Remember playing hide ’n seek as a kid? Counting down from thirty as your friends scurried around in the dark, and then shouting as loud as you could, “Ready or not! Here I come!” At that point, if I hadn’t found the perfect corner or closet or sketchy crawl space, I’d usually just dive under a blanket and try to make myself look like there wasn’t a human under there. I’d try not to breathe so they wouldn’t notice the rise and fall of the blanket-person. It never worked. That’s kind of what life feels like right now.
Somehow, it’s the beginning of October and I get on a plane for India in a matter of hours. When I got accepted to the World Race last fall, I remember being thankful that, even though this moment felt like an eternity away, I had a whole year to get ready.
And then I blinked. And the truth is, when I showed up to Atlanta on October 1st, I wasn’t ready. After a year of preparing and waiting, I didn’t want to come. All I really wanted was to say “hey” to my squad, wish them luck, and then get back on the plane to return to everything that was comfortable. I can’t count the number of times per day I’ve been asked if I’m “ready.” Usually I have responded with a, “ready or not!” and a forced smile…which is really just short for, “whether or not I’m ready doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I’m getting on a plane to India tonight and not returning for 11 months.” I have felt numb—void of any semblance of excitement. Exhaustion has plagued me. I’ve used some form of the word “dread” on multiple occasions to describe my current state. I haven’t felt “ready” once…whatever that means.
[Side note: I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I am still in awe of this opportunity I have. I know 11 months isn’t forever (or that long at all, really) and at the end of it I’ll probably be amazed at how fast it all seemed to go. But for the sake of honesty, I’m telling you all of that hasn’t made these last few days easier.]
I’m currently sitting in the Atlanta airport, in a sea of backpacks and my squad mates who continually seem way more excited than I feel. My butt hurts from sitting on this tile floor for the last six hours, a gentle reminder that the next 11 months were never intended to be comfortable. Now that it’s here and in another 6 hours or so I’ll be boarding my first flight to Istanbul, I come back to the question: Am I ready?
I am not ready to be away from home for (yet another) Christmas.
I am not ready to miss the birth of my best friend’s first child.
I am not ready to watch memories happen without me.
Also…
I am not ready to press into the hurting places in my soul that have gone untouched.
I am not ready to face the brokenness. Of myself, and of the places I will go and the people I will meet.
I am not ready to have my heart wrecked.
I am not ready for the anger, and the questions, and the doubt.
I am not ready for the pain, and the tears, and the loneliness, and the heartbreak.
I AM ready, though, to meet Jesus. Rather, to get to know Jesus thousands of miles away from the place I did meet Him. I am ready to do this for no other reason than I know that God is coming with me. He’s coming with me, but He’s also already there. He’s been there the whole time. He knows the darkness and the pain and the loneliness and the heartbreak. And He’s already beat it. He’s already won, in every single place that I’m going. In every single place that I could ever go.
I am ready for the joy.
I am ready for the freedom.
I am ready for the laughter.
I am ready for the community.
I am ready to break chains.
I am ready to take off the old and put on the new.
I am ready for the endless and incredible overflow of love.
I am so thankful for a God that makes me ready and walks with me even when I don’t feel it.
Comin’ for ya, India. Ready or not.
