During my final days in the hospital and my last week in Cambodia, I prayed and asked God if I should go home for a short time or if I should continue on with Race uninterrupted. God answered, and I felt Him calling me to stay on the Race and to trust Him with my healing.
On June 27th, I woke up ready to head to Columbia. I would finally be in a country that I could understand and speak the language. Though I was still limping a bit and my arm was still in a sling, I was ready to go! I was ready to continue on with what God had called me to and to finish this Race.
I got a call that morning saying there had been a typo on the document that said I was “fit to fly.” In summary, I found out that it would be a liability for me to fly without that document. Since I no longer had something that said that “Jillian Hart is fit to fly as of June 27th,” I called my leaders in the US to discuss my options with them. It was the middle of the night in the US when I called, and so the earliest I would get a call back would be 5PM Cambodia time (6AM in the US). At 5PM, while I was heading to the airport, praying that I could go with my squad, I got a call back. I explained my situation, and by 5:30PM it was decided that I would have to remain in Cambodia with my squad leader Tammy until I could obtain a document from a doctor that says I could go on an airplane.
That was detour number one.
And what a disappointment it was. I was ready to leave and ready to step into this next stage of my Race on a whole new continent. And yet there I was, stuck in Cambodia. It was hard not to question whether or not I had heard God right. He said to stay, and so I was staying. So why was there this delay? Why was there this extension of my time in Cambodia?
I believe I got at least part of the answer within the next two days of my first unexpected detour. I had gotten stitches on the back of my left leg in two places after my accident. The stitches had been removed almost two weeks prior, but because of the placement of my wounds, they had reopened. On June 29th Tammy and I went to the hospital to get the back of my left leg checked out and we found out my leg had gotten badly infected as a result of the reopened wounds. I was given antibiotics and I visited the hospital every morning to get the wounds redressed.
At this point, I was at least at peace with the fact that I had to remain in Cambodia. There was a physical reason that I could see that explained in part why I had not left for Columbia.Two days of air travel with a leg that was infected like mine could have been brutally painful, uncomfortable, and even dangerous. God saved me from all of that. He protected me once again be detouring my plans for His.
However, in my mind I was still focused on getting to Columbia as soon as possible. I was still going to meet my team there and hopefully be able to be there at least the last week or two of ministry before my squad headed off to Ecuador.
However, time seemed to drag on. After discussion after discussion with insurance and my leaders in the US, it felt like nothing was moving forward. It felt like nothing could be decided, because everything was contingent on some other factor, which could not be decided because of something else.
Then a decision fell into my lap. I had to decide once again whether or not to go home. I was confused. I had already prayed about this. I had heard God say that I needed to stay, that He was my healer, and that I needed to finish this Race without experiencing the comforts of home.
I prayed and prayed. This time I didn’t get a clear answer. There was no “stay” or “go home.” I was at a loss. I had followed what God had told me to do, but here was the decision again. Why?
I began to have this need to know what everyone thought. I needed to know people’s opinions. I needed to know medical opinions and whether or not my going home was a medical necessity. I became dependent on what people and doctor’s thought, and lost sight of where God was leading me.
The day of the decision arrived almost two weeks after the beginning of the detour. Insurance was not going to make it for me, my parents weren’t going to make it for me, nor were my leaders going to make it for me. That was probably the scariest part of all. I realized that God was letting me chose. Neither decision, to stay or to go, was a bad one, but wisdom was needed to make it. I realized that I didn’t want to be wrong. I wanted other’s opinions so badly because I didn’t want to make a mistake. This was the decision all other decision were contingent on, and I didn’t want to fail. I didn’t want to be who was to blame for misstepping.
A friend compared my situation at that moment to Abraham when God calls him to sacrifice his son, Isaac. Abraham was old, and had been given Isaac from God at his old age. Isaac was so dear to Abraham, he was all he had. He was his only son, and God was calling him to sacrifice what he loved most to Him. Abraham faithfully follows what God says, and does probably one of the hardest things of his life: leads his son to the altar. As they are walking up the mountain to get to the altar, God tells Abraham to stop, and provides a ram to sacrifice instead.
God had honored my faithfulness. I had sacrificed the comforts of home, even my future health to an extent. But it was time to make sure my arm would be alright and I would be able to move it fully again.
I chose to go home.
That was detour number two.
