This blog will most likely be the last blog I write on the world race. SAD! It’s a little different than all of the other ones i’ve written, and it’s on why I shouldn’t have gone on the race. In the beginning of my journey, a handful of people weren’t too fond of / supportive of what I was doing. This letter to myself is barely a fraction of the things i’ve done, seen and experienced abroad but I pray you get even the smallest glimpse of what this season of life has been to me and who Jesus has become to me. I hope you read this and understand just a little bit of where my heart is at and how i’ve grown in the last nine months. thank you all for being supportive in prayer and even financially. In encouragement and empowerment. You people mean the world to me. This blog is for everyone who’s supported me. Who’s loved me and maybe hasn’t been on board with my decision, for everyone to do the race and has done the race. This is an image of words collected to paint a picture, I hope you are able to see it in the grand scheme of things, and it’s for everyone. here we go:
Dear Dasia,
don’t go on the world race.
you really shouldn’t do it.
here’s why:
you’ll sit in the back of a car filled to the brim with every tangible thing of your life for the last nine months, five days out from the USA, tears staining your cheeks replaying everything you’ve seen and experienced on the field.
You’ll sit there replaying that time you sat on the floor of a makeshift treehouse porch in the beautiful mountains of the Dominican Republic, with 3 of your best friends, tears of righteous anger rolling down your cheeks, as you come face to face with the reality that is: Human Trafficking. You’ll remember the burn of your eyes as you looked up at each other and chose to fight for the freedom of the enslaved. You’ll remember the hopelessness you felt, turned to liberation as you walk a street in the Philippines lined with bars, arm in arm with a girl who had been brought out of the sex tourism industry, only to go back to the bar she danced in, just to pull her sisters out. So here I say, don’t go on the race if you don’t want to feel the depth of brokenness and hopelessness, turned to hope and visible restoration in the freedom you see the women who were once enslaved, walking in.
You’ll remember the time you swam with naked babies in the Caribbean. You’ll remember the ways they just wanted to be held and loved. You’ll think of how sometimes that’s all you crave from your Dad. And you’ll smile because you have deep and true love from a Father and you’re able to pour it out amongst their little hearts. Giving them reason to better understand Love. You’ll remember the uniqueness of each of them. Of Abigail and her extremely strong, independent, and individualistic approach at life. You’ll remember Wesley, and the way he broke out into song and danced shyly at first and rocked it as he became more comfortable. You’ll remember Givvens and the way he smiled. Something about his smile was electric. You’ll remember the ways the voices of over sixty haitian littles sang in unison with your own, “Hallelu, Hallelu, Hallelu, Hallelujah, prais-ing the Lord!” And chills will rise up on your arms, and tears will well up in your eyes because, you didn’t know it was possible to simply love so many littles at once. Leaving the Dominican, a country where you understand the language, you hadn’t yet experienced what it truly meant to love beyond language, yet Haiti rocked your world. Leaving you in love with so many littles, you can’t even begin to count them all. And you’ll understand more of the essence of the Gospel, when you come face to face with just loving people. Loving everyone. The poor, the boujwa (the wealthy), the orphans, the widows, and every life in between.
So listen to me when I say, If you refuse to sacrifice the comforts of your own life to experience life, and love, and Jesus in a new way, don’t go on the World Race.
