Dreams are born in the truck bed of rusty Toyotas.
Dreams speak through the roaring wind, the wild hair whipping in all directions, the thrilling chill in the air.
Dreams come alive in the endless beauty of greenery, both trees and land; in the swirling dust trail the Toyota leaves behind; in the traffic of donkeys, cows, and goats.
2015 has begun in Nowhere, Botswana (if you look it up on the map, it’s called Seronga). Surrounded by sand, heat, and too many unfamiliar animal sounds to become too comfortable, we’ve adapted to an entirely different lifestyle. The days are long, often slow, but beautiful. Blessings come in the form of a cool breeze, much anticipated rain, bug spray, a cold drink, a pet dog named Charlie Brown, waves and thumbs up from village children, unrushed hours of conversation, three new sisters and two parents, those truck bed rides, and dead snakes.
With such a relaxed, less distracted way of life, I entered Botswana with a desire to grow and learn and embrace the uncomfortable. God gave me the word “listen” upon our arrival at our new home. But I’ve found that even in the bush of Africa there are distractions.
It’s a new year, but it’s month seven of the Race—a journey that is no longer new and foreign. My journal is packed with stories, prayers and taped in “souvenirs,” but sadly, I find myself shrugging at the amazement of those experiences. My teammate, Alyssa said it well: we get stuck in “ministry mode” where we often do things out of expectation and knowledge that we should rather than out of true desire and passion to want to do them.
Since writing the above words over a week ago, much has happened, both within my team and myself. Paired with apathy most of my teammates and I were experiencing, I realized I’ve also been hanging in a web of lies. I struggled to believe why God cares about me, and even believed he shouldn’t. I doubted, doubted so much.
But in the midst of African bush distractions, lies, and apathy, my heart was moving. Is moving. Dreams are coming alive; something is stirring deep within my soul and it can only be attributed to Him.
My heart and my head connected, and I’ve quit sitting in the mindset of “I’m not worthy, I don’t deserve (fill in the blank).” I AM worthy, because of the blood of Christ.
My doubts and belief that maybe the gifts I have are things unimportant and I should just give them up are destroyed. My voice is worship. My irregular strum patterns and out of tune uke strings combine to play musical joy for him. My jumbled words that tumble out of my mouth into air or on paper are how I speak to him, and he in turn speaks to me. (Though there is a line that can be crossed where those gifts are used for personal gain. Another topic for another time.)
My dreams, though changing almost on the daily, are coming alive. Yet I can’t even tell you what that looks like or really what the next step is. But it’ll be big, I can feel it. He’s pretty big, you know.
And that’s not even the half of it. Africa, a place I never had a desire to see, has planted deep roots in my heart. These people have changed me. Those truck bed dreams are being stirred up. I am finally wearing my skin, and comfortably.
