I find myself on a couch in Malawi trying to put words to this crazy year of life called the World Race. I’m surrounded by 5 of the most beautiful women on the planet enjoying the most beautiful of days in Africa. We sit and laugh, and someone strikes up a conversation of grace and we revel in that for a moment, then go back to our thoughts. We’ve created a mini escapade of luxury for ourselves today. After I type this I laugh out loud to myself of the labeling of my “luxurious days” in comparison to what they used to be. (We haven’t had water for several days and we’ve spent the afternoon planning how we’ll accomplish all the laundry, dishes, showers and cooking we need to do when the water does resurface for a few quick hours.) So we’re waiting for water. Life is good.
Africa has been the paradox to trump all things seen for me. Everywhere I turn I see beauty mixed with death. Backdrops of breathtaking sunsets over the stench of roads filled with trash. Laughter sounding throughout the streets of the children that meet us at our gate to greet us with kisses, ribs protruding and sores covering their tiny faces and ears. Gifts of hospitality, greetings of drinks and flowers from families that may not eat tonight, or the next day, or the next. There’s a humbleness that starts to grow on you like another layer of who you are when you begin to live among a people that have nothing, but offer you everything. They offer their homes, their food, their time and their hearts, all in search of nothing but to bless you as you pass by. Our host this month invited us in to Blantyre and gave us the home he shares with his wife, 6 year old daughter and newborn baby boy in order to give our team a place of our own. Just like that. Moved out of his house for a month to serve a group of young strangers. I revel at the thought, when one of my greatest annoyances in the states used to be those who showed up unannounced in my driveway for a visit. The nerve! To take time out of their day to think of me.
In Africa, I’ve lived with the greatest peace I’ve ever known. God is reshaping the deepest parts of my heart in ways that I can’t describe. When I see these children running towards me through the dirty street, all I can see is how I must appear to my Father; hungry and filthy, sick and poor, just asking to be picked up a held for a while. And He swoops me up in His arms and lets me chatter for a bit, then cleans me up and carries me on the path back towards home. Living life in the simplest of ways is teaching me what true Christianity is. It’s not the message of submission to a God in the sky out of fear of some fiery furnace somewhere after it all goes dark. It’s not the back of a pew or the tithing envelope on Sunday morning. It’s not even the prayer meetings and the youth programs. It’s when you look into the faces of orphans and see why you’re here, and how they deserve to be too. It’s the moment on a cold floor in Africa when you come face to face with your Creator and begin to see that it was never about you or what you could do, but what He’s already done in and through you that made you worthy before you even knew to ask the question of how you could be. It’s the understanding that God is so good that He gave up the one thing that would grab my attention and usher me in with His love and His grace and His mercy.
People have expressed concern that what I’m doing is dangerous. I think that if I’m honest, I’m much more terrified of living a life of normal complacency. Matthew 10:28 tells us not to fear anything this fading earth can sling our way. The Message Remix puts it this way, “28 “Don’t be bluffed into silence by the threats of bullies. There’s nothing they can do to your soul, your core being. Save your fear for God, who holds your entire life—body and soul—in his hands.” This year I’m following God along a road shadowed by bullies; of death and decay, disease and famine, anguish and pain. Everywhere I turn my eyes I see children failed by abusive parents, or parents that have been taken by disease. We live in a world of Ebola, ISIS, failing systems and raging wars. But I’ve yet to see where Jesus calls his followers to be safe and sound. He’s busy telling us to get out of the boat, look at the cloud in front of us and the pillar to our backs, and get about our Father’s business. He tells us in Genesis 28:15, “Yes. I’ll stay with you, I’ll protect you wherever you go, and I’ll bring you back to this very ground. I’ll stick with you until I’ve done everything I promised you.”
And I get to go home at the end of this year. I get to step onto American soil and scrub the dirt off my feet and pick up where I’ve left off. I have options. I can start graduate school and earn an education. I can join the post-race program in Spain and set sail for new adventures in neater foreign lands. I can go back to my job and my family and my intact life, but these children can’t. And God’s been asking me what I’m going to do about that. I can’t eradicate all disease in Malawi or bring food to every home. I can’t even begin to solve the social injustices that sweep this nation and it’s people, and luckily, I’m not called to. I’m just here to love.
And that’s what I’m going to do.
**Thank you to all of those who have given of their time and those who have financially supported me throughout this journey. I am now fully funded to complete my race. Praise Jesus! If you have automatic payment plans of support set up, please contact the World Race funds office to cancel these. Also, if you would still like to financially support a plane ticket home for me or other personal funds while on the race, please contact me directly. Thank you again, and I love you all so much.