When you think of Botswana, you’ll often times feel a variety amounts of emotion; the ways you felt deeply loved and seen and valued. The things you learned by creative love, and sometimes, louder than those things, and harder to remember: You’ll feel the deep pang of grief that crept up on you every second you thought of the best friend you left back home, you expected to return home to, but then you’ll think of November 21st. You’ll remember the stars that pierced the night sky as you showered under them, when all of a sudden your friends run into the bathroom to hand you the phone saying it was urgent. Your moms voice comes out of the tiny speaker as you hear her say “the cancer is too much on her body, and she only has a few days to live.” You’ll remember grief. Deep grief. You’ll remember how badly you just wanted to be alive during the time that Jesus walked this earth, so that He could just sit with you and hold you in His arms. You’ll remember how thirsty for God you were. How dry the wilderness was. And how it felt never ending. And then you’ll remember the faithfulness of God. The first time you felt peace and comfort, even if it was for a split second, as sleep rocked you in her arms, as you laid hand in hand, on the tiniest twin mattress with one of your best friends as she hummed a song her dad used to sing to her as a little girl. You’ll remember the way peace washed over you like waves washing up onto the shore. You’ll remember that you. aren’t. alone.that the God of the entire universe loves you, and He weeps alongside you. You’ll remember Thanksgiving, one of the hardest days of your life. You’ll remember how impossible it felt to sit at the table with your sisters, and go around talking about what it is you were thankful for. You’ll remember how you knew deep down in your heart how deeply blessed you are for everything you have. Family, friends. Breath, life. Yet, all of these things, in the wake of grief, felt so insignificant. You’ll remember sitting at the table, anticipating the time allotted for you to speak on what you were thankful for, and when your flesh felt angry and confused, and let down: your spirit will take over and talk about how extremely grateful you are for “right here, right now.” For the fact that Thanksgiving was prepared by people you love deeply, in a tiny little kitchen in the middle of Seronga, Botswana. You’ll remember the intentionality of the Lord when you look around the table to see girls of power and influence, sitting beside you, holding your hands, that were hand picked to be apart of the right here and right now of that moment. that season. You’ll remember the faithfulness of God in the community He gave you. You’ll remember Botswana and how it consisted of some of the darkest days you’ve ever walked through, yet some of the most beautiful growth you’ve ever experienced. The lyrics, “There’s beauty in my brokenness” had never rung as loudly and felt as deeply true as they will feel during your time in Botswana. When you find yourself in the rough, rugged, painful parts of life, it feels impossible to get up another day, and go on with the life in front of you. This you know, Except the goodness you will cling to, is that the Lord places both little and huge reminders of his faithfulness in the middle of the chaos and confusion. In the scent of the flowers that grew outside of your little home. In the people He’s placed in your life, and in the beautiful place that is: Botswana. Right on the delta, in the presence of the Glory of God all around you. Saturating every sunset, giving a different song for each bird to sing, in the way dung beetles work together, and in everything else that screams the beauty of my Gods creation. All of it beautiful, and perfect, and good.
— This paragraph is a little different from the others, and I would never expect you reading this to go on Gap Year and have someone close to you pass, but this is just the reality of my personal experience and what i’ve learned from where I was at. I’d never ever ever want any of you to go through the hardship of death on the field or ever in life, but because I did, and because death unexpectedly is very real, I thought I’d simply give glory to God where glory is due. This season was by far one of the hardest, but when you choose to believe in your brokenness, the Potter will make something even more beautiful as he continues piecing the broken back together. —
In the painful memories of Botswana, louder than the anger and confusion that demanded to be felt a lot of the time, was the power and authority that your God reigns. The whisper of His faithfulness in the breeze that brushes against your face, or the rain that danced from the clouds landing gently on your skin, is louder than the anger and confusion. His whisper, is more powerful and carries more authority than some of the hardest and most real feelings your humanity has the ability of feeling. A privilege it has been to be grown and stretched and molded in these ways.
As you dwell on South Africa, your mind slows down. It takes time to think of the vastness of the rolling hills that surrounded every which way you looked. You’ll be reminded of the placidity of the animals that lived peacefully amongst each other, replicating life you want to live. You’ll be reminded of the river that ran through your town that you floated along for a few hours as the smell of maple syrup swirled in the air. You’ll remember what it looked like to look up at the trees that towered over you, and you’ll ponder the truth behind Matthew 6:25. How it talks about the birds of the air and the grass of the field that all exist in the carelessness of God. Not expectant of water and sunshine and food to keep their lives on going, but not to worry. Because how much more does your Dad love you more than the physical and beautiful creation of His world. You’re again reminded of faithfulness, all the while being exposed to beauty all around. You come face to face with people who bring the bible to life in the way it says to practice hospitality. You’re reminded of how important it is to love your neighbor. The people you barely know invite you over for dinner, and so sweetly invite you to be apart of their family. Inviting you on trips and to family dinners around their table. You feel apart of community. Setting you up for in what ways you desire to also practice hospitality in the ways your new family does. You’ll remember South Africa and the way you just lived life. The ways you found time during the day to head to the grocery store with one of your best friends and buy sandwich stuff to sit and eat with the homeless. You’ll make new friends. You’ll lead a group of girls that open up their hearts and lives to you and invite you in. You’ll laugh with them and cry with them as you share stories of the years of life you lived before meeting one another. You’ll learn what it looks like to disciple and be discipled intentionally. You’ll make meals with your friends, and throw “bro night” to celebrate the men of honor you live with. You’ll have backyard bonfires and worship with your new friends that you go to church with. You’ll tell jokes and laugh as you chow down on the ice cream they brought over. They’ll take you to their secret rope swing on the dam and jump in the water with you over and over again. You’ll sit together and eat watermelon and watch the sun as it sets, and the stars will come out as the moon rises. You’ll just live, and it’ll be this time of life where you choose what you want for yourself. To be deeply rooted, and find ministry outside of the box.
You’ll fall deeply in love with Jesus the more you know about Him. And you’ll learn more about intimacy, this season will be good. So again I say, growth and choice and goodness – maybe it’s just not for you. You shouldn’t go.
