The other day, I walked into a small cafe for some lunch. It was almost empty, with every table open except for one. I acknowledged the man and woman at the table (who were obviously foreigners like I was) and sat a couple tables down from them. I placed my order with my server, and began talking with the pair at the other table. Their names were John and Teresa. They were from different parts of Europe. They’d met at one tourist spot or another and started hanging out. We spoke for a few moments, received our food, ate, and went our separate ways. Except our separate ways weren’t very separate, as we ended up at the same hostel. We laughed a little as we went to our separate rooms.
But God wasn’t satisfied with just that interaction apparently, because they proceeded to meet one of my teammates, who invited them to dinner with us. So after another little chuckle at being together yet again, we went to dinner together. They shared about their extensive traveling experiences. We explained what we are doing on our trek around the globe, and just talked and invested in these unlikely new friendships. Finally, we said goodbye, and I found myself sad to be leaving them.
A day later, I was on a train. I was minding my own business, as I’m apt to do, when the man next to me asked me the question I’ve heard approximately 3,836,491 times in the past few weeks. “Where are you from?” I told him, and we proceeded through the other questions everyone always asks.
I was getting ready to turn away, as we had reached the point where this conversation usually ends (It’s that predictable). But this one was different. We ended up talking for over an hour. I can neither say nor spell his name, so I’ll call him Shawn. He was an incredibly nice man with lots of questions and lots to say. I was briefly able to share some of my testimony and the hope of God when he asked about my schooling/future. We shared stories, compared his country to mine, laughed a good bit, and he generously decided to buy me some tea.
As I was thinking about these encounters, I realized, these are both opportunities that, not long ago, I probably would have passed up. Or at best, I would have talked to these people, but held them at arm’s length in my discomfort. So what changed?
I did. And I will give my experience on the World Race credit for helping me embrace the uncomfortable and act more boldly. But there’s more to it. Something much more raw.
Back in Month #2 of the Race, I got the worst news I’ve ever received. There was an old coworker of mine. She was my favorite coworker. She was like my work mom. We joked around a lot, but also had lots of deep conversations. Lots of conversations about God. She believed in God, but she didn’t really know what she believed about Him. She’d been hurt by the church in the past and was skeptical of anything religious.
And I tried. I can’t tell you how hard I tried. I listened in the good times and the bad. I answered her questions about God as well as I knew how. I tried to let the way I lived be a testimony to the hope I had found. Sometimes it felt like we might be going somewhere. Sometimes it felt like we went backwards.
And then it happened. Month #2 in Guatemala. I received word that she was gone. Suicide. My heart felt like it would explode with grief and shock. I’ve never felt such emotional pain. How could this happen? Why wasn’t I there for her when she needed me? I felt like a failure. Like I failed her. And I will never get the chance to fix that failure. What more could I have done? I don’t even know. I wrestled with these thoughts for months.
But if there’s anything good that has come into my life out of this tragedy, it’s a fierce determination. I’ve realized how short time is. And I don’t want to walk away from someone without showing them hope and love. I have a renewed commitment to make the most of every single opportunity I’m given, whether that’s brightening their day, listening to their struggles, or directly sharing the Gospel. I’m going to use every ounce of influence I have to point to the everlasting hope I’ve found. This is my why. It’s my purpose in living. The ultimate goal. It’s why I exist. Literally nothing else matters in comparison.
So now here I am. It still hurts. The pain is still raw. I miss my friend and confidante. I still wish desperately that something, anything, had been different. I normally like to take a paragraph or so at the end of my blogs to tie things up in a neat little bow. I won’t be doing that this time, mainly because I can’t. I don’t know how. And maybe that’s okay.
But this is what I can say: Teresa, John, Shawn, you’ve made it into my prayers. I hope I planted seeds of hope into your lives in the short time I was with you. I pray God gives you more encounters with Christ followers who are willing to sit down, talk, and invest in you. I pray someday you’ll know just how much you are loved by a Heavenly Father, and come to love him too. He is endlessly pursuing you. I hope you let Him overtake you.
