I have been juggling more things than usual for the last couple months and my World Race preparation has suffered as a result. It seems I miscalculated when I thought I was the only one in charge of my preparation though. I’m not the only one with plans.
I have been a bit of a spiritual cripple for a very long time and the worst part is that I had accepted it. I had stopped fighting. It became something that was implied. Everyone just knows: I cannot pray out loud in front of people without having something very close to a panic attack, so don’t ask. I rarely sing. I have always had a difficult time physically getting the name of Jesus out of my mouth because all my muscles tense up and I have to put all my focus on the shape of my mouth and it becomes emotionally exhausting. I have heard the gospel countless times, but I do not share it because I’ve never put it together in my own words.
So then….
Last January I opened my front door to a set of Mormon missionaries. There was really no good reason for me to do that. My policy up to that point had been to stay very quiet until they go away and that policy had been working just fine for me. I have no idea why, but I had a wonderful conversation with these two guys. We talked for over an hour, shared our testimonies, and discussed some of the very real differences between our beliefs about the nature of God. Two weeks later I met the girls I would see on a consistent basis in the coming weeks. I have had such a good time getting to know them and sharing conversations about who God is to each of us. I have always been very honest with them about where I come from and my struggles to see God the way He wants us to see Him.
The LDS church uses a great many of the same words that you find in mainstream Christianity when defining their faith, but so many of those words have different definitions. To avoid any possible confusion this might bring about in conversation, I found myself defining and describing certain things every time they’re brought up like what I mean when I say “the gospel”. They always start and end their interactions with a prayer and encouraged me so sweetly to join in. These girls (there have been 3 in total) have heard me pray out loud more than anyone else I’ve ever met, including my mentor. They’ve heard me speak the name of Jesus and they’ve heard me describe in a way I never have before, what my new life in Christ means to me and how grateful I am for the freedom I’ve found in Him. These missionaries came to me at exactly the right time and I am so grateful for them and everything they’ve given me, purposefully or not.
Things have been rough lately. I feel like I’m fighting an uphill battle right now and I tend to forget when the fighting gets intense that I’m not alone. If you’ve read this blog or prayed or donated or asked me how I’m doing or what I need in the last month or two, I want you to know that I’ve felt the impact of that and I appreciate it more than I’ve probably said. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reminding me that you care.