The Philippines will come around and you’ll see some of the worst poverty you’ve ever seen in your life. You’ll see that the people that live in Tando, Philippines – live in a garbage dump. You’ll see little babies run around half naked, playing with the scraps of other mans trash, for enjoyment. You’ll see women and men pick through the garbage bags from places like Mcdonald’s and Jollibee and use whatever leftover food they find to boil it into a soup and feed their families with it. You’ll spend all day playing with kiddos that live in a place called “Trash Mountain.” Living on the top mound of trash that has collected for 50 years, you’ll meet some of the most loving littles you’ve ever met in your life. Covered completely in dirt, their clothes torn and tattered, they’ll see you from afar and yell at you to come over to them. The group will stand under a tree and talk for a minute about where to go and your heart will feel pulled in the direction of the little hands that that wave for you. You’ll look at your friend Carsen and immediately both begin heading over to the beckoning voices. The second you start walking over, 4 of the most beautiful, and treasured lives on this earth, will run barefoot amongst broken bottles, and glass just to jump into your arms and giggle. Time will slow down, as you spin one of the little girls around as she laughs like she hasn’t in forever. You’ll play with her hair, and hold her hands, and spin her around, and not a word of english on your part will be understood. You won’t understand a lick of Tagalog yet, this little one, knows more of Love in the way you choose to interact with her. The rest of your friends will walk over to the tree where a group of littles will be sitting. Lucie will ask what the kids want to do for fun that afternoon. One of their voices will speak up in broken english as they ask to hear a story. When Lucie asks them what kind of story they’d like to hear, a few of them in unison will say “Jesus. Tell us about Jesus.” Tears will well up in your eyes as you realize what a privilege it is to be amongst children that have full access to new friends willing to play any game, and they choose to sit before you and listen to a story about Jesus. You’ll be reminded of what it looks like to love the Lord no matter your circumstance. To not be a victim to circumstance but live as a victor, to be a child of the most high.
You’ll experience freedom and liberation as you see the chains of slavery broken, when an 18 year old girl named Red, that dances in a bar in order to feed her family, leaves the second she is presented to her, the opportunity of freedom. She will run upstairs, grab her things, and walk out of that bar, to live freely for the rest of her life. You’ll feel empowered and liberated to see your sisters walk out of bars and into a new life, with new freedom.
You’ll see the sick healed. You’ll see one of your friends Arvin go missing, for him to be returned home safely three days later. You‘lol see revival and crazy amounts of reconciliation. You’ll meet a woman named Rona that will wreck and redefine your definition of sacrifice. She will change your life in the way she fights for and loves people well. You’ll meet Raymart and Arvin and JaJa, the Angela’s, and Ronnalyn and they will swim with you and play with you and get excited over the smallest things. They’ll teach you and grow you and stretch you in ways you didn’t know you needed to be grown, taught, and stretched. You’ll be apart of a church that will invite you to dinner with them the very first night they meet you. You’ll worship and dance and laugh and cry, and see the Lord in it all. You’ll go to bed exhausted and happy and spilling over because the Philippines is a special place where you now have all of the freedom to choose for yourself. You’ll celebrate. Sometimes you’ll feel defeated and exhausted and run down, but even when you do, you won’t help but put your hands in the air and surrender it all. You’ll break down over and over and over again because this is your last country and it’s almost the end of the most beautiful season of your life to come. You’ll get scared at the thought of home, but Dad will remind you that you’re already home. You’re home in His love, in His truth, in His word. He asks you to be rooted, and fight the good fight because it is all worth it, and you’ve already won.
So Dasia, I tell you, don’t you dare go on the race. It will be hard, and exhausting, it will wreck any definition of home you’ve ever had. Jesus will use it as a tool to push you closer to Him. To be more dependent on Him. Your idea of the meaning of life and the purpose in which you have will be brought to light, and wrecked and redefined. You will see some of the most beautiful corners of the universe few people know about and you will see that in every culture, every country, the Lord dwells among each of them. You will dance like you never have before. You will love and be loved deeply and more recklessly than you ever have in your whole life. You will learn new ways to be appreciative. You will learn far more than your brain will be able to comprehend, and yet you will find application in the things you’ve learned today and yesterday and nine months ago – years and years from now.
Dasia, you will never be the same again after this. So here I tell you, stay complacent and comfortable. Go through college because that’s what society says to do. Float through the motions, Graduate and get your degree in social work. And then open up your own soup kitchen. Have kiddos, marry a lovely man, and die. This is the way of the world, in which you would be better off obeying.
so lastly, I say to you,
just don’t go.
