I remember preparing for the World Race like it was yesterday.
The never-ending packing lists, the roundabout search for available vaccines, the surrender of many hours in an effort to raise the monstrous amount money needed to fund this thing. I remember dreaming about what was to come, what it would be to witness the Almighty God use me (Me!) to bring his kingdom to earth, on three continents nonetheless.
I especially remember the comments people made about the soul journey I was embarking on. You see, I do this admittedly bad thing where I disregard things people say about my future self. As I write this blog, I’m convicted that those “things” people say could be, and often are, prophetic words. I remember friends, family, strangers in the Starbucks line, and your distant uncle Earl telling me how there was no way I’d return the same as I would leave.
Oooookay, sure, I thought. Throw an eye-roll in there too.
At that point I followed Jesus enough to say yes to the Race. I did more inner healing in the years leading up to it than any other time in my life. I thought I knew who I was. I had a lot to give away, spiritually speaking.
I was going with the expectation to pour out and receive sparingly. It’s not that the people I would meet didn’t have anything to offer, but it was going to be my job and my purpose to guide them into a relationship with Jesus.
I was ready for God to use me, not change me much more than he already had. What more needs changing, anyway?
After all, the Lord had taken me on a drastic journey from a sloppy sorority girl to a confident woman of faith. My life before the Race was unrecognizable to my pre-Jesus self. He transformed me so much, and I was always thankful, but I lacked hope for what more he needed to do.
Oh pride, you’re so sneaky, aren’t you? Why do I think I have the power to dismiss the lifelong process of sanctification? I should be expectant and thankful for his tender care, nothing else.
Yet I’m human, and humans think they can do things on their own strength. We think we know best, even if Jesus is the Lord of our lives. I may not have admitted it at the time, but my subconscious thoughts reveal the true story.
I’m really glad I don’t know best today. I’m beyond thankful that God refuses to leave me where I am, and He cares enough to continue journeying with me, even when I think I’m set to get off at the next stop.
I haven’t arrived and I never will. I’m learning to arrive at His feet, in His arms, and under His wing if I want any semblance of direction.
So here’s to you, friends and strangers. You were right. I’m not the same as I was when I waved goodbye to America. I’m closer to the woman God intends me to be, and that’s a pretty good spot to be in.
It’s been rough. It’s been painful. It’s been humbling. It’s been so worth it.
Now at over six months on the field, I’m reflecting on what exactly the Lord has changed here. I hope these revelations inspire you and teach you, not about who I am, but about God’s heart for us.
GENTLENESS
Who I am is bold and fiery and unafraid to say what I think. These are beautiful parts of how God made me, but I needed, and still need, refining. Iron sharpens iron, amen? I used to say whatever I wanted, and so long as my intentions were good, I felt that however the recipient perceived it was their deal.
God has been teaching me from the earliest days of the Race that speaking the truth while loving my people requires intentionality. My messaging must be more than just words if I want to thrive in community and love like Jesus. It’s tone, timing, body language, all the things. I can’t just spew out opinions without considering delivery. Well, I can, but then feedback happens. It’s been one of the hardest things to learn, but God is graceful as ever and I can now humbly say I’m a more gentle version of myself than I was six months ago.
GRACE
Part of gentleness is the ability to give grace. I need boat loads of grace all day long, and the same is true for others.
I didn’t realize the way I held onto grace like I had the right to give it to only those who earned it in my eyes. God revealed and broke this inside of me. The whole point of grace is that we cannot earn it, no matter what. We all fall short. We all come from somewhere different, yet we have this amazing thing in common: God formed you and me with the same unimaginable love.
He willingly died a gruesome death for us just the same, even when we deserved that punishment. It was the people he died for that killed him, ironically, and still his mercies are new every morning. If I want to be like Jesus I better be ready to dump grace out like confetti.
REAL VULNERABILITY VS. SELF PROTECTION
I’ve shared the nitty gritty parts of my story more times than I can count. I’ve shared with a group of a hundred and individuals alike. Part of this is because God has given me the amazing gift of a transformed life. It’s a story of His goodness that is definitely worth telling.
If I’m real, though, part of being so open comes down to my thinking that if you know me, you won’t trigger me. Sharing my bouts with alcoholism and road to recovery stopped being about God’s glory as it turned into a sly way of putting up walls on the inner chambers of my heart. If you know the obviously shocking parts of my story, you won’t dig deeper to the stuff that scares the heck out of me. That’s not real, though. That’s not what God is asking of me.
I’ve learned that small things are the most vulnerable to share. Saying “this is hard for me” or “I need help” are the real emotional kickers. Those are the real deal of vulnerability, at least for me.
Vulnerability is a heart position, not a scale of how much I can shock you. I want the doors of my heart to be wide open and free. Choosing to share only what’s easy to share only closes it off to authentic community.
RELEASE
Expectations are such a setup to get bummed out. A good friend says they are, in fact, premeditated resentments. I think she’s right. Every time I set my hopes on people doing what I want, I’m disproportionately disappointed.
God says, “Let go.” He offers to bear those burdens as the only one who never lets us down.
The idea that his character really is the sole guarantee in this entire stinkin’ universe is something I’ve been learning through experience. I’ve experienced a broken heart, a whole lot of self pity, and a bunch of other ugly feelings to get to this place where I can finally acknowledge this.
As with all of these lessons, it’s one I’ll have to learn and relearn for the rest of my life. There’s always more release, but dang, the World Race forces you to let go of a whole lot of baggage.
WHO I AM IS GOOD ENOUGH
After six months of growing where I didn’t think I needed to, I’m a little battered, a little drained.
Truthfully, I’ve felt more discouraged about who I am in the last month than I have the entire Race. Surely spiritual warfare is to blame. Lies that I should be better, more refined, and altogether different have been subtly tormenting me.
I thought I was set with identity. I was secure in who Jesus says I am, yet I’m hesitant at every word I want to say because I’m so terrified of being corrected and criticized.
Correction hurts, but when it’s out of love it produces growth. It’s the times when we don’t feel loved that we begin to think who we are is wrong and needs to change.
I’ve been in this place lately, as much as it hurts to admit it. This shame around how my personality works has left me feeling discouraged and isolated.
I knew this was pulling me in the direction opposite of Jesus, and I knew that meant trouble. He gently told me he loves my personality as it is, and that’s why he would invest in disciplining me to be a better version of myself.
He celebrates my triumphs and still calls me higher. I now want to celebrate alongside him.
Be encouraged friends. Keep telling me and others important things about our heart journeys. You never know when God is speaking through your very words.
Love and blessings,
Kenzie
