No amount of preparation can truly prepare a person to be recreated from the ground up.
Some days, it happens gradually: I’m reading my Proverb-a-day and certain verses stick out to me in each chapter. They all have the same theme.
Some days, it comes in one, gigantic, somewhat-overwhelming tidal wave of self-awareness. This one often feels a bit more like a holy slap in the face. This is the one where the Lord allows me to realize all the moments throughout my day where I didn’t quite reflect His heart. He doesn’t do it to remind me of how fallen I am. He does it because I asked Him to, and He knows I can handle it, though some days I’m not so sure I can.
Before coming on the Race, I didn’t read any blogs about how hard community can be, how sometimes, seven months in, you might forget how freikin’ blessed you are to be here. I read the blogs about the orphans being loved on and the people being healed and crazy stories of His lost children wandering back home. I read a couple of blogs about things such as “11 of my sweetest memories from the Race” or “How to say I love you in 11 different languages.” But I didn’t read any entitled “The time I got a little lost along the way” or “Remember that one time when feedback was ridiculously painful (yet so necessary)?”
It’s not that no one wrote about those things. I’m sure they did. I just somehow managed to skip over every single one of the blogs about the “hard stuff.” So, truthfully, I didn’t know it was going to be this hard.
It’s hard in all the ways I couldn’t have prepared for. It’s hard because some days, I have a lot of time to “process.” I’ve gotten really good at “processing.” But oftentimes, deeply-rooted pain comes up, and all of a sudden, there I am at eleven o’clock at night sitting outside in the brisk Balkan air choking back sobs about something I didn’t even know I needed to deal with seven months ago. And He fights for me through my brokenness.
It’s hard because I used to hop around from group to group, finding companionship around every corner, never having to get too close. Yet here I am, living life with five other people’s constant companionship. And He’s teaching me about not being afraid to go deeper.
It’s hard because never have I desired more to reflect the heart of Christ and been so aware of the moments I don’t quite do it. And He’s showing me a grace deeper than I have ever known.
And it’s hard because it’s still real life, and new brokenness comes up, and you still get hurt sometimes, and getting hurt is hard. But He’s still speaking in that still, small voice: Press on, sweet daughter. I’m still holding you.
The truth is, it didn’t matter that I didn’t know seven months ago how hard the Race would be sometimes. What matters is that in the hard moments, in the brokenness and pain and instances when pressing on seems like the last possible thing I can do, He still fights for me, He still teaches me, He still shows me grace, He still speaks to me, and He still holds me. He also reminds me everyday that the hard times will be worth it as I am recreated from the ground up.
And on the days when it still seems too hard to press on, he gives me faces like this:
or moments like this:
to remind me that the pressing on is and always will be worth it.
