A Soldier. A Battle. A Nomad. - Explore Archived World Race Alumni Blogs

It’s pretty obvious that I’ve been lacking in the blog department, and for those of you who read this and genuinely care about what’s going on in my life on the field and in The Kingdom, I apologize. I also apologize for the length of what you’re about to read, but I’d encourage you to read it anyway, because I suppose you could say I’m making up for the fact that I’ve had “writer’s block”.

So, what’s to follow is some good, meaty stuff.

While I could go on and on about our ministry in Tanzania, and the amazing things The Father did through my team and I, and all the ways we saw the Kingdom grow, the truth of it is that it mostly sucked.

When we didn’t have ridiculous amounts of downtime, our ministry was very unorganized and often felt frantic and forced, loud and abrupt. Even still I don’t regret it, because we had opportunities to share Christ’s love in the community, whether thru church services where I got to help lead worship and my squad-mates preached, or thru “open-air” preaching, where whole villages would come and gather outside in the bush to hear us tell stories of Jesus. We’d go door to door and knocking, asking if there were prayer needs, and some of the men on our squad helped build a house one afternoon. There were also many chances to love on the BAJILLION beautiful African children who would follow us everywhere, offering to carry our water bottles and bags, and forcing their tiny, ashy hands into ours, while gently offering us glimpses into their hearts and lives.

Don’t misunderstand me, because I think suckiness can actually be a good thing sometimes, but the immense levels of spiritual warfare (i.e. satan and his schemes) were so evident, through illness amongst our teams (quite a few people got Malaria, or some form of infection), and through oppression and sorcery and witchcraft within the community. The bible has this to say about it: “The battle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, the authorities, the powers of this dark world, and against the spiritual forces of evil in the spiritual realms.”{Ephesians 6:12}

Shoot, is that ever true. I can say that because I’ve witnessed it a lot out in the world. It almost seems to follow us as we go to bring Good News. While that’s frustrating, it’s actually encouraging, because it means satan is threatened by what we are doing; since God has given him some authority in the world, as the Prince of Darkness, the battle is still raging.

The Muslim “call to prayer” would loudly and abruptly wake us up every morning at 4 a.m., and I couldn’t help but think, “Thank you, God, for not continually forcing me to lose sleep, or pray to you at a certain time of day, facing a certain direction on my face in the dirt. Thanks that I can pray to you whenever and wherever I so choose, even if that’s on the toilet, and you still see my reverent heart. Thank you that you love for me to talk to you just because, and for no other reason than the fact that you love me,” as I laid in my sleeping bag, a bit startled and annoyed. (I think I could literally hear Him smile at my own type of 4 a.m. prayer, if that’s possible.)

So yeah, while I could go on and tell you about all of that, there’s more I want to tell you, something I think surpasses everything ministry (or the lack-there-of) taught me this month.

In all honesty, this month was a rugged, dilapidated month for my heart. I’m walking through a lot of deep emotional pain, with other people on my squad, and problems back home in the States (friend’s problems, financial issues, worrying too much about what’s next for me, and health problems with family members, all of which you can be praying for). Not only did I get sick at the very beginning of the month with a major head-cold/sinus infection and a legit stomach infection that required antibiotics to cure, but

my heart reached a point where it seemed to be shouting at me,
“I’ve had enough! Can’t you just give up now, and we’ll go home and rest already?!”

It was in those moments of utter defeat, however, from deep inside my cozy (…and by “cozy” I do mean miniscule) tent that God met me. I swear there were times my tent felt even more cramped because I could feel Jesus in there with me too. He had come to snuggle. He truly met me in my brokenness, and pursued my heart in an intimate, personal way. It brought me to tears, because never once did I feel alone, and according to the world’s standards or ideals on relationship, I should’ve. Some of you ought to know I felt so many of your prayers from afar, and they helped usher me toward mending and peace. So thank you.

It was in the very moments of defeat where I found that peace. It’s almost what I imagine a war-zone being like: after the grenades have exploded and the canons and missiles have been fired or launched, and all destruction completed, there’s that eerie silence—an overwhelming feeling of quiet that only death can produce. But in that moment, there’s also peace, because it’s over. The worst has come to pass, and you were one of only a few who made it out alive.

In Tanzania, I felt like a soldier who had kept my armor on and had been battling a war in the Spirit and against the enemy and all of his lies for months on end, and I had finally, somehow won. Peace had been purchased and achieved, and I hadn’t even hung up my measly white flag in surrender—peace found me first. That was something I’ll never forget, because it wasn’t anything I could’ve cultivated or manufactured—it was simply of the Lord.

