11 countries. 11 months. 11 bouts of PMS. Explosive diarrhea. Stomach infections. Malaria. Screaming matches. Almost fist fights. Bug bites. Mice. Torrential downpours. 12 hour days. Traveling roommates. Not so sweet life.
The World Race is still real life; it’s NOT vacation (though, sometimes I wish it was). I wake up cranky when my alarm goes off. I count the hours until my “work” day ends. I crave chocolate, and all other foods, when my period is getting ready to start. I try to avoid the world by putting in my headphones or pretending I’m asleep. And I get just as annoyed when people talk to me when my headphones are in or wake me up for anything other than a fire or the zombie apocalypse.
I’m still me. I’m still human. I get tired. I get angry. I get sad and broken. Real life is real life everywhere.
I’ve lived in three continents now, and they’ve all shined in their own ways.
But it doesn’t matter what the continents look or feel like. My team had a perfect Thanksgiving meal in Peru that had us practically strangling each other throughout the day. Some ministry contacts were great communicators who gave us a schedule for the month or while others were so hard to talk to that he or she struggled to answer a simple question. Our bus made a 12 hour trip in 24 hours. We get stuck in traffic. Our cars break down. We’ve miss the bus and had to wait hours for the next one.
The World Race doesn’t protect us from a single thing, just like being besties with Jesus didn’t stop the disciples from having some major human problems. We get hurt and sick. We fight with each other. We break rules. We make mistakes. We struggle, we stumble, we survive.
Don’t get me wrong. We have amazing victories. We get to do once-in-a-lifetime things. We have cool pictures and videos. Our Facebooks and Instas must look pretty sick. But our day-to-days are hard and long way more often than fun and epic.
This journey is changing my life, but not because I got to go to Victoria Falls (if you ask me, the Grand Canyon is so much cooler). My life changes in the little things. In the time where God shows me the power of love as I’m able to encourage a woman in Africa in her friendship with a woman more than 10 years her junior because it reminds me of my relationship with one of my best friend back home. Or the one where Jesus showed me strength and perseverance as I watch a little disabled boy at an orphanage in Ecuador feed himself for the first time. Or that time the Holy Spirit gave me the humility and compassion to hug and cry with a woman in a Peruvian prison.
Those are the moments you can’t take pictures of. The ones you can’t share in a Facebook status. These are the stories that will light my path when I’m back in my day-to-day in the States.
When I hit a pothole driving down 295, I’ll think about being crammed in the back of a pick-up with 30 other people in Malawi and slamming into the side of the truck every time we hit a bump. When I want to chuck my phone across the room because I don’t want to talk to anyone, I’ll think of how desperate I’ve been for Wi-Fi just so I could send an email or read some words from home. When I think about how I have nothing to wear, I’ll remember spending 11 months with the same wardrobe. When I can’t find anything to eat, I’ll remember not eating while my squad had rice and beans every day in Bolivia or being forced to eat things like nsima in Africa. And every time I get annoyed with my family, I’ll think about how I danced for over an hour, by myself, at the thought of having a few hours with them on a layover in DC.
The World Race hasn’t changed the fact that life exists in 24 hours a day, 7 days a week increments. It has increased my ability to turn to God during those 24 hours a day, 7 days a week increments. It has increased my ability to appreciate the mundane things that i didn’t even know that I’d miss. It has increased my ability to recognize blessings and glorify God in those blessings. But it’s still real life. And it’s still hard.
