 aloud and reciting them under my breath waiting for my emotions to catch up with these words that are sharper than a two-edged sword, waiting for that cloak of peace that never failed to wrap around me- if not suddenly, always eventually.
I had been awaiting this race all year, and then, after the last two months at home, the last thing I wanted to do was leave. My life was finally in a place that I loved. I was celebrating the end of my college years (hallelujah, no more exams), beloved old friendships that had drifted apart with the busyness of life were being rekindled, I was enjoying my family which was growing with little ones and I had a great church family with sweet 5th grade girls that I led every Saturday night. My days were filled with hiking, shopping at our new Anthropologie, city-wide Thanksgiving, babysitting, grant writing, margaritas and queso, Tennessee football games, family, a trip to Florida to see my grandparents, ice skating and Netflix.
To say it was glorious would be an understatement. As I parted from my beloved Chattanooga, instead of brimming with excitement like I had all year, I was grieving. My life in Chattanooga, though imperfect had become a dream, and I didn’t want to leave for fear that all of this glory would disappear when I came back in eleven months.
And so I grieved. Salty tears involuntary fell out of the corners of my eyes as I thought about what I was allowing to sleep out of my tight grip by walking away. Sorrow trickled down the shelves of my spine as I imagined the things and people that I had cherished being gone.
I sobbed for hours, and my sweet mother, bless her soul attempted to comfort me in the best way she could: with chocolate.
After a good two hour sob and release, the pain and grief began to subside. We pulled into the hotel carport, and I began to see the people I had met a few months before who I would be journeying with for the next eleven months.
As launch weekend continued and even when we arrived in El Salvador, I was surprised with how much I didn’t feel homesick. Getting away was actually kind of refreshing, and not to mention that an old soul tie that had been in my life for years was progressively seeming less appetizing having seen the moon from a different angle.
The new adventures and cultures were beautiful, the conversations with strangers from all over the world were enlightening and the friendships with my fellow pilgrims were growing deeper everyday as we laughed and refined each other as iron sharpens iron. I was loving every second of my race but still promising myself that as soon as the year was over, I would slip right back into the spot I was in during my last two months in Chattanooga.
Then, all of the sudden towards the end of month two, all of the greatest losses and wounds of my life took on the form of Miley Cyrus and came in like a wrecking ball all at once. Scales of coping and denial had fallen off of my eyes as I began to see so many places where I had been hurt in my life- by other people and myself. My heart felt so heavy for memories that I had long forgotten, much less places I ever thought had marked me with false identities.
And so there I was sitting on a bus for hours transitioning to a new place as I was shivering of the pain of old memories with my heart munching quickly through my throat as if it was trying to run away.
Nothing coming up was anything like a 9/11 attack or post traumatic stress from combat. They were bruises that any person who walks on this planet for five days would experience- rejection, false identity, loneliness. They are places that people often dismiss as too small to address and allow them to snowball until they become cynical and jaded.
To make matters worse, I came into a country and a town that I was less than ecstatic about. Month one I was by a beach, month two I was in mountains with rolling orchards, and this time, I had a village that didn’t appear on the maps with all dirt roads and 90 degree weather. We stayed in a church that was a warehouse with no windows. The experience was much
Ike “I Am Legend” with a large metal door that we had to unlock and slide open as the blinding light of the day shone in, and old, drunk men stumbled by like zombies.
My team mentioned their concern of my becoming significantly quieter and more distant as I spent my days internally processing through all of the stuff that was coming up and praying through those memories with Isaiah 51:3 holding onto the promise that my wilderness would be turned into Eden.
Finally, my team encouraged me to voice all of these places that were racing through my mind, and I did, and they did too, and we leaned into each other and God and became like family. Suddenly, eight people who were once strangers felt like a glorious lazy day by a fireplace with chocolate and wine and sappy chick flicks with sleeping bags spread out on the floor. We shared our brokenness and challenges and celebrations and experienced so much healing together.
And as we did this, what was our least favorite month turned a 180 into our favorite. We laughed over little things together. We blasted country music (that I used to hate) as we swept and mopped the church. We played amateur soccer on the dirt road in front of our home. We made coffee and sat outside under the stars. We frequented the home of a family who took us in as their own- a building that was a home, a hair salon, a bank and a biology lab all in one where we would have good conversations, air conditioning, wifi, pedicures, Pepsi and tres leches cake. We opened our door all through the day as street kids trickled in to eat and play.
It was a completely transforming month that I did not want to say goodbye to. What began as a pit was turned into a well full of Holy Spirit’s living water. The wilderness was turned into Eden- the desert into a Garden of The Lord. I love love love Urraco, and I was blown away with how much territory my heart could mull through just within the span of a month.
For the first time, I went a whole month without my security blanket of makeup and learned to love my real, raw, face decorated with freckles and hazel eyes.
For the first time, I realized that what is ahead is far better than what we leave behind.
For the first time, I felt like my future could be anywhere and hold any surprises and I could love it.
For the first time, I experienced the truth of how our greatest fear carries our greatest growth.
There are so many lovely, amazing flavors of life that our souls will never taste if we spend our lives ordering the same dish everyday, yet we will always hunger for something more never knowing what that thing is.
So I dare you. Step into the unknown. Really, I’m not just blowing sunshine at you with a motivational speech. Do that thing that I. The back of your mind you have always wanted to do. Lean into those hard places with a Jesus who knows what it’s like to be ha and with friends who will hold your hand. Live the life you want to live instead of the one you’re supposed to live.
It will be worth it, I promise. One the other side of your fear, The Lord has Eden awaiting you.