Then, after having walked (or lets be honest, army-crawled) through all of that throughout the month, I had to leave ministry a bit early to head to Nairobi, the capitol of Kenya, to do logistics work for our third Debrief. I know that comes with the territory in the type of leading I do on my squad, but I felt a sense of cop-out, or a lack of closure as I was hurrying to do laundry, buying groceries for the long journey, making sure I had USD currency to buy a Visa, packing up everything I am carrying into my small bag, etc.

But Jesus met me once more on the journey. Someone peed on our bus and it got all over my skirt and food bag. Seriously. But all I could muster up was a laugh, because when else in life does that happen? Why couldn’t they have just shamelessly stuck their back-side out the window to pee? I don’t know, but I think Jesus was laughing too.

He met me again at our hostel, where there were giraffes painted on the walls in the form of a mural, and a dog named Scooby who greeted me with loud barks, and whose “personality” really jived with mine. (God knows I love animals and babies, so He just keeps implanting them into my life on the Race.)

Then there was our actual team Debrief, where tears were shed and truths were revealed, and mostly, where Love abound. I’m so glad I can say that I love those women at the end of the day, and that they’ve become family, because I’ve had to fight for our relationships in the best way possible. That’s how I know Jesus sits at our table.

So apart from Jesus being very active and present, if I could describe month 6 in a way any one of us could truly understand,

I would say I was a soldier, fighting in a battle,
wanting to pull my hair out, traveling as a crazy nomad.

When I think of a “nomad”, I think of a cool hippie person that is a “free spirit” and lives spontaneously. But it’s harder than I thought; there are seldom any easy segues into the next part of your adventure, and you’re never anywhere long enough to feel settled or adjusted. It’s honestly someone who doesn’t know where they are going next, but just goes anyway. You may be wondering, “well, that’s not true for Suzy, because she clearly knew she was going to Kenya next—her Race does have a route order after all. But the reality is, none of us ever know what’s in store. Literally, I could be told I’m sleeping in a bed at a hostel with warm showers, eating pizza every day, but really I have to pitch my tent and ingest rice and beans for every meal of the day with cold bucket-showers. I could be told I’ll be living in a metropolis for the month, and end up in a small, dusty village, miles away from an actual store. I could take a legitimate inventory of my heart, and still not know what God was going to place on its shelves next. He’s a constant God, yes, but He constantly allows our stories to change and evolve with a bit of mystery, and I’m learning He does that to bring Himself Glory.

Glory is a subject in and of itself and a blog-post of its own, but all I know is that when His Glory is revealed, it’ll feel like we’re being blinded by all that He lets us see. It’ll feel like a thick, tangible heaviness or weight that we can’t take off, and won’t want to. It’ll prove His goodness all over again because we’ll witness all of the lost and forgotten pieces being set into their right place, and things will finally make sense.

I think that’s unfortunately the opposite of how some soldiers feel when they come home from war. They feel lost and forgotten and like very few things in life make much sense. But my prayer for them is peace; that the battle they’ve fought (whether won or lost) wouldn’t follow them home and haunt them, because that’s not of God.

The God we serve desires peace, and life to the full. He desires rest, which I’m learning has a definite and necessary root in the word restoration, which He also wants for us. Because after war, dead bodies are swept up and laid to rest, the destruction is eventually rebuilt and what’s left is restructured and repurposed, bones are set and wounds are tended to, and people inevitably move on with life. They’re mindful of the remnants war has left, but willing to press on in life, because they’re not defined by that war or what it meant for them, and life is once again full of peace, or some small version of it.

That was Tanzania for me, and it really could not have been more difficult.
I can say without any hesitation, though, that

I’d do it again.

I’d return, not because suckiness is actually a good thing sometimes, or because it’s a stunningly beautiful country and has mountains and cute babies, but because I found peace there, God’s peace, and He has more in store for the people there than we can even imagine. I’d go back to the barracks and eat nothing but beans and rice, come out of hiding and reenlist as a soldier, and put on my sword of the Spirit and helmet of Truth and breastplate of Righteousness {Ephesians 6:13}, and I’d fight the good fight of faith {1 Timothy 6:12}, knowing the battle has already been won on my behalf, and on behalf of all the people He lets me encounter.

& As Usual…Some Photos From The Month:

My favorite baby Naomi and I. She brought so much joy.